Dating Option Number two

So Dating Option no 2. I left you with me getting tipsy at the Versace party. Only problem was that at 8pm I was due to meet D02. He had suggested PDT, but it's one of my locals, so plumped for Midtown as he worked there and I wld be at Barney’s.

His pick was the bar at Quality Meats. Controversial choice of venue to take a vegetarian (it's listed on my dating profile). For all he knew I cld have been a militant vegan - had he bothered to check. Turns out it's below his office. Nice of you to make a real effort there mate.

Still, I'm always interested to see inside restaurants, and this one is designed by AvroKo, New York's restaurant design mavens. Cool.

I called from Barney’s as arranged, giving myself five minutes to get to the bar. I didn't cover myself in glory by turning up a good ten minutes later: I was wearing four inch black patent heels, and a tight black leather pencil skirt so I wasn't moving fast, plus I took a few minutes to sit on a bench in the square outside The Plaza, surrounded by the lit up skyscrapers to have an, ‘Oh my God, I’m in New York’ moment. Yup. I was definitely quite tipsy. Late & tipsy. My bad.

First impressions: Propped against a pillar, suit, open shirt, nursing a straight shot of whisky, he actually looked like his photo, which is always a good start.

The date wasn’t exactly bad (like this one), & he was reasonably interesting but there no spark whatsoever. However, I’d sum it up as a long series of textbook how not to impress a girl moments. But then maybe he wasn’t trying to.

Took him five minutes to offer me a drink. I asked for water. He called me a cheap date. He spent the next ten minutes eyeballing my body. Must have scanned every inch, with particular, loving attention paid to my breasts.

My feet were killing me, so I suggested we sit. He ineffectually gazed around, so eventually I went off to find us a banquette. When he called the waitress over to order another a drink, he didn’t ask or offer me anything. I had to call her back.

We talked easily, but he was a bit shouty so I found it difficult to concentrate and my attention was wandering. I was suddenly sober, starving, & wondering when it would be polite to leave. As I was thinking greedily of a burrito on the way home, he suddenly said he was extremely hungry, & suggested supper. I had thought maybe he was uninterested/wanted to go home too, (the stunningly ineffectual behaviour), but obviously not. So, I think what the hell, might as well have some food here as anywhere. He calls for menus at the low bar table where we are sitting and, after staring at the carte he says, so expensive, but hey. And I’m thinking: you know the venue well, love. It can’t be a surprise to you.

Surprisingly, the menu is great for vegetarians. I mull over corn crème brûlé, cheese gnocchi and cipollini onions. He orders a $40 hunk of filet and I go for the mushroom pot pie from the $10 New Classics list, with a side of very good sautéed spinach. The mushroom filling is delicious, heavily enriched with cream, but the puff pastry lid is obviously pre-made and just attached for warming through. He hasn’t bothered to order any sides so eats half my food too.

When the check comes, I do the intention reach – the one where I lean for my handbag but don’t really expect him to take me up on it, (he chose a very expensive restaurant to meet in, suggested we eat there, and his share of the check was at least four times my own) when he comes up with a real winning statement, “Of course I’ll get this: unless you have an expense account too?”

Needless to say, there will be no second date.