Now that we have covered sandwiches, I would like to tackle something that is nearer and dearer to my heart (and stomach)… burgers. Everyone has different opinions on the best burger in NY. The one that gets a LOT of play is Corner Bistro in the West Village. I think their burgers are average, nothing more. It makes no sense to me that everyone loves them so much… What is so great?

I love Shake Shack in Madison Park and Old Town Tavern on 18th between Park and Broadway, but last week, I had what I believe to be the best burger I have had in NY. It was at Great Jones Cafe, a little hole in the wall style place on Great Jones St. between Bowery and Lafayette. This place was unbelievable! I got pepper jack, and it was melted very nicely on a bun that was not too small, not too big, not too hard, not too soft. I also got a cup of chili. Now, I am a big chili fan, but often you get chili that is either watery or all beans and veggies, while I like a real thick meat chili with little or no beans at all. This chili was done perfectly. Another great burger is at Paul’s on 2nd ave and St. Marks. Very tasty, and cheap too. Plus, you can go next door and grab some Pommes Frites.
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The E train to Kew Gardens bends time. It does. If you check your watch it takes only forty five minutes to get out there from the city, so it’s not that bad. As a Brooklynite it’s not that far off from my own commute time. But sit on that train, and something about the consistent long-winded rumble of the train between express stops reverberates into the space time continuum, eliciting some echoing mirror effect that loops back upon itself, doubling the resultant waves to implode the fabric of chronology. Then it finally chucks you off the train by the Union Turnpike with a sudden inescapable urge to eat prunes.

Maybe it’s simply the length of space between stops that opens the vortex, but I couldn’t help myself from checking the map of the subway every few minutes or so, convinced that ‘I must be there by now…’

But, the time-leacher was worth the trip. Mainly because I got to help my friends move from a well arranged but still tightly packed studio, into a roomy one-bedroom, that left the young couple with soooo much extra space, it made them feel, as they put it, “a little dirty.”

But the cherry on that trip, was the ride back. While delayed at Jackson Heights, I just happened to look out the window.

She wasn’t dancing. If she had been, it wouldn’t have been worth watching. She’d have been another busker, or one of those horrible people who have confidence enough to dance in inappropriate places without feeling silly. (I really don’t know how they do that.) No, she wasn’t dancing. She was practicing.

Her eyes closed, and her mouth counting out the steps. Her feet barely moved. They scooted maybe an eighth of their intended stride. It wasn’t even as much as a step. She leaned the count into her feet. Alone on the platform, she practiced her steps in miniature.

But as she went along, her strokes kept broadening. Swaying a little more. Sliding her toe more than an inch or so. Two more box steps and her hands transformed, almost instinctively, into a pose. All the while, her eyes closeed; her lips counting the beat. Then, in one final fall away, her foot let slip a full crescent step, running full bredth across the concrete. Her toe bounced as it landed, and that sudden jostle was enough to open her eyes. She saw the man up the platform staring at her with wrinkled eyebrows, and she flipped her head away.

She straightened up, smoothed her skirt, and repositioned her purse on her shoulder.

As my train started on out of the station, she leaned out to look down the track, grimacing at the sight of nothing.

Picture from corvid73

Last night’s dose of irony was a protest against the brutality of the NYPD down 12th st., escorted by 15 or so well-behaved police officers.

Does anyone else find it really hard to get a good deli sandwich in Manhattan??? All of the “delis” in NY are those huge full-service grab-and-go restaurants. They have some burrito bar, a sushi corner, a fresh pasta area, that nasty hot bar with what appears to be 2-week-old sesame chicken, and a panini counter… But if you want a turkey sandwich with mustard, you are S.O.L. What’s the deal?

The ones that do have regular sandwich service offer those pre-sliced meats and cheeses, and thats just not OK. If I can’t watch them slice it, I am not into it. Maybe it is a neighborhood thing… I work on 30th and Park. Murray Hill sucks for food, all-around. Almost every restaurant is medocre at best, and there are few quick lunch places. I used to work on 19th and 5th, which was GREAT for food. I could deal with only a few lunch options, but this deli situation is absolutely absurd!

Not really NYC related, but I ran across this “spaghetti ice cream” on google today, and I’m kind of interested to taste it. It almost looks disgusting, but it’s ice cream- it has to be good! You can bet I’m going to be searching the city for this, and I’ll get back to you all when I finally taste it.

Alright so I went to the market today for some groceries, and I just have a question: why is the expiration date on milk sooner if you live in NYC? My milk said SELL BY OCTOBER 26, OCTOBER 24 IN NYC…

And secondly, do cops ever ticket people who honk? I was walking home, stopped at the crosswalk when I saw a man in a white car honking like it was his last day on earth, and a cop right behind him. And right there at the corner, was one of those ‘DON’T HONK- $350 PENALTY’ signs… So I’m just curious if anyone is ever really ticketed for honking?

I’m pretty sure I have to blame the Mets for my extreme intoxication last night. Although I’m sure that had they won (which they should have) I would have been about eight times worse. I made it to the bar during the fifth inning, tied 1-1, it was unbelievably intense in there. I felt the need to play catchup seeing as everyone around me was drunk and rowdy. So I chugged. And I chugged. And I chugged. I think that by the time it went into 6th inning I was already on my third or fourth beer. The awesome “out of field catch” by Chavez called for a shot of Cuervo. The rest of the game become a bit of a blur for me, but I remember St Louis scoring and everyone in the place changing from happy drunk, to angry drunk. Shortly after, at games end, the place cleared. Two parties left without paying their tabs; at least one of them was $130 bucks. The bartender chased down one of the girls and got her to come back though. So I chugged down my last beer because the place was now almost completely empty, and walked home. I don’t remember this, but I know it happened. Anyways, good season Mets. At least they made it a lot further than the YANKEES!

It’s a little like breaking up with a girlfriend. Waking up this morning, I had to bunch up some clothes and put them into a corner out of sight. I had to turn a couple of pictures around. (Well, throw out a few newspapers.) I even took a different route to the subway so I wouldn’t bump into any reminders. (To avoid today’s newspaper.) It’s certainly nowhere near as dramatic as the girlfriend situation, I’m not that kind of fan, but today, I don’t really want to talk about it.

It was an odd choice last night. Like many a fan, you’ve got to decide where you want to watch the big game. Drop a few hundred to scalp a ticket at Shea, go to a notorious Mets bar chock full of fans, go to your local where the tension won’t be quite so high, or just go home and watch the game in the serenity of your own couch. It’s a sliding scale. The more fans around you the more intense the game feels; the outcome of the game, especially. You might be missing out on a wild celebration by staying at home, but you also might be sidestepping an opportunity to have heartbreak amplified and blasted into directly into your ear.

I went local…and it still stung a bit. And I don’t really want to talk about it.

But it was a great year, a great series, a great game. And that’s still pretty fucking good.

Even without anything else, there’s still this: Finally, after seven months, I can think about something other than baseball.

So far…thinking about doing my laundry…probably time I got to that.

Thursday night might have been Levi night, but this Saturday is Journey night. Yes, the Journey Tribute Band Evolution is performing at Canal Room… again.

Yes, I saw them already in August, but I had such a silly time that I just HAVE to go again. This time, I’m bringing along a slew of other friends that are looking for a little 80’s nostalgia… without the bad hair and crazy outfits. Oh, and the 5 inch heels will be coming along as well. :)

You KNOW you want to come, so here’s the info:
Date: Saturday, 10/21
Time: 9:00pm (show starts at 9:30, doors open at 9:00)
Place: Canal Room - 285 West Broadway at Canal Street
How to get there: A,C,E to Canal is the closest. You can also take the 1,N,R,W,6 to Canal, but it’s a longer walk.
Cost: $17 in advance / $20 at the door (order your tickets online here)

Last time, it was the Lambo out front of the Puma store.

Tonight, it’s the gaggle of huge, half-dressed men wandering around some special event within the Levi’s store tonight. No fancy cars, though.