Nothing Miserable About This Birthday

Despite the fact that my birthday was November 20th, my wife convinced me that she and I should celebrate it later in the month given the hectic nature of the Thanksgiving holiday.

Turns out, she was just being sneaky.

We began Tuesday night at La Mirabelle, an unstuffy French mainstay on the Upper West Side run by a family of transplanted Bretons. I began with the escargots and had monkfish swaddled in lobster sauce for my main course. My wife had the roasted duckling with plums--crispy, juicy, fatty, and delicious (she let me have a piece). We ended with a chocolate mousse spiked by a tiny candle and presented amid song by our waitress who sounded as if she were channeling the great Edith Piaf.

That we dined at a French bistro was no accident. For following dinner, we caught the Metro to Times Square, where, among other Broadway shows, Les Miserables, now in it's 22nd year, has returned for just six months following it's international tour. My first Broadway show was one of the most wildly beloved. (I've seen Cats and Phantom of the Opera on their tours, but was not prepared for the intimacy and coziness afforded by the small Broadway theatres, not something you imagine when thinking about the fabled Broadway).

The show was, of course, phenomenal. The story of a convict who mends his ways despite being hunted perpetually by his old jailer, Les Miserables is rousing, tragic, inspirational and haunting. I went home that night walking on a cloud of music so thick I doubt my feet actually touched the New York City sidewalks. I haven't stopped singing the score since. There is a reason tourists flock to Broadway when visiting this city--the experience is like nothing else.

Thank you so much my sneaky wife. That was a magnificent birthday. Merci!