Lunch on the Roof

A Lady who lunches should dine in style.

I know it's a phrase but in reality I DO enjoy my Wednesday lunches in New York. And why not? Most days my hubby comes back to the apartment to collect me and we head up to the roof to pass part of the midday together. Almost every week, without fail. I lunch; he dines with his mistress. (What harm is there in fantasy? :))

Usually I have made a quick trip to Zeytuna's deli beforehand to gather up some of our favorites: mozzarella and cherry tomato salad (spiced with garlic slices!), soybean salad, and/or orzo and bell pepper salads to share, and a tuna sandwich (with provolone cheese, a slice of tomato but hold the lettuce) for myself. When I'm too lazy or am late getting home from tennis, Dan will bring home an Indian lunch special instead. Once when a Russian friend joined us, she brought her own homemade asparagus soup. Whatever the cuisine we gather all the plastic take-out containers together, grab some paper napkins, real silverware, our giant thermal patio cups, and a Brita pitcher full of chilled water and head upstairs.

The Roof is its own special world. Peacefully floating above the city, at sky-level. Scattered with scantily clad, youthful sunbathers (tatooed or not) at certain times, and eerily deserted at others. Mostly peaceful but sometimes rowdy. A gathering spot for the building's tenants in their downtime. A public spot for private gatherings. Almost a park, except that it feels remote from the city when you're up there, as if you are looking down on New York from a suspended television camera, watching the scene but not part of it.

At times we have guests join us. It might be visiting couchsurfers, a friend or relatives in town for the day, or one of Dan's colleagues in "the bidness" (like the aforementioned Russian). We sit at the weathered cedar table overlooking the East River with our spread laid out before us, and while away the lunch hour.