Living La Vida Cultivata? I Think Not.

That’s what a dear friend of mine suggested, after I gave her a peek into our journey to NYC for a media tour with journalists and editors. We found ourselves at Saveur’s First Annual Summer BBQ, living the good life, if even for those few hours. She thought I might have just passed from life, uncultivated, to something more upscale. But no. I was still the same old sweaty me, with shiny nose and limp hair in that NYC heat, hoping the sway of Pier 66 wouldn’t make me lose any of that just eaten strip steak slider with truffled robiola or any of those mojitos I was more than happy to imbibe under the circumstances. And my feet hurt, wearing my mother’s vintage golden goat-skin shoes through all those dirty streets and up the skinny stairs at the James Beard House and in and out of cabs and elevators and ugh. Cultivated life, indeed. I just hope my lipstick was on straight while I was there.