Travels With Hannah: A Visit With an Old Friend - New York City

It was like visiting an old friend. That was what it felt like, driving back in through the West Side Highway in the thick, uncharacteristic heat of a mid-April afternoon. We were headed for Times Square, not exactly my old neighborhood, but certainly familiar enough. Over 20 years earlier, I had worked as an intern at the Condé Nast building, right after Frank Gehry had redesigned the cafeteria, and every morning and evening I had walked between the skyscrapers and neon lights of the most-visited slice of midtown as I scrambled to catch a train back to Morningside Heights.

It had been my mother’s request, in celebration of her 70th birthday: one weekend in New York with her three kids. The Hard Rock Hotel, our host for two nights, had opened a year before, and still felt lush, sparkly, and brand-new, with a majestic staircase rising in its grand entrance. With 446 rooms and suites and a comprehensive collection of rock star memorabilia — I was moved by framed outfits once worn by Jay-Z and Beyoncé, recalling a time when I waited on them both — the gleaming ode to music and hospitality was a reminder of the bigger, bolder side of New York.

Lunch found us at Sessions, the hotel’s indoor-outdoor all-day venue, where, on the petite outdoor patio, my mom and I sank into the late-day sun and enjoyed a quintessential New York al fresco afternoon, tucked between buildings, surrounded by greenery, and very much at home for the weekend.

My sister had traveled from Arkansas, my brother from Brooklyn, and all five of us convened for cocktails at RT60 Rooftop Bar & Lounge, where a table overlooking the city awaited us. Golden hour complete, we walked up to Lincoln Center, for a show-stopping meal at Tatiana by Kwame Onwuachi, one of the city’s most riveting restaurants.

As Amy Racine, the beverage director for JF Restaurants, poured glasses of André Mack’s Maison Noir Love Drunk Rosé, we ate through curried goat patties; head-on shrimp with creole butter and brioche; sauteed mushrooms with a scallion pancake, plum sauce, and pickled ginger; and the restaurant’s bodega-inspired dessert, featuring a brownie meant to recall the famed Little Debbie cosmic classic.

Falling out onto the courtyard of Lincoln Center afterwards, we watched New York unfold: lovers sitting near a backlit fountain, a parade of people exiting the opera, the lights of the theater aglow.

Was our trip an exploration in eating? It was not. The next day, we headed, first, to the newly refurbished American Museum of Natural History, a place where my mother and I had spent many hours during my childhood.

The gem room, once covered in nearly threadbare black felt, was renovated in 2021; the new Allison and Roberto Mignone Halls of Gems and Minerals features incomparable specimens, like the Sterling Hill Slab, a magnificent piece of rock mined in Ogdensburg, New Jersey, filled with 90 different fluorescent minerals, and the 240-diamond piece Butterfly of Peace, made from every variety of colored diamond in existence.

Food, of course, never left our minds, not even at the museum. From the Upper West Side, we transitioned seamlessly to lunch on the Upper East, at Mission Ceviche, a restaurant led by co-owners chef Jose Luis Chavez and Brice Mastroluca. Showcasing the complex flavors of Peru, Mission Ceviche offered up its best and brightest to us on a rainy afternoon: yellowfin tuna with avocado and black tapioca tostadas; hearts of palm with bright green nasturtium; and a clean and bright ceviche made with a Peruvian marinade called tiger’s milk.

The main event, though, was dinner. The hardest reservation to get in New York? Without question, it was a table at Torrisi Bar & Restaurant, the old-school spot housed in the Puck Building downtown. With chef Rich Torrisi at the helm, the Major Food Group spot had been hot from the start, and even hotter since food critic Pete Wells had awarded the spot three stars in late February. An 8 p.m. reservation for four on a Saturday night in mid-April? It was the holy grail.

Waiters dance around in black ties, happy to guide the dining experience. Ours steered us toward the magnificent Italian and American hams with zeppole, which came, too, with a sweet and zesty pineapple zeppole. Chopped liver with Manischewitz sounded less sophisticated than what arrived: a smooth, foie gras-like pâté topped with a grape gelée. The hand-made penne was bathed in butter and ramps, just coming into season, but who could ignore the pillowy, perfect tortellini pomodoro? And then, naturally, a double entendre for one of our entrées, the duck a la Mulberry, with mulberries, crisp breast, a black-fruited sauce, perfect and retro and expertly executed.

Of the desserts we sampled, the affogato was certainly the most charming. Served in a giant coupe glass, it’s a play on the traditional version, in which hot espresso is poured over vanilla gelato. In this iteration, vanilla ice cream sits below espresso granita, mascarpone mousse, and hot fudge. It’s the iconic dessert, in American sundae form, and it was, birthday candle burning bright, the perfect sweet finish to our weekend of celebration for a milestone birthday.