WHEN I FIRST heard about this Charles character, he sounded like a dick. There was plenty of hullabaloo about him having no phone number, the sign hanging outside advertising the restaurant that used to live in his space and all sorts of nonsense that made me figure if someone was going to work so hard to keep me from seeing him, perhaps I shouldn’t. And so for a while I didn’t.

I ADMIT, I seldom meet a dirty martini I dont like.Yet never have I sipped one so savory and smootha blend of Russian Standard Platinum vodka and what must be the most luscious olives on Earththat I wanted to haul myself off the velvet banquet on which I was lounging and kiss the bartender.

YOU CAN CHUCK them in your mouth or put them in water, but if anyone vomits,” the cute Chinese event coordinator chirped, pointing to trashcans lined with I HEART NEW YORK bags, “they’re disqualified. Anyone have any questions?” Just one: Why did I enter Chef One’s sixth annual dumpling-eating contest? Answer: A little bit of hubris, a lot of jet lag and, naturally, no common sense.

ON A RECENT Friday night on Second Avenue, I watched as young people strolled by, couples came tumbling out of bars and the well dressed and nightclub-bound were hopping into cabs. This wouldn’t be surprising, of course, except that I was between E. 77th and E. 78th streets—miles from anywhere that I would expect to see people who looked like they knew how to have fun.

THE EASIEST QUESTION anyone will ask you at Park Slope sandwich shop Reis 100 is, “wheat or white?” Other then that, you’re stuck with more complicated choices involving pastrami, bacon, prosciutto, Nutella, duck paté, chicken, smoked salmon, anchovies, olive tapenade, gruyere cheese, egg salad, tuna, kimchee and/or mushrooms. Just to name a few.