Today was a day of wondrous tiny occurrences, the kind that happens when we are relaxed and open and looking around at the world, rather than rushing to get somewhere or get something done.
The leaves literally turned color while we slept: a blaze of oranges and reds shimmered against the clear blue sky. Walking down to catch the train, David and I noticed a patch of tall corn, some herbs and squash planted alongside the tracks: a touch of the farm in the middle of the city…
(We’re saving that story for Tuesday’s guest post.)
The subways were messed up and our Local train suddenly became an Express. We got cross and cranky, and took a taxi toward my apartment.
When I got out of the cab on Ninth Avenue, just 20 feet shy of where we were heading, I saw a tiny storefront I had never seen before. “David, look! A new restaurant.”
We ate stunningly good Basque food, like spicy French fries with a cod-roe mayo, and tiny peppers that had been blistered on a plancha… in a clever, cool-looking interior of reclaimed wood and concrete block, in a restaurant with a front that opened to the street in warm weather, like a garage door.
Were it not for the subways not doing what I expected them to – what they were supposed to do – and the cab driver stopping a little shy of where I’d planned, I never would have stumbled on Txikito, a miracle of effort and careful consideration and passion. And it turns out it was not new at all. It had been there nearly a year, right under my nose all along.