Meet You in Hell!

Jennie and I visited the Renoir exhibit at the Frick Museum.  I got scolded by a nasty security lady for brushing my hand against one of the antique fainting chair.  And then as if to emphasize the scolding she snorted as she passed me.

But I should not have started the Frick review on such a negative path.  It was wonderful.  The building is an architectural wonder.  The paintings (and sculptures, but I could give two shits about the sculptures) all fit together.  Frick liked paintings that told a story, that had personal emotion.  You see more happy scenes than other museums who have room after room of John the Baptist getting his head cut off (Jen loves these, of course).

But the best part of the Frick story is the feud with the Carnegie family.  The tour talks about Frick the collector.  It emphasizes his personal touch in creating a beautiful museum.  Then it casually hints that he and the Carnegie's had a falling out over their steel empires.

But when you go to the gift shop the first book you see is about the feud, title "Meet You in Hell".  Seriously, "Meet You in Hell"?  I love that and am jealous that I've never had that much emotional distain for someone to recite these words.  It's on my bucket list.

Even after my "Sir!  Don't touch the furniture!" lecture, we broke the rules again by taking a photo in the Frick.  We're like the couple in Natural Born Killers, totally rebellious.

But then again, not so rebellious that we don't appreciate a French macaron.

We were walking down Park Avenue after the Frick and saw a long line of people in what looked to be a cookie shop.  We got in line.  We had no idea what they were selling but we had time to kill.

Turns out this shop, Laduree, is famous for it's macarons.  We bought four.  It may have been the best thing we ate all weekend (and we ate well).

Speaking of eating well, we found Lupa in Greenwich Village.  One of our better meals this weekend.

No Rickman today, but another great day in the city.