Molly Wee And The Rangers

"I know this is last minute, but I got free tickets to tonight's Rangers game. Wanna go?" Donna asks via cellphone.

"Can I call you back in five minutes?"

I hang up with my fellow floosy and look at my calendar. I'm supposed to go to an infant CPR class tonight. I call Donna back in less than sixty seconds and accept her invite. Let's face it, a Rangers game with Donna sounds like so much more fun than sitting in a two hour class and learning how to save my ten-month-old son's life. Ok. I'm a bad mom. But, I'm also a tired mom who has been on five job interviews in three days. I could use a break from reality. And the free tickets work with my unemployed budget.

I meet Donna at The Molly Wee Pub and order a glass of Cabernet. For a mere $6.50 I experience a smooth and spicy glass of red, which warms me up against the slightly chilly evening air. Actually, it's the bar's air conditioners set on Siberia. Donna enjoys a goto vodka cran for the same price. She shares her annoying day with me and I share my equally annoying past three with her.

I explain to Donna, "The interviewer asked, 'What did Jenn (recrutier) tell you about the job?'"

"That it involves writing for a catalog."

"No it doesn't"

"It doesn't?" I swallow.

"No. It's to write a marketing proposal for a new beauty website."

"I can do that."

Needless to say, I didn't get the job.

We down our drinks and head to MSG. Before sitting we grab a potato knish, pretzel and two waters. The potato knish tastes like the amazing mashed potatoes I had at Telepan for last year's Thanksgiving meal. During the dinner, I was six days from my due date and terrified of going into labor early and missing out on dessert. I rest easy eating the knish, knowing the only thing I may birth is gas. The warm pretzel is standard but perfect as we dunk it in shots of mustard. Our seats come with waiter service. I tell the waitress I'll have a glass of the Cabernet. She asks, "A double?" I've never heard of a double Cabernet. I imagine being served a pitcher of cheap red wine. I tell the server, "A single." Donna goes for a single vodka cran. When I get my Cab, I'm relieved I only ordered the single. It's like drinking Rubitussin. MSG's sommelier should meet with Molly Wee's.

I extract from my purse a bag of Autumn mix comprised of candy and Indian corn plus pumpkins. It's our first of the season and it's delish. Sugar upon sugar mixed with bad red wine. Mmmm... I hope I don't puke later. The candy attracts the two guys behind us. We give them each handfuls. And they give us their dinner recommendation: the roast beef sandwich at the snack stand. We're too full from our knish and pretzel, but next time for sure.

The Rangers lose to Tampa. However, I feel like a winner having enjoyed a wonderfully, cheap night out with my buddy. And I managed not to puke.

Bar Blanc

I wore all black to Bar Blanc. Except for the patch of blanc skin blaring between tights and shoes. I'm pale. I wear sunscreen even when it's raining. Enough about my skin. It's time to discuss the skin of some animal I ingested.

Only four floosies were in attendance. Ann was away in France. Not a bad excuse.

Let me put my fork down for a minute to explain that The Fork Floosies formed two years ago as a group of five women who get together once a month to explore and experience New York City's restaurants. Each month one of us picks a spot to meet and eat.

Back to Bar Blanc. We kicked things off with a bottle of Lambrusco, which we thought was a sparkling red. Wrong. Sparkling white. This is not Bar Rojo. We ordered the special appetizer, duck pate, baby boston lettuce and hearts of palm salad, crispy sweatbreads salad and haricots verts with boquerones salad. I thought sweatbreads were brains. Seems like a sensible name for a vital part of the body. However they are thymus glands. I admit, I was scared to try brains or glands. I channeled my inner Bourdain and tasted. Sweatbreads are light and airy. I could eat a popcorn vat filled with em. I even went in for a second helping. Our appetizer course was quickly overtaken by Gail's story of her birthday dinner at Per Se. She's the first of us floosies to make it there. We were all so proud. And jealous.

We swallowed our envy along with our mains. We shared the summer vegetable risotto, crispy milk-fed "baby pig" porcelet and the roasted free range duck breast. My fav was the granny smith apple green risotto.

In between our entree and dessert, Donna and I visited the ladies room and discovered a few ladies snorting Bolivian marching powder. Maybe that's how the place gets its name.

During the mains, I spat an inedible bite of porcelet into my napkin. Upon returning to the table, I found the waiter shaking and then refolding my napkin. The chewed up hunk of food fell out of the cloth and landed on my seat. The waiter picked it up with his bare hands. He deserves a raise for subjecting himself to my DNA and mouth bacteria.

We ended the evening with marinated strawberries, a chocolate raspberry cake with a fancy name that isn't coming to mind and squash blossoms filled with (I think) marscapone cheese. But, I can't really remember what they were filled with it. They were good. And that's what matters.

Would I return to Bar Blanc? Considering all the other eateries yet to visit, probably not. The food wasn't amazing. It wasn't bad. It was fine. What I really ate up was the company and decor.

So, nice pick Jessica. Donna, you're up next.