I adore travel, though for me, it is typically relegated to the time in between. In between flips that is, this isn’t some premeditated plan to met out the world’s destinations as if they would run out if I allowed myself to just willy nilly, visit them whenever the thought occurred to me that I was ready for a little get away. The world is quite large enough for me to explore away. It is sadly, much less interesting, having to do with the boring topic of money. Tragic how many decisions are ruled by having it, not having it, the thought of losing it, or not using it wisely. When I am “with property” as some gal busting with baby might say, I stay close to home.
By the time I visit Cuba in January, my hope is that all the possible leaks intent on springing will have sprung, and I can travel without threat of another infiltration. I listened to an audio book, a Reese Book Club recommendation, if that lends any credibility to its pages, Next Year in Havana by Chanel Cleeton. The reason I bring it up is the narrator said Cuba in a way I’ve never heard before. It’s almost as if she replaced the “c” with a “g” and delivered it with a lazy, muddy, moody, low voice – you know the type, a long night of whiskey drinking and one too many cigarettes – – gooba – gooba—gooba. I listened to it said so many times, and yet I still don’t think I quite have it. Perhaps I will have mastered in by the time I reach its sun soaked shores.
I’m not quite sure if I owe my obsession with supper clubs to the tales of Cuba my grandmother used to tell, or Doris Day. Either way, the Tropicana may have been responsible for my love of restaurant design. Doesn’t the name make you smile? It’s fantastical Hollywood set drew me in and the production value, frankly has never gone down.
This week I saw restaurant interiors that knocked my socks off. From London to Hong Kong, and other glamorous places beyond, I gathered some of my very favorite things. Is it terrible to say, even as much as I love food, if the design is divine – I’m going.
