Red galoshes, orange clogs, brown oars, and a little something yellow like the sun

Pouring rains and knee-deep water in the streets of New York couldn't keep us from the culinary adventure of our lives! (Sorry no recipes this time, just mouth-watering restaurant recommendations!)

Thursday night in New York City we sneaked into the last available table at Del Posto, a famous and uber-fancy Mario Batali restaurant that begs an outfit better than what I wore on the plane and a wallet thick with Benjamin's. Complete with perfect mixed drinks, a pedestal for my purse, enough place settings to feed a wedding party, a lemon slice tucked into a starched napkin to freshen our fingertips and melt-in-your-mouth chocolate truffles to take home in a gold box (the truffles made it 1/2 a block), Del Posto was a food experience where eating was only half of it. I've never imagined having someone visit my table to describe the entire menu in images and flavors (in case you're not a visual learner) and help you choose the best FIVE courses of your life. WOW.

Friday we found ourselves surrounded by friends in a giant squared-off booth at WD-50, a playful deconstructed take on the every day dishes of yesteryear. Let's just say the naked eye would have trouble figuring out that the "eggs benedict" contained eggs or hollandaise, but it was all there...just packaged differently. Not only a delightful meal, but also a never-ending conversation piece: each time the next course came all of our eyes lit up in anticipation of what steak and mashers or fried chicken would actually look like. And you may be thinking that is the end of this review, but no, guess who was sitting at the next table over?! No guesses? MARIO BATALI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I almost died, fell over, screamed (I did screech a little), and hyperventilated when I got up to use the ladies and found Mario just chillin' with his chef friends at the next table over. I could walk right by Justin Bieber without even knowing it was him or see a movie and never recall the title or the actors, but chefs, I can name them all! And let's just say the reservation we wanted at Babbo (Batali's Greenwich Village shrine to olive oil and perfectly prepared pasta) and couldn't get because of the month-long wait list was CALLED IN BY MARIO BATALI HIMSELF.

So at this point, I'm thinking, hands-down best weekend of my life, let's just pack up and fly home because it can't get any better than this.

HA!

Dan was adamant that rowing boats in Central Park was in our future. I love rowing in circles in green algae-overgrown lakes as much as the next girl, but the impending downpour forecast made me picture us bilge pumping our way out of a too-small for two people row boat with algae and lake creatures crawling up our legs. Saturday's weather held out and even taunted us with little tiny sun breaklets peaking through the thick cloud cover. After a peddi-cab ride through the park and a jolting shove off the dock, we rowed our silver metal boat around the lake spotting turtles and birds. And then it happened. Literally in the blink of an eye, one tick of a clock, one rain drop clearing the algae-ridden surface of the water, I became a FIANCEE.

And there you have it, I wore red galoshes all over the rainy streets of New York, Mario really does wear orange clogs, Dan rowed us around with brown oars to the most beautiful engagement ever, and today and forever I'll wear a yellow diamond.