The first time I ever went to New York City still stands out in my memory in sharp relief. It was in 1994, when The Ex was still in High Courtship Gear. This is when everything by definition looks Shiny! Sparkly! Tasty! but is really caused by an attack on the brain cells by the Dreaded Love Blindness Disease, similar to the affliction that affects many after a six-pack-and-a-half at closing time, when all the men in the bar are suave and handsome and all the women are beautiful. (never mind the next morning when reality sets in)
We flew from Pittsburgh, still one of my favorite cities anywhere, small and yet somehow cool, and landed in New York, which I found to be smelly, steamy, dirty, ugly, scary, graffiti-smeared, and Simply Gorgeous. I heart you, New York! The people! The incredible energy! I heart you, all of you!
There I was, finally experiencing first-hand the place in which I had lived vicariously since childhood through dozens of old black-and-white films. Buildings! The Park! Times Square! FAO Schwarz!
Wow. My brain was exploding little bursts of happiness all weekend.
When I returned to Pittsburgh after my thrilling weekend, it looked….smaller. Dirtier. Grimier. I was forever a slave to my own suddenly-enhanced expectations about What A City Should Be Like.
Last weekend I went back to NYC. I hadn’t been there since a brief trip to see The Gates only a few months before we left for Colorado. My other trips since the first were often a disappointment, peppered with brief Moments Of Goodness. I had no idea what to expect this time.
Verdict: No disappointment whatsoever. It was just the same, if not better, than the first time. The people! The energy! I really should get out more!
I went to dinner at a restaurant called Dragonfly in the Village. Inside its narrow seating area, the size and shape of a railroad car, there was a huge aquarium filled with colorful fish, visible from the street. We sat between it and the window, and I could see people as they walked by, glimpsing little slices of their lives, all lit up from the light coming from inside the restaurant.
I was excited about the varied menu. What to choose? Vegetarian, vegan, Thai, Filipino? We’ve got NOTHING like all that in Podunk, PA, land of second-rate “Philly” cheesesteaks and mediocre lasagna. Let’s see. Haven’t had Filipino cuisine yet, let’s try that! I chose Chicken Adobo, sounds slightly familiar. Yum.
Nope, they’re out of the chicken. At this point my Dragonfly Cosmopolitan has begun to work its magic, so I threw caution to the winds and said I’d go with the Pork Adobo. After all, it’s interchangeable with the chicken, right?
The food came, my Cosmo is almost gone, and a large bowl of dark meat-looking chunks swimming in a pool of dark liquid is plunked down in front of me. So…pork. That’s like bacon, right?
Looking forward to my first taste of Filipino cuisine, I take a large bite, almost half an entire chunk. I chew. It’s…..fat. It’s nothing but fat. There’s a HUGE wad of FAT in my mouth! And I’m chewing it! I can’t spit it out gracefully, I just met my dinnermates today! What will they think, seeing me hack up a wad of fat like a cat’s hairball, right at their dinner table? I sooo want to spit it out, but Must. Chew. Fat.
Then, the inevitable: Must. Swallow. Fat.
Need another Cosmo.
Knifeless, I must use my fingers and a spoon to separate what shreds of meat exist on these huge dark chunks of fried fat. I hope no one notices. I have no money for a second Cosmo, so am drinking water. Lots of water.
I love New York.
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