Was it only last Saturday that I flew home on Virgin Atlantic fortified by Le Latin Fizz, champagne and South American citrus? Want to spend a lot of money? Want to die poor? Fly Virgin Atlantic Upper Class. When you arrive at the airport you’re ushered to a private section, usually an elevator ride to another floor. At Heathrow the Virgin Atlantic Club resembled a swanky scene from a James Bond movie. Enough of this bragging. Arriving at JFK was a wake up call. We returned to the homeland with a jolt. Were the supervisors who run the entry experience trained at Rikers? Round and round we went in circles until one of the employees shouted stop. Okay, I’ll stop.
The next night was the first Frick concert. It’s a harbinger of autumn, a delicious season in NYC. The Brazilian Guitar Quartet played, among others, Albania, de Falla, Villa-Lobos.
Off to Granville, New York, on the N. Y. – Vermont border to spend time with lovely friends. They live part time in an 1880s house built by a great-grandfather. We travelled around the area and had fun trying new
restaurants such as The Good Beet in Greenwich. That’s pronounced Green Witch and it’s worth the trip alone for the brisket. North of Granville is Rathbun’s , an old favorite for delicious food (buttermilk pancakes, bacon, sausage, biscuits and gravy) and cardiac arrest. In between eating we travelled the Vermont backroads where autumn is in full swing. Calendar perfect views were everywhere. We went to Roy Egg to say hello to an old pal, Leroy, who is obsessed with chickens and eggs.