OK, so maybe I've been to the Hamptons and eaten at Tavern on the Green within the past five weeks, but I'm not a rich man. I'm not living the high life. I'm not hangin' with Hef. I'm not kickin' it Bill Gates style.

It's � or it was � Restaurant Week in NYC, when many high-end eateries offer a limited menu for a fixed price of $30.03. At Tavern, it was a choice of three or four appetizers, entrees and dessert. Drinks, tax and tip were extra.

But first I had to get there.

Thrown off by a particularly hectic day at work during which my last half hour was frenetic as I tried to complete as much as my duties before handing over the reins to a co-worker, my mind was still reeling when I got to the City � despite a bus ride and a slowdown entering the Lincoln Tunnel that was just long enough for me to read an 18-page essay in The Best American Travel Writing 2001. Seriously, I opened the book when I sat down on the 158 and closed it as we pulled up the ramp into Port Authority. Wild.

Once I called information and asked where the restaurant was located � since I'd neglected to look it up beforehand � I descended into the subway to await an A or C train. For whatever reason, it didn't occur to me to click on the link Mia provided in her e-mail reminding us about tonight. Tavern on the Green, I was thinking, Central Park West, no problem. Except that Central Park runs from 59th to 110th streets.

Our reservation was for 8 o'clock and I was standing in the subway a little before 7:30, so I was in good shape. Until, in an embarrassing confusion regarding subway navigation, I managed to take what should have been a 15-minute journey from platform to coat check into a 40-minute adventure in socioeconomics.

I got on an A train at Port Authority and, once the doors had closed, looked up to discover I'd stepped on an express A train. The 72nd St. stop � the closest to Tavern's 67th and CPW address � isn't an express stop, so I had to disembark at 57th and await a local A, C, B or D train. Luckily, as I got off the A, a D was pulling into the station. As I jumped on, I noticed two things:

1. Some people were just standing on the platform, not boarding the train even though the doorway was clear. Not a problem, because that happens further downtown when someone in need of an A or C train stands motionless as an E idles on the tracks.

2. On the train, a quick look around the crowded car made it appear that I was the only white person on board. While every seat was taken, there were few standees, making me with my white skin, red hair and leather jacket somewhat conspicuous. I berated myself for being prejudice and stared back out the door at the platform as the conductor announced � surprisingly clearly, I might add � that we'd be waiting in the station for a few more moments.

Just as the doors closed, the conductor announced what I'd dreaded for a split second but didn't act on, owing to my disappointment that I'd let myself be influenced by prejudices I don't normally have: "This is an express train to 125th St. Next stop: 125th St."

With that, the doors came together, the brakes were released, and we were on our way to the Bronx.

I watched as the stops flashed by: 72nd St. ... 81st St. and the Museum of Natural History with its mosaics in the station ... 86th ... 9th ... 103rd ... 110th ... 116th ... until we slowed into the 125th St. station. There, I zipped up the steps and down the Downtown side and soon another orange train � a B or a D, I don't know which � arrived and I didn't care; I jumped on.

In an empty car save for a woman across from me and a man down near the other end doors, we stopped this time at all the previous stops until finally I stepped out at 72nd St. and walked up the steps onto 70th and Central Park West. Three blocks to the south I could see the bare trees outlined in white and blue Christmas lights and knew I wasn't far. Finally.

Mia called just as I neared 67th St. and I told her I'd be in the lobby in moments. While she returned to the bar with the other four who'd come along (Casey couldn't make it, and I'm embarrassed because it's my fault) I stood in the mosh pit for the coat check.

Checking your coat is required at Tavern on the Green "for your dining comfort," or some pretentious sign near the coat closet. Behind the counter, a man and two tiny women took tickets for those leaving and checked coats for those arriving. Two only requested those picking up coats to step forward, so the process, to say the least, was not efficient. I suppose they needed to get the place cleared out a bit, but there were an equal number of comers as there were goers.

The sign on the counter also lies. It indicates a $1 charge "per person." When I handed the woman my fleece vest and leather jacket � two seperate items, but I am clearly one person � she said, "two dollars." (OK, she really said, "Two dolla," but I'm not going to judge.) Fed up and hungry at the same time, I dug out another dollar and took my two tickets in return. I considered the other dollar the tip, and maybe she did too because I noticed she placed my vest and jacket on the same hanger.

I went up to the bar and soon the six of us went down to claim our table. We walked through a hall of mirrors � literally, it was � past the gift shop (the first time I've seen a restaurant without "Hard Rock" or "ESPN" in the name with a gift shop) and to the host table where we were soon seated. We were in the Crystal Room as everyone at work has and had been telling me is the place to be. Well, we were on the cusp of the Crystal Room. With the place popular enough as it is, they must need to accomodate extra patrons during Restaurant Week, so our table jutted out a bit into the walkway located between the Crystal Room and the adjacent Crystal Pavilion. (If you look on the floorplan, you'll see there's a bit of a space between the two. That's where we were. And the place didn't look as elegant as it does in the photos; I mean, it was packed, and dark out.)

But it was fine. The food was fine, the conversation was fine, the atmosphere was fine. With the glass walls of the Crystal Room, dozens of converstations bounced around the room and it was loud. Once it began to clear out around 10 p.m., it got cold. Probably because of all those glass windows. Yet, despite the weather, people were out on the courtyards, taking full advantage of their first, or perhaps 41st, night at the Tavern.

Knowing that photographs of celebrities can bring in some extra money, I've decided I'm taking my camera with me whenever I go into the City. But I didn't last night, figuring that even if any celebrities might visit Tavern on the Green, who would be out during Restaurant Week? They probably all eat in this week.

I ordered the Caesar salad, chicken picatta and chocolate cake for my meal and enjoyed it. It wasn't anything spectacular in the way of a dinner out, but it wasn't horrible. I was there for the ambiance, the experience. It was decent. I was on the 11:30 train back home and in bed by 12:15.

I'm outta here right at the stroke of 6 (or 6:11, as I was last night) again to make it to Madison Square Garden for the David Gray show tonight. To prepare, I've been listening to his four albums at work today and I've come up with this list of songs I want to hear tonight, in no particular order:

Caroline
Wisdom
Debauchery
Shine
Please Forgive Me
Freedom
White Ladder
Dead In The Water
A Century Ends
and Babylon, obviously

Now I need to find out what's up with Pottery Barn and the refund certificate they owe me.