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Everywhere you look in New York, you can see yuppies — does anyone still call urban professionals this? — rushing down the sidewalks or sitting on the subway, listening to their iPods. Or perhaps if they’re “unique,” they have a Rio or somesuch. So Friday morning I decided to try it for myself. And there’s really nothing more fun than being in your own world, with your favorite songs, as you navigate the best city in the country. Being self-absorbed is awesome. If you have a good sense of direction or can read a subway map, after a few days you start to hate tourists. Incredibly hypocritical, but it happens. You glare at the little groups who stop on the sidewalk blocking foot traffic, or roll your eyes at the dumbasses who mindlessly follow someone across the street and nearly get plastered by a taxi. I feel like the city’s attitude has rubbed off on me. Or perhaps I’ve just always been an asshole. Friday’s lunch turned into something of an adventure. We wanted a hole-in-the-wall Italian place with good word-of-mouth. Using the magic of the interwebs, we ultimately went with Carmela’s, on Canal Street in the financial district. After a long subway ride and a longer walk, we came to the address — and a sign that said the restaurant had been shut down by the food and something commission. It may have been a blessing in disguise that we never got to eat there. Random walking brought us to a place that I think was called Giuseppe’s. If you ever want to find the place, just walk around the area and look for the only Italian place that two guys in t-shirts and jeans would be able to walk into. Their menu had just about everything you could want on it, but we ultimately ordered some paninis and scored free sodas. If you’re looking for fancy food or atmosphere, I wouldn’t recommend the place. But if you want good food and great selection for cheap, you can’t beat it. We raced back to Midtown just after 5 P.M., riding the subway with the go-getters of our society. An interesting note here is that the nicest subway trains we rode on were at Wall Street and on the East Side. I guess even the MTA panders to its audience. The St. John’s game was an absolute disaster, and I covered it in an earlier post. But is there a better way to get over a narrow victory against St. John’s High School than going out on the town? Dinner was at Lombardi’s (32 Spring Street), which was by far the best meal of the week. Their food was absolutely amazing, particularly the calzone I ordered. The thing was absolutely bursting with ricotta, which is really the only way to go. A warning for anyone planning on checking out the restaurant — they only accept cash, and while they do have an ATM on site, you may want to hit up your own bank’s machine beforehand to save on the fees. Absolutely stuffed, the next stop was at Rice to Riches (37 Spring Street), a rice pudding place whose decor perfectly defined pretentious hipster. I fucking loved it. Unfortunately, I was too full to order the ($5) “solo” bowl. But whatever you do, don’t order the rocky road. It looks like gruel made out of diarrhea. Mmmm, mmmm good. I couldn’t even tell you what bar we ended up at. But I was sorely disappointed by the lack of Jersey guys blasting Springsteen and Bon Jovi on the jukebox. In fact, there were none. So this can’t really be classified as a grungy NYC bar experience, can it? Everybody bitches about drink prices in New York. And rightly so. But try ordering a mind eraser at this particular mystery bar, and your idea of a “shot” may be redefined. That thing was big. And a few drinks and hours later I was loving it. So my fairly drunk ass ended up in Times Square at 3:30 in the morning. And, much to my surprise, the place actually gets dead. I was on the phone at one point when a nerdy-looking guy — crackhead? homeless? — came up to me and offered me 100 dollars for my nasty, ratty, falling-apart Red Sox hat. I didn’t even honestly consider the offer. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the fear that this weirdo was going to shoot a ricin pellet into my arm. Who knows. But I’ve still got my hat, and that guy still thinks he actually has 100 dollars to his name. Saturday I took Rasul to my favorite stop in New York City. Just outside of Columbia University sits Koronet Pizza (2858 Broadway), where the pizzas are 32-inches. You can get just a slice for two bucks, or add a topping for a few quarters more. And with slices this big, that’s the best deal I’ve ever had in any city. If you’re visiting NYC and choose to check out this little slice of pizza heaven, just head a few more blocks up Broadway to see the place that was used for exterior shots of Monk’s Restaurant on Seinfeld. For those looking for a good, quiet place to drink and watch the game, I have to give a nod to Blaggard’s Pub on 35th between 5th and 6th Ave. The food is obviously just bar food, but the drafts are large and there’s no crowd to speak of. Of course, when I was there, USC knocked off Cal, so maybe the superstitious among you will call the place “bad luck.” And that’s about it. As always, New York City was a blast. Hopefully we can advance far enough in the preseason NIT next year to make a third-straight trip. But next up for my own travels is Phoenix, coming up this Friday. I’ll have an open post for recommendations sometime after the Texas Southern post-game. |
