New Year's Eve at Hart's
Champagne, fryer duty, pigs in a blanket, midnight Prince, & giving myself January
Happy New Year, dear ones!
It’s a clear, blue-skied day in Brooklyn, and I’m in bed, enjoying the light entering through my windows. My eyes are heavy and my body sore, and I’m grateful to be horizontal. Yesterday (New Year’s Eve) was my last day working at Hart’s, and it was a doozy; I left my apartment at 12:30 pm and didn’t return until 2 am, having grabbed a celebratory drink with coworkers post-shift. When I got home, I melted into my bed, grateful for a night of Champagne, hugs, and memories. Tired — so, so tired — and happy.
For New Year’s Eve, we went for a disco vibe at the restaurant, with shimmery silver tassels lining the pass, a big disco ball hanging from the ceiling, and glittery eyeshadow on all of our faces. Just before service, I watched from behind the pass as the front of house staff hustled to finish cleaning and beautifying the space. I’m still not over the magic of the last 30 minutes before service, when the dining room becomes romantic and the kitchen becomes ordered. The chaos of prep comes to a screeching halt, and we’re suddenly ready to welcome the public into our little restaurant.
We served a prix fixe menu, which streamlined the cooking process and eliminated any surprises. My favorite things on the menu were the frisée salad with mustard vinaigrette and paper-thin slices of Serrano ham, the breaded and fried oysters with horseradish, hot sauce, and piles of trout roe, and the braised beef shank with crispy, salty shoestring fries. The menu felt luxe and balanced at the same time — a tricky chord to strike. I mostly worked the fryer (Phoebe Fry on the fryer making fries), and by the end of the night, the scent of steaming fryer oil permeated my skin. We squeezed four people on the line, with me and Megan in the back corner, dancing and reaching around and above each other to get everything done. It would’ve felt claustrophobic had it not been for the absurdity of the situation, and the pleasure of churning out plates of gorgeous food in the tiniest, most crowded kitchen imaginable.
At midnight, we all stopped working to dance to “1999” by Prince, the song I requested to mark the new year. As a ‘99 baby, I’ve always liked the song, and I was crossing my fingers that the front of house would take my suggestion. Around that time, Nick (a Hart’s co-owner) brought over a huge silver platter of pigs in a blanket, which everyone freaked out over, and my coworkers surprised me with a handmade card signed by all of them. It was such a sweet way to end a year that’s been more challenging and rewarding than I could’ve possibly predicted.
And now it’s January, the month I’ve given myself as a gift. I’m grateful for the privilege to rest and recalibrate this month; the only work I’ll be doing is a bit of freelance writing to help me pay my last month — for now — of New York City rent. When I’m not enjoying my last month in my apartment, I plan to bop around the northeast and spend time with loved ones. I’d also like to get my nails done (because I can now), watch some Italian romantic comedies, and learn how to make tissue paper flowers. As Nico and Teo often tease me, “Those are very attainable goals, Phoebe.” What can I say? It doesn’t take much to keep me entertained.
Thank you so much for reading The Dish this year. In 2023, I plan to share regular updates from my Roman adventure, along with more bloggy content like the list of fun things I shared recently. I’d like for The Dish to become a hub for recommendations (both culinary and otherwise), and an expression of my interests beyond personal narrative. Please share my work to whomever you think might be interested by sending them this link! I have a good feeling about 2023.
Lots of love,
Phoebe
A wonderful read, as always Phoebe. Congrats on all your accomplishments this year. There are so many, both in and out of the kitchen!! Xx