Friday was cold and bleak roundabout Exit 151, so DH and I made a Friday Munchies plan. After work we (perhaps unwisely) went to MOMA to see the Edvard Munch exhibit, then had dinner out.
Talk about cold and bleak. And that's just the docents, who looked about as bilious as the paintings every time some naïf mispronounced the artist's family name (it's something like munk). It's probably a good thing we kept the name of our plan to ourselves. As for the paintings, woodcuts, and sketches, there's something oddly... self-indulgent?... melodramatic?... adolescent? about Munch's use of strong primary colors and stark architectural lines to express internal anxieties. In your face anomie. I'm repressed, dammit! Adding to the bizarrerie was the strong scent of brown gravy wafting through the galleries from the new museum restaurants. I sure hope the overall unappealing sensory effect wasn't intentional, but the absurd possibility cannot be overlooked.
Happily, dinner was an unqualified hit. We went to Pigalle and pigged out on tasty southwestern French cuisine. DH had seafood in tomato-fennel broth and I had cassoulet (Castelnaudary-style, with breadcrumbs). Amazing to relate, especially given the restaurant's theater district location, service was unrushed and attentive. Plus the restaurant postcard shows a woman on a bicycle (strikingly, using the same bold tricolor palette as Munch, but to rather different effect), which of course got my attention. Definitely worth a return visit.
Oh, and I squeezed in a quick yarn crawl, too, and now am swatching for crazy socks for my Sockapaloooza pal.
Currently it's Koigu v. Sockotta. I'm leaning toward Koigu at the moment, but with warmer weather approaching, Sockotta may be the more practical choice. Hm, decisions, decisions.