There’s nothing like a shot of two beautiful semi-foreign souls to purge oneself of a mid-January existential crisis. The Parisian love of my life is on her annual winter visit to Manhattan. Decked out in various fur garments (including an old-fashioned muff that most New Yorkers have only read about in Tolstoy novels, and black fur boots that look like Park Avenue puppies), she is the only sensible companion for a New York snow. We became the Three Coucou Troubadours with the help of her equally internationally disposed friend, the Korean Captain of everything from Italian car design, to Egyptian desert meditation, to home-cooked Japanese “porridge” breakfast (an elegant “rice bowl” dish, with uni, seaweed, and root vegetables, that is just the thing for an eye-opening morning).

I am still waiting for my senior thesis inspiration to solidify itself, but until then, it’s nice to be in a quiet snow with two friends who live by the belief that type-A planning can kill the creative energy of life. With the proper company, any day can feel like a nautical getaway.

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