[NYC Day 2] Downtown, the Village, On Broadway

I’m writing days 1 and 2 out of order because, basically, day 1 got a chunk written off in a migraine (then again, given I crossed about 13 time zones, it was a pretty long day).

Dragged myself out of my migraine stupour and headed west in search of breakfast. I succeeded in the form of a ye olde style diner, with endless coffee refills and a menu out of what I imagine is the 1950s. This place perfectly fit the bill for my wants: coffee, no frills, and a solid plate of food (I skipped dinner last night). Went for the eggs, beef and hash or something: a couple of fried eggs over some fried minced beef next to a somewhat deconstructed pile of hash brown.

‘scuse me while I have a rant. DOES ANYONE IN NEW YORK CITY KNOW HOW TO PEEL A FRIGGIN’ POTATO? Every potato I’ve had, whether chips or as hash, has had the damn skin on it. While I don’t necessarily mind the occasional french fry with a bit of skin, I’m yet to meet a fully naked potato in this town. It makes me wonder. Anyway…

Overall it was stodgy goodness, hit the spot perfectly. Made me ready to face the day, so I kept going west until I almost hit the Hudson River. I can now say I’ve seen New Jersey. It was near the banks of the Hudson I found the High Line, an old rail line that’s being converted into a bit of an organic nature strip or something. I’ve seen pictures of parts of it that are quite natural and overgrown, but the stretch I wandered along in Chelsea was manicured and full of pretentious art. One piece was an empty metal window frame; another was a graffitti tag copied in rebar. These “modern masterpieces” managed to make the begging monks at every corner not the least irritating feature.

After spying a rather out of place looking gothic tower I fled the little corner of tranquility for the streets, still heading south. I eventually ended up infront of 542 Sixth Av, which I’m told Lester Bangs lived and died in the 5th floor apartment. It was quite moving, yet a little sad seeing no trace of the former resident.

Easterly wanderings took me to a couple of music stores, where I grabbed a handful of CDs and plugged a few gaps (I now have all of Concrete Blonde’s studio albums, only missing 2 by Suzanne Vega, plus some other cool stuff).

From there I wandered to another empty place that was, 315 The Bowery, formerly CBGB OMFUG, now some hipster-yuppie music memorabilia place that I couldn’t bear to set foot inside of.

Heading north in search of food, I made the mistake of going into some Vietnamese-themed place on University Place. I was hungry, and while I’d been craving Italian, it was convenient and sounded good. The spring rolls were very good, but the main, a beef crispy noodle stir fry, didn’t taste very Vietnamese at all. It lacked the freshness of flavour I love in VN food, and instead had copious chunks of broccolli and zucchini and a rather bland sauce. It was okay, but hardly one for the culinary annals.

Rambling north, I found where the Flatiron Building is (you know, the one in all the tv shows because it’s triangular). So I stopped at a conveniently placed chair and took a rest, and would like to note that during this time I saw no dresses get blown up, nor did I hear anyone say “23 skidoo” (though I did put it in a text I was sending). The Flatiron Bldg is prettier, and less odd looking than I was expecting.

Then it was back to the hotel for a break, I’ve no idea how far I walked today, but it was from 33rd all the way down past where the numbers stop, and back again. Legs are a little tired.

I figured I should head uptown for dinner, so got wandering. Well, I tried to wander, it was more of a shuffle as I hit the crowd heading to Madison Sq Garden for a hockey game, and the homeward rush hour crowd, then the theatre crowd. But shuffle I did, and it was through this that I came to Times Square.

They say that when you die, you poo yourself. When I die, I don’t want my ashes scattered anywhere near Times Square, but if someone collects and bags my final movement and wants to scatter this there, be my guest. I do not care for Times Sq. It’s an over crowded collection of billboards and chain stores, and it’s probably a good ide that someone hs dumped all these on one spot so goodly minded folks know where to avoid. I’m trying to think of anywhere I’ve been that has less sou lthan TSq, and it’s a challenge.

I found dinner at a French-themed bistro just north of 49th. Nothing too fancy, just some solid food. Had the foie gras with a Jacquart Brut NV, and the steak poivre with a Bordeaux merlot. All pretty good: the appetiser was very easy to eat (and worked well with the sweeter champagne) while the steak was done to perfect medium rare. The only off note was the accompanying Brussels sprouts. The deal is that I’m rarely fond of them: in Austalia they are grown quite large and taste of concentrated cappage; in the UK they are passable when young, fresh and fried with bacon. In the US, it seams they are kept small (like the UK) but are hard as rocks. Finished with a Bittersweet chocolate mouse, also very nice.

Tomorrow I’m up early, on the 8:15 am train to Saratoga Springs. Will probably write Day 1 then.