New York Stories

My first day in the city I walked from Times Square to the Met through Central Park. I'm lucky I didn't bust any bones slipping on all that ice. I ruminated on the Modern art, the Greek sculpture hall and the Micronesian/Melanesian exhibits. On my way back, I collected some karma by helping two old ladies across some streets. Much later on, just for kicks, Julie and I decided to peep a strip club off Times Square. Dirty, stupid, and nasty: as it turns out there were no kicks to be had and we returned to the W for drinks at the bar.

My second day I walked south to Union Square. Want to hear something foolish? Even though it was below freezing there was a farmer's market right there on the north side of the square. Who are they fooling? That shit ain't fresh. But I bought an organic chocolate chip cookie, a ginger snap, and a brownie. Then I went to that Coffee Shop and ate some of that pao de queijo and meatloaf while I did a crossword. Then that night I got the blue cheek (see "Blue Man Shoes" journal entry) and the red face from getting all liquored up at the W bar. Again.

The next day was Chinese New Year. Gung Hei Fat Choi, everybody. I took the N R train to Chinatown, where I asked two separate street vendors in my broken Cantonese where I could get some legit won ton mien, and they both pointed me to the same joint: Sun Say Kai on the corner of Baxter and Walker. It's one of those tiny honey-colored restaurants with ducks and pork legs hanging in the window, and where you have to share your table with strangers. I had the siu ahp won ton mien with the chow mien noodles thrown in for good measure, and it was no joke. While I sucked my duck bones a few lion dancers showed up at the door, along with their coterie of benevolent society members. There was much banging of cymbals, drums and gongs while the proprietor of Sun Say Kai brought out the symbolic cabbage head and oranges. After paying my $4.00 bill I bundled back up and headed back out into the streaming sunlight. I followed the mythical dancing beasts to Grand Harmony restaurant on Mott Street, between Canal and Hester. While the revelers shot off countless firecrackers and confetti cannons and the elder parade organizers snapped at the younger uniformed ones for smoking while they held back the spectators with broom handles, I snapped off a roll of B&W 120mm film with my Holga.

Afterwards I walked back up Broadway to the W, stopping again at Coffee Shop for a hot toddy (the drink, not the bartender). The wind was so strong that the snow was falling horizontally, north to south down the canyon of Broadway. Appropriately enough, everyone was getting Chinese eyes, squinting through the biting flakes. When I emerged again into the cold with a belly full of whiskey, the snow had stopped and the setting sun had turned the sky a smoky shade of pink. It's amazing what a little whiskey can do for your day.

That night I returned to Mott Street to dine with Julie, Steve, Mack, and Jin Ah at Joe's Ginger. I can't recommend this place enough. I've had better Shanghainese rice cakes, but the crab and pork stuffed dumplings simply cannot be beat. Yeah, they're even better than Din Tai Fung. That's right, I said it: as far as I'm concerned, these are the best Taiwanese-style dumplings in the Western Hemisphere. You think you got a contender? Bring it on. We'll have a dumpling kumite showdown, and my money's on Joe. And then after that, we hit up the bar at the W again, like the boozers you know we are.