Hamachi and horseradish by Julian Proujansky at Omar in NYC
Here’s how it happened. When my mom asked me what she could give me for my
50th birthday, I said "A Broadway show and a nice meal, just the two of us." The restaurant she chose was one of her faves,
Marea, but then she changed her mind—her pal Cynthia, with whom she was staying on the UN-traffic-clogged East Side, said we had, had, had to go to Omar’s—only open ten weeks. I hadn’t heard of it. Checked it out on
Urban Daddy—interesting but I hate clubs. I looked into the
namesake and thought, South American party boy—I don’t know, Ma. But she’d reserved it, even ordered a car for after the theater for the special occasion, so I didn't argue.
It’s in one of my favorite ...
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