The most touristy thing I've managed to do during my time in New York City so far is a ferry ride to Staten Island. There isn't much to do in Staten Island that I noticed. So, I basically got on the ferry, took some pictures of the Statue of Liberty, fought my way around tourists and their progeny, got off the ferry and was herded back like cattle onto another ferry.
No, I didn't hear Carly Simon's them from the Working Girl soundtrack in my head. I just heard a bunch of screaming brats and German tourists trying to get the best shot.
I thought that I would just make my way up to Times Square and see what Broadway was offering in the cheap ticket arena. I didn't make it that far. Instead, I ended up getting lost around the Financial District.
But I was on a mission.
My trusty guidebook - the one who's fold-up subway map got me incredibly lost underground on my way to the Upper West Side from JFK - told me that I was quite near John Street where I would find Les Halles. According to my guidebook it's the restaurant where famous chef "Anthony Bardaine" got his start. I was appalled. Who the hell edited this book? This is, after all, the book that gave me a list of neighborhood walks that include stopping at Starbucks for a relaxing cup of coffee. (There must be nearly 300 on the island of Manhattan - 20 of them right around the corner to the flat I'm staying at.)
But this is truly appalling. Shocking. How can someone misspell a famous writer's name. Bourdain, for crying out loud! What next, they're going to suggest that it's fashionable to wear a hair scrunchie in public?
This would have been fine except for the fact that I was wearing four-inch espadrilles that cut into my pinkie toe. This apparently makes me an easier target for being hollered at. Yet, somehow they're a bit classier here in NYC than in Oaktown. Here they actually look at you once (not twice) and then make eye contact and smile before shouting out: "Hey, beautiful!"
I ended up somewhere around Wall Street and remembered that my father had warned me to stay away from the street. "Crazy economic times!" Nothing much was happening. So, I just took pictures and kept walking eventually coming to a subway station.
After wandering up John Street I finally found Les Halles. It was already 3:30 pm, way past the lunch crowd. But, I'm still on Pacific Standard Time, so it was lunch for me. The lunch specials are $13 and up. And I've noticed that unless you're going to Subway Sanwiches, every restaurant in Manhattan starts at that price. I think it's a small price to pay for a really good meal with tons of food. They serve enormous portions everywhere I've been to. I had the French dip. I believe even my dad would approve my trek through Wall Street for this.
I never made it to Times Square - and wouldn't mind if I didn't make it there at all this trip since I stayed there last time. I claimed my seat on the 1 train and didn't get off until West 79th Street and Broadway right in front of Zabar's. Ah, Zabar's. Nosh heaven. I ended up going to their little cafe earlier in the day for a $2 ham and cheese croissant after learning the H&H Bagels across the street didn't put schmere on their bagels. GET OUT! I had also purchased a bottle of Poland Spring water in the cash only line. Hehe. Cash only - as in "You've Got Mail".
That evening after sitting on my friends stoop enjoying my latte from World Coffee down on West 80th and Columbus, we had made plans to grab dinner at CraftBar in the Union Square area with my two girlfriends from back home. Top Chef host, Tom Colicchio has like four restaurants within blocks of each other. Craft is the haute cuisine one and Craftbar is less expensive, by NY standards, I guess. I don't especially think that paying $17 for 3 salty ravioli is affordable.
We all walked back down to Union Square. I had hung out there the day before sipping my Venti Ice Tea Lemonade from Starbucks (yes, I know, I succumbed)and enjoying the warm 80-degree weather. I thought there would be a farmer's market, but instead there was live music and a bunch of people sitting and enjoying the city.
People in New York enjoy their parks. I love that. They sit outside on warm days and nights listening to street performers play jazz or drums, or whatever it is they're doing.
And then it started to rain. So, like sewer rats we scurried down to the subway, which is a good thing because when it rains the city smells like garbage and piss. We got on a crowded train that kept stalling. Switched lines a couple more times. By 1:30 a.m. I'd had it. My feet hurt, I had the stench of piss in my nostrils, I was wet and sweaty at the same time. And some homeless jerk called my friend a "white bitch". I'm pretty sure I shouted: I HATE NEW YORK! at this point and said fuck it, we're grabbing a cab.
Grabbing a cab in NY, I've noticed, is hit or miss. You can get a really nice and decent cabbie, or a bastard that tries to overcharge you. I have to say that I didn't exactly know the proper way to hail a cab until a couple of Boricuans in East Harlem taught me how.
I'm glad I had a chance to have some NY style pizza at Big Nick's Pizza and Burgers on Broadway on the Upper West Side after helping one of my friends move from Spanish Harlem to West 80th. Then we all headed up to West 82nd for some Yolato! Gelato.
Sunday was what I like to think is a typical NY day. Although, I'm pretty sure it's not. Nevertheless, we woke up at noon and headed to brunch at Nice Matin two blocks down on Amsterdam and West 79th. There's nothing like having brunch at 3pm and waiting out the morning rush. The Salmon Benedict was delicious. I remember asking my friend if this was the sort of place one might see celebrities. And much to my surprise as we were sipping the rest of our coffee, I noticed an older gentleman sitting by himself in the corner. Sorvino? Paul Sorvino? The guy that was on Law and Order and Goodfellas. Mira's dad.
Ok, so, I'm not sure if it was him, but who cares. As far as my friends and I know it was Paul Sorvino. I had my NY celebrity moment. I'm still hoping to see more since the Tribeca Film Festival is happening right now. I'd be happy just seeing DeNiro. That would rock.
I think we're heading out to Fairway Market soon, so I'll continue this later.
Until then . . . I have left my heart in San Francisco but I still Hella Heart Oakland.
No, I didn't hear Carly Simon's them from the Working Girl soundtrack in my head. I just heard a bunch of screaming brats and German tourists trying to get the best shot.
I thought that I would just make my way up to Times Square and see what Broadway was offering in the cheap ticket arena. I didn't make it that far. Instead, I ended up getting lost around the Financial District.
But I was on a mission.
My trusty guidebook - the one who's fold-up subway map got me incredibly lost underground on my way to the Upper West Side from JFK - told me that I was quite near John Street where I would find Les Halles. According to my guidebook it's the restaurant where famous chef "Anthony Bardaine" got his start. I was appalled. Who the hell edited this book? This is, after all, the book that gave me a list of neighborhood walks that include stopping at Starbucks for a relaxing cup of coffee. (There must be nearly 300 on the island of Manhattan - 20 of them right around the corner to the flat I'm staying at.)
But this is truly appalling. Shocking. How can someone misspell a famous writer's name. Bourdain, for crying out loud! What next, they're going to suggest that it's fashionable to wear a hair scrunchie in public?
This would have been fine except for the fact that I was wearing four-inch espadrilles that cut into my pinkie toe. This apparently makes me an easier target for being hollered at. Yet, somehow they're a bit classier here in NYC than in Oaktown. Here they actually look at you once (not twice) and then make eye contact and smile before shouting out: "Hey, beautiful!"
I ended up somewhere around Wall Street and remembered that my father had warned me to stay away from the street. "Crazy economic times!" Nothing much was happening. So, I just took pictures and kept walking eventually coming to a subway station.
After wandering up John Street I finally found Les Halles. It was already 3:30 pm, way past the lunch crowd. But, I'm still on Pacific Standard Time, so it was lunch for me. The lunch specials are $13 and up. And I've noticed that unless you're going to Subway Sanwiches, every restaurant in Manhattan starts at that price. I think it's a small price to pay for a really good meal with tons of food. They serve enormous portions everywhere I've been to. I had the French dip. I believe even my dad would approve my trek through Wall Street for this.
I never made it to Times Square - and wouldn't mind if I didn't make it there at all this trip since I stayed there last time. I claimed my seat on the 1 train and didn't get off until West 79th Street and Broadway right in front of Zabar's. Ah, Zabar's. Nosh heaven. I ended up going to their little cafe earlier in the day for a $2 ham and cheese croissant after learning the H&H Bagels across the street didn't put schmere on their bagels. GET OUT! I had also purchased a bottle of Poland Spring water in the cash only line. Hehe. Cash only - as in "You've Got Mail".
That evening after sitting on my friends stoop enjoying my latte from World Coffee down on West 80th and Columbus, we had made plans to grab dinner at CraftBar in the Union Square area with my two girlfriends from back home. Top Chef host, Tom Colicchio has like four restaurants within blocks of each other. Craft is the haute cuisine one and Craftbar is less expensive, by NY standards, I guess. I don't especially think that paying $17 for 3 salty ravioli is affordable.
We all walked back down to Union Square. I had hung out there the day before sipping my Venti Ice Tea Lemonade from Starbucks (yes, I know, I succumbed)and enjoying the warm 80-degree weather. I thought there would be a farmer's market, but instead there was live music and a bunch of people sitting and enjoying the city.
People in New York enjoy their parks. I love that. They sit outside on warm days and nights listening to street performers play jazz or drums, or whatever it is they're doing.
And then it started to rain. So, like sewer rats we scurried down to the subway, which is a good thing because when it rains the city smells like garbage and piss. We got on a crowded train that kept stalling. Switched lines a couple more times. By 1:30 a.m. I'd had it. My feet hurt, I had the stench of piss in my nostrils, I was wet and sweaty at the same time. And some homeless jerk called my friend a "white bitch". I'm pretty sure I shouted: I HATE NEW YORK! at this point and said fuck it, we're grabbing a cab.
Grabbing a cab in NY, I've noticed, is hit or miss. You can get a really nice and decent cabbie, or a bastard that tries to overcharge you. I have to say that I didn't exactly know the proper way to hail a cab until a couple of Boricuans in East Harlem taught me how.
I'm glad I had a chance to have some NY style pizza at Big Nick's Pizza and Burgers on Broadway on the Upper West Side after helping one of my friends move from Spanish Harlem to West 80th. Then we all headed up to West 82nd for some Yolato! Gelato.
Sunday was what I like to think is a typical NY day. Although, I'm pretty sure it's not. Nevertheless, we woke up at noon and headed to brunch at Nice Matin two blocks down on Amsterdam and West 79th. There's nothing like having brunch at 3pm and waiting out the morning rush. The Salmon Benedict was delicious. I remember asking my friend if this was the sort of place one might see celebrities. And much to my surprise as we were sipping the rest of our coffee, I noticed an older gentleman sitting by himself in the corner. Sorvino? Paul Sorvino? The guy that was on Law and Order and Goodfellas. Mira's dad.
Ok, so, I'm not sure if it was him, but who cares. As far as my friends and I know it was Paul Sorvino. I had my NY celebrity moment. I'm still hoping to see more since the Tribeca Film Festival is happening right now. I'd be happy just seeing DeNiro. That would rock.
I think we're heading out to Fairway Market soon, so I'll continue this later.
Until then . . . I have left my heart in San Francisco but I still Hella Heart Oakland.
