“There are things that death cannot touch. Paint… and memory… and love.†– Harry Potter and the Cursed Child
The cherry blossom motif of Central park continued in the lobby of the Roosevelt Hotel, where these Kwanzan beauties rose from an enormous bouquet. There were a few lilies as well, but this season is all about the cherries. As Andy and I finished our cocktails I realized that this was one of those happy highlights that I would remember as a hallmark of this trip. It’s not always in the fancy dinners or the big theatrical events – sometimes the best memories are of the quiet in-between times, such as sitting beside your husband in the middle of a bustling day that you’re lucky enough to have off from work, lazily taking in a visage of cherry blossoms and the visitors passing through a hotel lobby.
We walked a few more blocks back to our own accommodations at the glorious Muse, where we promptly put our feet up and slumbered until it was time for dinner at Lattanzi’s. Another Restaurant Row offering (conveniently on the same street as our hotel), it produced one of the best cuts of steak that Andy has had in recent and long-past memory. My veal was delicious as well, falling off the bone into a pool of deliciousness.
For Part 2 of ‘Harry Potter and the Cursed Child’ we knew enough not to rush to make the 6:30 requested arrival time, and by the time we strolled in at 7, there was no line and no waiting, and so sparse was the crowd that I wondered if everyone bothered to make it back for the second night.
We found the second night better than the first, and though I still contend that it would be better as one show, the second part flew by (at times quite literally), and I’m glad we got to see it with the original cast.
Afterward, we got in touch with Andy’s cousin Tyler, who met us at the Lamb’s Club, an old-school theater district hang-out for old-school folks like ourselves. We shut the place down (since it closed so early) and hopefully we’ll get to hang out with him again before he heads West.
Our Harry Potter trip had come to its late-night conclusion. Manhattan glowed all around us, but we were tired out from the day. Bed beckoned again. Who were we to refuse? We shall return in June to see Betty Buckley…
