New York, New York

Ratings Guide:
Half handshake, half chest-bump hug – 5 stars
Chest bump – 4 stars
Fist bump – 3 stars
High five – 2 stars
Handshake – 1 star
Manly ass slap – ½ star
Fone and fone – 0 stars



OK, so about a month ago I turned 30. Awesome. Turning 30 really wasn’t that big a deal. The one thing it does do is open your eyes a little bit. You notice what you’ve accomplished in your life (like bowling a 250 once), and what you haven’t accomplished (two chicks at the same time). You also start to notice little things about yourself that have probably changed over time and you never noticed it before but suddenly you’re 30 so you start to really think about it. For example, back in college, a typical day’s worth of food looked like this:

Breakfast
- Two bowls of cereal
- A ham and cheese omelette
- Four pieces of toast (with butter)
- A glass of milk
- A glass of chocolate milk
- A glass of orange juice
- An apple or banana (or both)
- And a huge waffle (with butter and syrup)
(Just for the record, this was my breakfast every day at Eva J’s. No joke. It never changed. Not in four years. Except that sometimes I might get a little of the day’s special (like biscuits and gravy or something).)

Lunch
- Two footlong Subway subs
(This varied every day. Depends what I was in the mood for – Burger King, Subway, the cafeteria, etc… - or where friends wanted to eat. The only requirement was that the place had to take student charge, so my parents would end up paying for it.)

Dinner
- Two steak soft tacos from Taco Bell
- A Whopper
- Fries
- Onion Rings
- A small pizza from Pizza Hut
(Again, this varied every night depending on things, but you get the point.)

Late Night
- Two pints of Ben and Jerry’s
(During my sophomore year Hitt St. Market was running a special – 2 pints for $5 – and since they took student charge, I got two pints every day. And each night I would eat an entire pint of Phish Food and an entire pint of Chunky Monkey. And I usually wouldn’t start the first pint until about 10 at night. Now, keep in mind each pint contains about 1,200 calories and 80 grams of fat. So that’s 2,400 calories and 160 grams of fat. Every night.)

The point is I ate a lot. More than a lot. I ate more than several countries. But the thing is I never gained any weight. I had the metabolism of a 20 year old, and could work out 2 hours a day, because what else was I going to do? Go to class? I never weighed over 185, and when I weighed that I was pretty ripped (not to brag, but I had a six pack). Now? I don’t eat nearly as much (but let’s be honest, I still eat more than most, and way more than I should) and the weight just keeps creeping on. And it’s much tougher to get rid of. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, being 30 is awesome.

So, for my 30th birthday, my wife surprised me with a trip to New York. And not only that, she had some friends come meet me, including my sister. Here’s the low-down on some of the places we ate at while visiting the Big Apple.


Restaurant: John’s
Location: 408 E 64th St.

When my wife was making plans for the NY trip, she didn’t have much in mind. She wasn’t sure what I would be up for, and since there were a bunch of people coming in at different times, it was also probably tough to coordinate a bunch of activities. So, she kept it pretty simple. Lunch plans on Thursday and dinner reservations on Friday.

By the time we got in Thursday (we left on the 6 a.m. flight, got in about 8 or something, then decided to take the train, which was a mistake because it was under construction, so we didn’t end up making it to our hotel until almost 11. Maybe the most painful experience of my life. When I walked into the hotel and my sister was there waiting, I was so pissed off that I didn’t even say “hi” to her. Needless to say I don’t have a lot of patience. Luckily the DoubleTree offers free cookies, so that calmed me down.) it was about time to grab lunch. We threw our stuff in the room, relaxed for a minute, and waited for Matt and Allison to get in. Then the five of us headed out to John’s.

Well, we start walking there, and my wife knows the address, and my sister has been waiting on us long enough that she spent the morning walking around and at one point headed that direction. So as we’re walking there and getting further from touristland, my wife looks around and says, “I don’t remember this at all.” Apparently she’s been to John’s before. “I thought it was in the theater district.” About a block later we finally reached John’s. We’re relieved, but my wife is pretty confused. “This can’t be the place.” I checked the menu posted on the outside of the building, and the front of it showed three addresses for John’s, one of them being in Times Square. “That’s the one I meant to go to.” Oh well, we’re here now.

When we got inside the place was empty. I guess that’s why she wanted to go to the other location. Then again, it was almost two o’clock. So we had our choice of seats and slid into a booth. We started off with some Pete’s-A-Rolls. They’re balls of dough stuffed with stuff. We went with the fresh spinach and mozzarella. Here’s something you may not know about me. I like spinach pizza, especially when it’s stuffed pizza. It’s definitely not my first choice (the pepperoni and pepperoncini combo, also known as the Ricky Kim), but it’s up there. So, I thought the spinach Pete’s-A-Rolls were the right choice. And they were. These things were delicious. Just little balls of goodness. You know how Munchkins are great little poppable versions of donuts? Well, these things were great little poppable versions of pizza.

As we were ordering our pizza, a couple came in to eat. I didn’t really notice them when they walked in, but I noticed that they decided to sit in the booth directly behind us. So, my back was to them, but Amy, Allison, and Matt were facing them perfectly. The only reason I bring this up is because they could have sat ANYWHERE in this place. I mean it was more wide open then Briana Banks. But they sat as close to us as possible. And as you’ll find out in a minute, I’m glad they did.

Matt and I ordered a pizza with pepperoni and prosciutto. I wasn’t sure what to expect with the pizza here. I’m used to buying New York pizza by the slice, where you get a giant thin slice that you have to fold in half just to get it in your mouth. Well, you know what John’s reminded me of? Shakespeare’s in Columbia, MO. Not that it tasted the exact same or anything like that, but the pizza looked similar, similar style crust and slice size and all that stuff. John’s pizza is cooked in a coal-burning oven, and maybe that’s the same way Shakespeare’s does it. I don’t know. Anyway, the pizza was delicious. I loved it. I could see this being one of my “places” if I lived in New York. But the pizza wasn’t the highlight of the place. The couple sitting behind us was.

When they walked in I didn’t really notice them. It was a man and a woman, and that’s about as much as I saw. But as their lunch went on, it became obvious that this wasn’t a lunch but a rendezvous. They were having an affair. Allison was somehow hearing the best of it, mostly because she was the one who was listening and watching their every move. Turns out the guy was telling the woman that he wanted her to leave her husband. And if she didn’t, he wasn’t sure he could go on like this. He said something about her getting both of their life insurances or something. And throughout the whole conversation, the more heated he got, the more he swore. And this is when I took better notice of what Allison already knew – the guy looked like he was in his 70s and she looked like she was in her early 40s. I just pictured my grandpa throwing around the f-bomb to his 30-years-younger mistress. I wanted to turn around and tell this gentleman that he was my hero, but I thought that might be inappropriate. Mostly because my wife was there, and I wasn’t in the mood for a swift kick to the groin.

John’s gets a solid chest bump. Really enjoyed this place.


Restaurant: Telephone Bar and Grill
Location: 149 Second Ave.

On Thursday night, after a day of walking around, we were trying to decide where to grab dinner. No one really wanted to make a decision, and I’m the kind of guy who just likes to wander and pick a place at random. So, we jumped in a cab, told him we wanted to head to East Village (as if I had any idea what or where that was), and that we were looking for some food (nothing special, just something casual). So he drops us off and we start walking around. Well, everyone is about to pass out because they’re so hungry, so we only walked around for about 30 seconds, and there was Telephone Bar and Grill. Looked like a decent, local crowd inside, so we headed in. I loved the atmosphere of this place. Some people were eating. Some were just standing around drinking like they were making happy hour last all night long (the Dave Hart special), and the backroom was hosting an open-mic comedy night. I never got the chance to head back and check it out, but I’m sure it was hilarious. Our waiter had a British accent. I was convinced he wasn’t really British, but a struggling actor who was working on his accent for some off-off-off Broadway play. One that I would never see. Unless it was about food. For dinner I ordered the stew. Not sure how I felt about it. It smelled of something awful. You might even say pungent. But that didn’t stop me from eating the whole bowl. I think I was just really hungry and could have eaten anything at this point. The fries were another story. They were amazing. They were the kind of fries where you would put one in your mouth, and as you were chewing it, you would already have another one in your hand and shove it in your mouth right as you were done swallowing. Kind of like how chain smokers will light their next cigarette off the one they have in their mouth, because they can’t even stand to be without a cigarette long enough to light it with a match or lighter. These were like that. Without the cancer. But with the cholesterol. And Telephone had a great selection of beer. I also enjoyed that. But, overall, I can only give the food a High Five.


Restaurant: Pinnacle Deli
Location: Corner of 3rd ave and 45th st

On Friday morning, while everyone else was recovering from Thursday night (I’ll spare you the details, but they involved a lot of drinking, some 21 year old who shared my birthday trying to make out with me, and us ending up at some bar where the bartender agreed to stay open as late as we wanted), I decided to head out for a walk and was on a mission to find some little corner bagel place and get breakfast. About 6 blocks from where I was staying in Midtown I found Pinnacle. The bagel was really, really good, and the guys behind the counter couldn’t have been nicer. But who gives an F? The great thing about Pinnacle was that they spread the cream cheese onto the bagel with a spoon. That alone earns them a perfect rating. The only thing that could have topped it is if they used a shovel. Half handshake, half chest-bump hug.


Restaurant: Café Borgia
Location: 196 Spring St.


During the day on Friday we headed down to SoHo to do some shopping. We stopped for lunch at Café Borgia. I enjoyed it. Just a small little intimate setting with some great home-style food. I had the chicken soup, which tasted just like the one mom used to make. I also got a hot chocolate, which was fantastic. It tasted like they melted a Hershey’s bar into some whole milk. And I thank them for that.

Chest bump.


Restaurant: Mesa Grill
Location: 102 5th Ave.


My wife wanted to have at least one dinner as a big group at a nice restaurant, so she made reservations at Mesa Grill. Mesa Grill is Bobby Flay’s restaurant, which leads me to one question: is that his real name?

See, my theory is that Bobby Flay’s life story was kind of like an after school special. Back when Bobby Jackson was in high school, his parents started asking him where he wanted to go to college. But Bobby told them he didn’t want to go to college. He wanted to become a chef and go to The French Culinary Institute. This lead to a disapproving look from his dad, followed by his dad screaming, “No son of mine is going to become a…a…a chef! What are you, some kind of fruit?” So Bobby ran away. Shamed by his family he changed his last name from Jackson to Flay, and eventually graduated from the Institute with an Outstanding Graduate Award. After graduation he headed to New York City and worked in several restaurants, honing his skills, until one day he was ready to open his own place. And when that day came, he called his parents (of course his dad still wouldn’t talk to him) and convinced his mom (who would drag dad along, even though he wouldn’t know why) to come to New York and see him. Bobby would convince them to meet him at a new restaurant called Mesa Grill. When they arrived and sat down at the best table in the house, out comes Bobby. His dad is furious and wants to leave, but mom convinces him to sit. So, the three of them have dinner together. Eventually his dad is a little less pissed off, and as he finishes his meal, he says, “Wow, that was terrific. This place is great.” And Bobby simply says, “I’ll let the owner and chef know you think so.” And his mom asks, “You KNOW the owner?” And Bobby grins, and says, “Yeah. It’s me.” Both parents stare in amazement, and then his dad puts down his napkin, stands up and hugs his son.

And then I probably cry.

Seriously, with a name like Bobby Flay, it has to be made up, right?

Speaking of changing names, I have one more quick sidetrack. A couple of years ago I happened to watch a special on HBO called “Katie Morgan: A Porn Star Revealed”. It featured Katie Morgan talking about her life, how she got into porn, why she does it, why she likes it, how she got her porn name, etc… Of course she is sitting on a stool naked the entire show. Well, at one point she talks about growing up with conservative parents: "I might as well have been raised in the 40s," Katie sighs, adding that her mother and father still don't know what she does for a living. Excuse me? Your parents don’t know what you do for a living? And you still talk to them? And you don’t want them to find out that you’re a porn star? Um, guess what, there’s a good chance they just found out. Why would you go on HBO if you didn’t want them to find out? I mean, there’s already a chance that some pervert from your home town is going to see you in a porn, recognize you, do the math, and maybe leak the news, which will eventually make it’s way through the gossip-mill of small town USA. But now that you had your own special on HBO? I mean everyone has HBO these days. Now I’m sure half the town has seen it, and your dirty little secret isn’t really a secret anymore. And why do I bring this up? I have no idea.

By the way, the food at Mesa Grill is really good. The blue corn pancake, which includes barbecued duck, is terrific. The corn tamale is also really tasty, but it has garlic, so it should be tasty. Seriously, is there anything made with garlic that isn’t tasty? I can’t think of anything. I don’t even remember what I ordered for dinner. I think some kind of steak or something, and I’m sure it was great, but the New Mexican Spice Rubbed Pork Tenderloin stole my attention. I’ve said it before – pork falls into three categories. Terrible (very few fall into this category, and the restaurant has to almost try to make it terrible), good/great (probably 90% of pork dishes fall into this category. You can’t screw up pork (unless you try), and in the end they all end up tasting pretty similar, which is why it’s always a safe order), and unbelievably perfect HJ-worthy pork. Guess what, the pork tenderloin fell into this category. It was…indescribable. Just one of the best dishes I’ve even eaten. I might have finished in my pants. It was $29, and I would have paid $1,000. That’s how good I thought it was.

For dessert by buddy Tony had called ahead and had them prepare a special chocolate cake just for me (well, it was actually for everyone at the table, but in my honor). So, Mesa Grill had their pastry chef prepare something special and from scratch. The cake was awesome. And for $90, it should have been. But you know what they did? They brought the cake out and presented it, then took it back to the kitchen to cut it, then brought out 9 equal pieces (one for everyone at the table). But where was the rest of the cake? No way those 9 pieces added up to that whole cake. I think they charged us $90 (which Tony paid for) for half a cake, then used the other half to feed other tables probably later in the night. Kinda shady.

But, that being said, I still think the place was terrific. I’m gonna give them a chest bump with a manly ass slap. They would have gotten a perfect score, but something about Bobby Flay bothers me, so I had to knock them a half point.

After dinner we headed out for the night again, drank a lot (I drank less than most, but I also ate more than most, so it was a wash), went to a great dive bar, and eventually ended up at the same late-night bar from the night before, except this time Matt went on a McDonald’s run and brought about 20 cheeseburgers and fries into the bar. Good times. And the bartender was getting high, so he appreciated the food.

I just want to wrap this up by thanking my wife for surprising me and organizing the trip. And I want to thank Yvette, Matt, Allison, Katy, Nick, Tony, Jamie, and Dave for coming out to help me celebrate.

I give the whole trip a half handshake, half chest-bump hug.



Got a question? Send it to born2fork@yahoo.com.