BOULEY’S STUDIO: After a long day’s walk, I happened upon Bouley’s Studio.  A compact place located at 130 West Broadway, New York, NY  10013.  The Studio serves pastries, burgers, sandwiches, desserts, and beverages.  I bought a sizable oatmeal cookie and a coffee.  The amiable gentlemen at the cashier totaled my purchase at $3.35.  I saw no space for seating, but asked anyway, “Is there seating available?”

“Yes,” he said.  “Upstairs.”

“Upstairs,” I replied.  “Where?”

“Right—behind you,” he pointed.  “Keep walking and you will see the stair case.”

“That’s great,” I then uttered.  “What’s your name?”

“Jacques—like Jacques Cousteau.”   He waved and smiled.

“Thank you, Jacques.”  I wandered and found a much larger area compared to the small-sized studio below.  The room–black tables, side chairs, wide windows, and an open kitchen—was spacious.  I was the only customer on a Wednesday afternoon.  There was one other person, a hearty chef cooking.  Four tables held: platters of chicken, salad, soup, potatoes, and bread.  As I snuggled into my seat, the atmosphere changed.  One by one: men and women glided into the space, grabbed their plates, and found a chair.

They were the staff of the Bouley’s restaurant at 163 Duane Street.  While I was engaged in my scrumptious cookie and rich coffee, I observed their quiet way.  I thought to myself, “Do they ever run out of food?  And if they do—everyone is so calm—would it even matter?”

On my right sat a young man.  He spread butter on his baguette.  I asked, “Are you all on your dinner break?”

“Yes,” he said.  “It’s our family meal.”

“Family meal—how lovely,” I echoed.

Moments later, I asked another question.  “What is your name?”

“Christopher.”

“Thank you,” I said.

When I finished my oatmeal delight, I left the Studio.  I walked to the IRT subway station, and reflected: “I, too, have just experienced a lovely family meal.”

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