Once I got on the train to Penn Station it was all smooth. I was on the West Side, hungry, and have had multiple friends checking in from a tiny dive on W. 52nd called Totto Ramen.
I haven't been to Japan so I don't really know what it's supposed to taste like, but I'm from the epicenter of the post WWII spread of 日本の料理 through the Western world and, compared to any ramen I've had so far this was completely off the charts. You should go. And make sure to say hi to my new friend, David (the only gaijin working there).
Waddling down the street wondering where I could next best kill some time while distancing myself from Times Square my phone rang (actually, it indicated I had a call by playing Bonerama's version of War Pigs). My Spanish friend David (dah-veed) from the Canary Islands, current California resident and former New Yorker called to tell me he was in the city for the day and we should meet up for a drink on the lower east side. Since my stop after that would be in Williamsburg (Brooklyn) it was a no brainer.
As a sophisticated urbanite I didn't hesitate for a moment to jump on the A train heading downtown, skip right by 14th St. and exit at Fulton, at the Southwest edge of Chinatown--which allowed me the opportunity to explore the entirety of Chinatown from street level on my way north and east to meet David at Houston and Orchard. We found a likely coffee/wine/chocolate bar and sat down for a couple of espressos. I'm sorry I didn't get a picture because it is rare to see two such perfect pulls. Nice thick crema and a smooth yet robust scent promised an excellent experience. The demitasse was writing a check it couldn't cash. I couldn't guarantee it, but it might very well have been the worst coffee drink I've ever had the pleasure of spitting out. I suppose if I'd been after a reduction of burnt orange peels and vinegar I might have been pleased.
Next stop, Williamsburg. Again, I really need to pause for more pictures. The walk across the Willaimsburg bridge at sunset is gorgeous. I captured what I could with my phone.
When I think of Brooklyn I still imagine Spike Lee's version. It turns out that San Francisco and Silverlake had a love child. He's got a bushy beard, horn rimmed glasses, a pork pie hat and a fixie bicycle, and he moved to Kings County. And while he might have a sense of fashion that doesn't make sense to my forty year old eyes, he's figured out how to make amazing food!
Waiting for me was my friend, Mary, whom I haven't seen in person since 1995. She's now a doctor and more beautiful than ever. Telling her so didn't elicit much response. Do I look older than I feel? But then, this blog is the document of my mid-life crisis so I suppose I'll have to get used to it. She introduced me to a genuinely spectacular vegan Thai restaurant on Bedford (which is basically the Sunset & Silverlake of Williamsburg), after which we went for a stroll around the neighborhood. I wanted dessert and Mary wanted ice cream, and fortunately, the food truck craze seems to have passed it's peak at the heart of hipsterdom, leaving no queue whatsoever at the Van Leeuwen truck. They serve Intelligentsia coffee, but don't let that fool you--they've got it down cold when it comes to frozen confections.
After a long discussion about politics and religion the train took me back to South Orange, where my motorcycle was still waiting and hadn't won any awards for outstanding parking. The ride back to Marc's house was uneventful and contented exhaustion brought sleep quickly and comfortably on the Ikea fold out.
Maybe tomorrow I'll finally see Marc!
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