WOOLFE, Nathaniel R.D.

[Deleted]

SO WE ALL GO BACK TO YOURS AND SIT YOU AND TALK TO ME ON THE FLOOR
THERE'S NO NEED TO SHOW ME ROUND BABY, I FEEL LIKE I'VE BEEN HERE BEFORE
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FULL NAME: Nathaniel Robert Dominic Woolfe.
NICKNAMES: Nate.
AGE: 25.
BIRTHDAY: 28-09-1988.
CURRENT CITY: NYC, New York.
HOMETOWN: Hartford, Connecticut.
EDUCATION: Dartmouth College, majored in Economics.
OCCUPATION: Investment Analyst, Goldman Sachs.

FACEBOOK NAME: Nathaniel Woolfe
TWITTER HANDLE: NateWoolfe
INSTAGRAM: NateRDWoolfe

FATHER: Robert Woolfe, senator.
MOTHER: Violet Woolfe, philanthropist.
SIBLINGS: Maggie Woolfe, 21, student.
EXTENDED: N/A.
PETS: N/A.

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If Page 6 is your thing, Nate Woolfe probably lives somewhere near and dear to your heart. At just 25 Nate has made a name for himself within the world of investment banking, and he eats -- and especially drinks -- with the best of 'em. With everything from speakeasies to Cronuts, Nate shares his diet with us below. Friday, 3rd January I start my day as I always do, with a nespresso at home before an espresso on the way in to work, usually from the Stumptown near my office. Today is a Stumpdown day, but then every Friday is. When I get to my desk there's a 'Green Stuff' juice from Green Symphony stood faithfully waiting for me, picked up by my assistant on her way in. I don't know how much my fiancee has bribed her to do this every morning. Still I swallow it down, envying rabbits for at least getting their greens whole... it's not really that bad. Lunch is with some of the guys from accounts, and since it's Friday we slip out to Trinity Place. No big surprise that a bunch of bankers are comfortable sitting in a converted bank vault. I go for the Lobster BLT, my usual, and wash it down with two Bitter & Twisted Blondes, ignoring obvious comparisons to ex girlfriends. Because I'm drunk or because it's Friday or because I'm a greedy fucker, I eat some of their cured salmon at the bar even after eating my meal and half of somebody else's. As always, everything is really good and we stagger back to the office all the wider. I meet my fiancee for dinner after work, and we go to RedFarm because I like Chinese and Seven likes not having to be in Chinatown to eat it. We go to the Hudson one and despite eating like a man on death row at lunch, I get a little carried away and order the pork belly and the stuffed jalapeno for starters, then practically all the dim sum off the menu. No regrets, it was perfect. Maybe I was still drunk. In any case, the crispy duck and crab dumplings were probably the best thing I've ever put in my mouth. I'd live off those. Because we alternate Friday nights and it's her turn, we meet with her friends instead of mine and go to PDT. I have that drink with the bacon infused whisky and popcorn stuff and it's as good as ever. Seven doesn't let me order a Chang hotdog. Saturday, 4th January Holy fuck, I woke up with a food baby! Thank fuck I didn't have that hotdog after all. After my customary nespresso I hit the gym, so I'm starving by the time I'm finished. Seven's up and about so we go for brunch at Sarabeth's. I get the French toast - it really is the best in town - and try to resist the temptation to wave it in her face as she tucks into her chia whatever. They're both good, but I clearly win. Not that it's a competition (but if it is, I'm seriously winning). We had to rush to our cake tasting at Momofuku Milk Bar, where I sat and ate a ton of cake and nodded along with everything said. I was pretty into the Birthday flavor, and the pretzel was fucking unreal, but Seven wasn't that impressed. Am I talking about Seven too much? You'll probably notice a running theme here, and that theme is 'Nate's picky wife-to-be stops Nate from becoming a one-man obesity crisis'. I should be more grateful. After late breakfast and all that cake I'm not hungry, so when I go to Attaboy later on I'm drinking on a light stomach and it's as good an idea as it sounds. They don't have a menu, but what I had was something bourbon heavy and honeyed and completely fucking flawless. Sunday, 5th January I'm feeling the honey bourbon blues the next morning, so I get up and go for a jog. When I get back there's another green juice faithfully waiting for me, and for once I'm grateful for it, for something that isn't poisoning me. I don't know what was in it but there was definitely celery and ginger, and probably a shit ton of kale. There's always a shit ton of kale in our place. I'm still feeling like a component of the Grim Reaper's shit at lunchtime, so I go to my favorite hangover spot: the Cardinal on East 4th Street. My hangover lifesaver is fried chicken biscuit and today it's no let down, hitting exactly the spot. I also order a beet salad, but after Snapchatting a picture of it to You-Know-Who I'll admit I only picked at it. Finally feeling human I meet my friend Aggy for a drink at The Tippler, downstairs at Chelsea Market. She loves the market but I hate it, though this bar is blissfully devoid of tourists and stocked to the brim. I drink the Christmas Ale because I'm a man who likes to live in the very-near past. She has a gin cocktail that tastes a bit like a supermodel's mouth on a night out-- she agrees with this tasting note, for the record. By the time I get home I've somehow managed to be vaguely drunk again, and I'll blame the BBQ Domino's I ordered on that fact. Monday, 6th January Back to the grind, which means back to nespresso and Stumptown followed by that miraculous green juice. Except wait, today is exciting! If you don't hate me yet you'll definitely hate me now - the beautiful angel I call my assistant has lined up all morning, and she's brought in Cronuts. Actual cronuts. She and some interns have brought in enough for a few of us, and we all Instagram this miracle before we tuck in. The flavor is peanut butter, rum and caramel, and I'm never eating anything again because it won't compare. I lied. It's lunchtime, and I'm eating a salad at my desk. It was delivered by the demoness herself and it's pure health, lots of quinoa and kale and lime and nothing at all I want to eat. I receive this as a reprimand for the weekend's bad habits. My mom's the lucky guest for tonight's dinner, and it took literal weeks of convincing for her to agree not to go to Daniel. Again. For the billionth time. Instead we go to Battersby and it's every bit as good as you've heard. I have the watermelon to start, the veal sweetbreads for main, and this cheesy, nutty chicken dish for thirds. It was fucking great. Even my mom, deeply unimpressed with the decor and clinetele, couldn't help but enjoy her Zucchini Ravioli. Believe me, she tried not to. She tried. We share a bottle of red and that's alright too-- I don't test her by ordering beer. When I get home I'm gagging for something sweet, and thankfully there's some cake samples in the refrigerator. Getting married has some perks. Tuesday, 7th January Usual morning routine, nespresso, Stumptown, green juice. Lunch is another one eaten in a rush during a department meeting, ordered in from Republic. It's actually really good, but I've got to present so I only eat a couple chicken skewers and some friend wontons. I'm a sucker for fried wantons. To celebrate not being in that meeting any more, I meet my best buddy Luke for drinks at his bar. He's got a good selection of craft beers going and I have a sour stout called 'Tart of Darkness' and way too many french fries. The beer is ridiculously good, probably the best thing I've had since the Cronut though that was only yesterday. When I get home Seven's picked up these hemp seed burgers and seasame salads from One Lucky Duck. It's pretty obvious that the wedding fast has begun, and that I'm expected to partake... except I also learn that she's stopped by BKLYN Larder and picked me up some apple flavored salt water taffy. She does love me after all. I eat all that and wash it down with another beer, Thornbridge Jaipur this time. I sleep like a baby. Wednesday, 8th January Guess what I have for breakfast. Go on, guess. It's my last day and I realize now that it's all on paper that I eat like I'm about to be stuck on a desert island any minute and need to make the most of it. Still, I'm in Koreatown so I inevitably end up at New Wonjo, where I have my favorite dish of all time: Galbijjim. It's got short rib and it's spicy and salty and sweet and there's nothing in the world better. For dinner I'm meeting Aggy and my sister Maggie, we'll be going to Underballs at the Meatball Shop. Nothing's gonna stop me ordering more meatballs than one man should eat, not with that much good beer on offer.

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You wanna know the truth about how Sev and I started out? She was seeing a friend of mine. We were sat in this little bar downtown - my date's choice - when my friend Tristan walks in with her. I was floored. I was fucking livid. I looked at my date, then his, then him, then me... it didn't add up.

As soon as Tristan got up to go to the bar and I suggested my date followed to lend a hand, I leaned over and whispered in her ear. I'm not gonna tell you what I said, she can if she wants, but clearly it worked because, hey, here we are. My date (I'd use her name if I remembered it, sorry) eventually left in a huff because she felt like she was being ignored, and Tristan was shooting me these dark glares all evening whenever Seven would laugh at my jokes or I'd compliment her. They split a couple days later.

You're gonna think I'm a grade A retard now, 'cause I had no idea who she was. I don't read Vogue. I don't read tabloid gossip. In fact, the way I found out about Seven's past was through my mom, who just about broke a champagne flute she was clutching it that hard when I told her. I won't lie to you, when they first met and my mom took me aside to tell me in no uncertain terms how classless Seven was, I think that's when I first realized I loved her.

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5 things I don't feel guilty about

i. buying the engagement ring my ex said she wanted.
ii. telling my mom I was proposing before anyone else.
iii. the amount I eat.
iv. the amount I drink.
v. my job.

4 things I feel guilty about

i. starving African orphans.
ii. my sister walking in on me having sex.
iii. not having enough cash on me to tip big.
iv. kissing my assistant on NYE.

3 people on my recently called list

i. Isabella, my PA.
ii. Seven.
iii. Aggy.

2 realities I fear most

i. death.
ii. taxes.

1 solace

i. Sunday brunch with S.

the best sex you've ever had

Back when Seven and I were only gossip and I hadn't asked her out yet, my ex caught wind of it and showed up at my door in lingerie and a trench coat. That cliche never dies. She was livid, hated me, hated Seven and hated that I might be fucking her... she was just so angry and jealous, she was this force of pure sexual energy. She'd never been that good when we were together or we probably still would be. She put everything into it, lost all the cravings for tenderness she used to have, literally just wanted my dick. It was a beautiful moment.

the most desperate thing you've done for love

Proposed to a 23 year old serial divorcee.

one love or many loves

One love, many fucks. At least I used to figure.

an occasion where you've given flowers

I had some delivered to Isabella on New Years day, part as a thank you for the hard work she does - believe me, she's more a babysitter than a PA - and part to say sorry for kissing her the night before. It probably made things more awkward than less though, since she displayed them with intentional prominence at the end of her desk I can see from my office door. She's been a little weird since.

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ALIAS: lex.
AGE: 22.
PLAY-BY: sam.
MEMBER GROUP: new york.
INSPIRATION: daniel grayson and lexa, obvzzz!