New York Plate of Mind

I spent the weekend in New York City (when is it appropriate to call it Manhattan?) determined to satisfy my palate during the 36 hours I masqueraded as a pseudo-New Yorker. I embarked on this caloric journey with a friend, beginning with the precise selection of a morning muffin at Union Station in DC around 8:10 am.

There were two muffin joints to choose from and I had a hunch that the muffins were made by the same muffinista. When I’m not immersed in my full-time job, I play detective and read too much into things, mostly of the edible variety. Friend and I each decided on a coffee-cake muffin (no sharing when it comes to muffs). It took nearly every fiber of my being not to reach into the muffin repository (unassuming white paper bag sans muffin shop logo) as I waited to board the Amtrak bound for “the city” (as seems to be the cool way to refer to the locale that’s not the capital of New York State.)

I so should have taken a nibble because what I found while on board the train would have compelled me to purchase another muffin of a different variety. Important to note that while I rarely discriminate when it comes to muffins, I do not enjoy the flavor blueberry. As I watched friend rip off the top of her muffin (yeah, she’s one of those), I was initially delighted at the sight of dark circular muffin insertions I wrongly thought to be raisins. They weren’t raisins – oh no they weren’t. BLUEBERRIES were in my coffee-cake muffin. Story of my life.

Off to a bad start.

My next caloric intake was a $4.50 slice of Florentine pizza, infused with spinach, feta, and ricotta cheese. Quite tasty.

Next stop: Alice’s Tea Cup, a what-will-probably-take-on-Serendipity-notoriety tea shop known for its scones. I don’t appreciate the 2-scone minimum order. “You can’t just get one?” I thought to myself repeatedly, with a perplexed look on my face as I hoped for a footnote on the menu noting that yes, Washington transplants named Jackie could indeed just order one scone.

I’ll have the peanut butter-banana and almond joy sconeS and a pot of tea (for just me – and I’m a coffee drinker). Why? Because there is a minimum order of $10 per person on the weekends. There went any suspicion that this city was a place for bargains.

Next digestive activity involved glazed cashews from one of the HOT NUTS stands located on every other corner in New York City. Let me note that these nuts (HOT) were purchased after a subway snafu (wrong direction) en route to a broadway show, where friend and I arrived exactly at the 8:00 pm showtime; we wanted nuts (HOT ones) to munch on, and the imminent dimming of the theatre lights was not going to stop us. I ran from the HOT NUTS stand to the theatre without regard for pulsing beings in my way, provoking grazers in Time Square to call out, “What the hell/fuck?”

Following the show, friend and I craved falafel and stumbled upon (I always trip, no matter where I am) fried chick peas in a not so fine establishment on a questionable street – but the falafel maker did wear a paper hat to protect the frying chick peas from any loose locks. Phew.

Then I contemplated an ice cream cone from McDonald’s (I am my mother’s daughter), but friend didn’t seem into it and my thighs thanked her in the morning.

The morning brought a lovely brunch with a childhood friend. More importantly (no offense childhood buddy), the morning bestowed upon my life a mimosa, a basil and goat cheese egg scramble over sourdough with roasted tomatoes and asparagus (goat cheese not detectable….grrr), and a slice of pear pecan crumbcake (thank god no blueberries found their way in).

A new trend in frozen yogurt embellished my afternoon in “The Village” (I think that’s where it was?).

By 5:00 I was really in need of bottled water. Not just water – bottled, folks. Thank you cart vendor on the outskirts of Central Park.

My weekend in New York City culminated with dinner somewhere on Columbia and 83rd, at a cute order-at-the-counter (my favorite style) neighborhood bakery/café. Hello quiche. When do I ever eat quiche? Well, when I’m in a city that sometimes (when people, when??) takes the name of Manhattan. A chocolate chocolate chip cookie to go and friend and I were off to Penn Station.

As for what transpired between bites, does it even matter?