I was born in Queens. Raised on Long Island. Call me Bridge & Tunnel but I am more New Yorker than a lot of people. And I miss my people. I miss our directness, our way of talking. In London, I learned to talk AROUND the subject; in New York, I address it straight on.
Three nights in New York City. Three nights that were enough, but not enough. I need to do this more often.
Friday: Dinner with Shinny and Monica at Shin’s place on the Upper West Side, where Shinny tested her recipes on us. (Shinny is an MBA and Michelin chef, now doing her own thing with food.)
Saturday: Food tour of the West Village with Sidewalks of New York with a tour guide who had had gastric bypass surgery. (Fscinating career choice.) Then a visit to the Apple store and a great chin wag with Jessica (Londoners might remember her as Ripe London) over wine and cheese at Bar Boulud. Afterwards, I arrived back at my hotel and stopped in the lobby to pick up some (more) wine and cheese (complimentary, this time). Then, a late night fight in the hotel room above me where I heard a woman yell “Get your hands off me! Get your hands off me!” over and over and over and over and over and over again. I called the front desk. I tried not to listen.
Sunday: Lunch with so many friends with so many babies at a unmemorable Chinese restaurant with a B on the door on the Upper West Side. (I love the NYC version of Scores on the Doors.) $24 per adult and the children were well-behaved. A long walk over to the Lower East Side Tenement Association and a FANTASTIC tour (book ahead), followed by a stop at the Crosby Street Hotel (Firmdale, don’t you know) and meeting up with an old friend for Red Stripes at Miss Lily’s. Then, the most amazing of bands and the most amazing of trombone players at Madame Geneva’s on Bleeker Street.
Monday: Sore head. Sore heart. Bagel full of suitcases from Ess-a-bagel on 1st and 21st. Lunch with Shinny at David Burke Kitchen, in the basement of my hotel, where the duck meatballs were spicy but the service was missing, hiding, gone for most of our meal. Shinny brought me some Excedrin, like a good friend, and I got in a taxi and I went to the airport and I bought some magazines and I flew home. Sore head, sore heart.