SOHO's Balthazar received mixed reviews from my friends. Some felt they took a snub for the quality of food not worthy of the wait. It's more a nostalgic ritual for me. While feasting on the buckwheat crepe and sipping cafe au lait, I reveled in my forgotten youth with a smile.
Then there's Dean&Deluca, a scrumptious rite of passage for Californian to become New Yorker. Numerous times I waited behind the glass doors and by the coffee counter for my friends and boyfriends where dreams and ambitions materialized as we loved and lived.
Only a city like NYC could afford the gallery-esque bookstore of Taschen. I was drowning in the ravishing drawings of William Blake and Heironymus Bosch. However, I had to admit, I am not a fan of the modern art. Flipping one's middle finger toward iconic architecture is making a political statement; it is not art.
The Parisian Laduree also found her another home in SOHO. My favorites never quite ventured far from La Vie en Rose… Ispahan and Saint Honore Rose Framboise, voila :) Weary travelers like us were outnumbered. Euro-Kardashians and Chinois-Kardashians flooded in the froufrou parlor, plunking down money and raising up for selfie.