I'm trying to decide where to go on my next skipping of the country (well, Cannes, excepted) and conveniently, the New York Times has an article with 31 suggestions of American locations to visit this summer, for those Yanks unable to cope with the exchange rate with the euro and even the pound. I'm thinking I would like to travel down the East Coast and see some of the Southern U.S., although I couldn't possibly cheat on New York with Dixie, so I'd probably go via the Big Apple, and then there's Boston, which I love... It's so hard, especially as I can't even afford a plane ticket at the moment, thanks to my NYC shopping. Still, here are my top five from the NYT list:
1. Pacific Northwest (by rail). "Beginning in Chicago, passing through the Great Plains and the other-worldly Glacier National Park and ending in Seattle or Portland, Ore., the roughly 48-hour ride is a throwback to the golden age of train travel." This sounds awesome as I am really keen to visit both Portland (for its local music scene, shopping and general cool atmosphere if nothing else) and Chicago. See also #11, then: Portland, Oregon.
2. Philly. I've been before, a number of years ago, but have good memories, despite being there a the same time as the Republican Party National Convention and dining in the same restaurant as Dubya.
3. Chesapeake Bay. Sun, sea and sails in Virginia.
4. Beartooth Road. Brokeback revisited.
5. The Sunshine Coast. Mmm, aquatic activities...
Actually, the list wasn't that great because most of the destinations were based in the northwest, west and Canada, rather than the Virginia-Georgia-Carolinas-Louisiana area I was imagining. That said, this grand road trip is far better suited to next summer when I will be 25 and, having had my driving licence for nearly eight years, will finally be deemed worthy of not paying a surcharge, so I will probably end up going to NYC, Philly, DC and maybe North Carolina, depending on the Amtrak route map. I would go and get myself and up to date guidebook but travel books are so depressing when you fear you might not be able to afford any of it. That aspect of travelling alone is a pain, even if I have no problem finding amis de voyage, en route.
31 May 2008
27 May 2008
Heads Did Roll
I feel a bit like Irwin in The History Boys (in the play, anyway) but if you want to learn about (Sir) Alan Sugar, study Henry VIII, except Siralan is a pussycat compared to Good King Hal, and yet The Apprentice isn't a million miles apart from the back-stabbing, double-crossing court of Henry VIII either.
Still, the characters in Henry's court are far more interesting than pretty much everyone on The Apprentice, although in this week's episode, heads really did roll in The Tudors: Smeaton, George Boleyn, Brereton and Sir Henry Norris all confess to sleeping with Queen A. After a good racking, anyway. Brereton is working for the Emperor and the Pope and confessed willingly as his death would contribute to the downfall of "the whore." Poor old Smeaton only screwed Anne's brother (although Henry generously allowed him to be beheaded rather than the hanging, drawing and quartering a commoner would normally have been dealt). George B himself probably wouldn't have been executed had a) his lovely, jealous wife not dropped him in it with Henry in the first place and failed to defend him and b) he hadn't emasculated Henners during the trial, saying he was a bad lover. Handsome poet Thomas Wyatt (senior) was saved, ironically, given that after Inquisitioner in Chief Thomas Cromwell that he was the only one who was guilty of sleeping with the queen (pre-Henry). His son, of course, goes on to be executed for plotting to overthrow Mary and to put Anne's daughter on the throne instead.
For all the beheadings in this episode, though, it was a bit of a letdown as Anne is still standing (season finale next week must be suitably dramatic, of course). Henry was devastated to "find out" about all of her "lovers" and sobs into Charles, Duke of Hotness's lap, cursing her, and pretending that he really believes Cromwell's fabricated charges and that Anne hurt and betrayed him.
Just like The Apprentice, though, replenishing its supply of candidates once a year, once Henry has killed off all of one family or one generation at court, the time will come for another to shine. As the Boleyn's star falls, so that of the Seymours begins to shine (and Seymour Junior 1 and 2 end up wreaking havoc long into Mary's reign), and just as Cromwell shot to brilliance allowing him to push Anne out of the way, so too his own decisions as to suitable brides for Henry end him up in the Tower. No one is safe, no matter how good a friend, and being Siralan's favourite will only get you so far if you keep on making mistakes and, worse, make the wrong decisions at the wrong time. Still, Siralan could really learn from a biography of Henry VIII (I'm not suggesting he could learn from Jonathan Rhys-Meyers - the most Irish Henry ever).
- The Apprentice candidates must lower themselves by referring to the boss as "Siralan." Subjects must refer to Henry as Yuhmajesty (Yurmajesty in the case of the American actors who can't quite manage the non-rhotic accent) - although hot young things are occasionally excused from this, until it's pretty much too late to save themselves and they resort to begging.
- Siralan has his favourites that are beyond comprehension to any objective party. Hal has his favourites that are beyond comprehension to any objective party (yeah, so, Anne was hot but marrying her?).
- Candidates will quite happily drop one another in the firing line in order to move up in Siralan's appreciate and (more often) to save their own neck. Henry's subjects will quite happily betray one another to win his favour, to promote their family's interests and to (literally) save their own neck.
- Siralan has to keep on firing candidates because he has only ten (?) episodes in the series and needs to end up with one winner. Henry has to keep on executing people because if he trusts anyone for too long, they're bound to betray him eventually. No one seems to realise that while being in his favour is wonderful, the flipside of the manic depressive coin is that you might end up one head shorter. Ah, Anne, Cromwell, More...you all thought you would be different... How naive.
- There are some real idiots on The Apprentice (especially those with Ancient Greek and double-barrelled surnames) and some very unlucky people (salt of the earth army chaps and those for whom "the spoken language is their tool" maybe). There are some real idiots in the Tudor court (Mark Smeaton, bless him, although in the TV show, he's more of a fabulous queen than an unsubtle, careless idiot) and some who just picked the wrong side at the wrong time (Thomas More).
Still, the characters in Henry's court are far more interesting than pretty much everyone on The Apprentice, although in this week's episode, heads really did roll in The Tudors: Smeaton, George Boleyn, Brereton and Sir Henry Norris all confess to sleeping with Queen A. After a good racking, anyway. Brereton is working for the Emperor and the Pope and confessed willingly as his death would contribute to the downfall of "the whore." Poor old Smeaton only screwed Anne's brother (although Henry generously allowed him to be beheaded rather than the hanging, drawing and quartering a commoner would normally have been dealt). George B himself probably wouldn't have been executed had a) his lovely, jealous wife not dropped him in it with Henry in the first place and failed to defend him and b) he hadn't emasculated Henners during the trial, saying he was a bad lover. Handsome poet Thomas Wyatt (senior) was saved, ironically, given that after Inquisitioner in Chief Thomas Cromwell that he was the only one who was guilty of sleeping with the queen (pre-Henry). His son, of course, goes on to be executed for plotting to overthrow Mary and to put Anne's daughter on the throne instead.
For all the beheadings in this episode, though, it was a bit of a letdown as Anne is still standing (season finale next week must be suitably dramatic, of course). Henry was devastated to "find out" about all of her "lovers" and sobs into Charles, Duke of Hotness's lap, cursing her, and pretending that he really believes Cromwell's fabricated charges and that Anne hurt and betrayed him.
Just like The Apprentice, though, replenishing its supply of candidates once a year, once Henry has killed off all of one family or one generation at court, the time will come for another to shine. As the Boleyn's star falls, so that of the Seymours begins to shine (and Seymour Junior 1 and 2 end up wreaking havoc long into Mary's reign), and just as Cromwell shot to brilliance allowing him to push Anne out of the way, so too his own decisions as to suitable brides for Henry end him up in the Tower. No one is safe, no matter how good a friend, and being Siralan's favourite will only get you so far if you keep on making mistakes and, worse, make the wrong decisions at the wrong time. Still, Siralan could really learn from a biography of Henry VIII (I'm not suggesting he could learn from Jonathan Rhys-Meyers - the most Irish Henry ever).
24 May 2008
Hannah's Choice
The last Mathieu Almaric film I saw was Le Scaphandre et le Papillon, which I really enjoyed and not because Almaric was so sexy as Jean-Dominique Bauby in his former life. Like Le S et le P, Un Secret also features flashbacks and voiceovers by Almaric's character, but while in the former, the character in question is a prisoner of his present circumstances, in the latter, his character is a prisoner of past secrets.
The Arts Picturehouse's description of Un Secret is carefully coy about the titular secret, although if they were so concerned about ruining the secret, they might have been more careful with the disclaimer: "contains moderate sexualised nudity and Holocaust images." The last French Holocaust film I watched was Louis Malle's superb and painful Au Revoir les Enfants, the story of Jewish boy being hidden at a French boarding school in World War Two, which we watched one tearful Monday afternoon in double French during the upper sixth. More poignant still is that Malle based the film on his own experiences at a French boarding school, never mind that this was hardly likely to be a rare experience.
Un Secret is in many ways much more complicated than Au Revoir les Enfants, because it's not simply the story of a single, nuclear Jewish family in Nazi-occupied France, and each of the main characters makes choices that remind us that people often behave irrationally and over-emotionally when faced with betrayal, even when the betrayers are supposed to be on the same side as the betrayees in this awful game called war.
Almaric plays François, a man in his late thirties who, interestingly, narrates in black and white. He receives a call from a family friend telling him that his father has disappeared from his Parisian flat and so he ventures back to Paris to try to find him. On the way, he has a series of extensive flashbacks, which are all vivid with colour (the blonde hair of his mother, Tania, the gorgeous turquoise of the swimming pool, and so on), and in which he tells the story of his family.
François, aged seven, is a sickly child who is a constant disappointment to his athletic father. His mother is a champion swimmer and diver and so François constantly feels like the odd one out and so comes to invent an imaginary older brother who is just like a stronger, more athletic version of himself - a version of himself that might please his father more. Papa overreacts somewhat to the discovery that François has an imaginary friend who is his older brother, and then overreacts again when François unearths an old soft toy from a suitcase in the attic. Maman is more sympathetic to her son but still tends to side with her husband.
Eight years later, François is still shy, quiet and thin but he is at least having more luck with the ladies, although his father is less impressed that François' girlfriend is named Rebecca. The family is Jewish but Maxime (Papa) is in serious denial and prefers to pretend he has nothing to do with Judaism, and has François baptised. One day at school, though, François is watching a documentary about the Holocaust - one which is pretty graphic, and one of his classmates starts making jokes, causing gentle François to beat the crap out of him (later when being chided by his father, you get the impression that Daddy Dearest is actually glad that his son had the capability to "act like a man"). François won't say why he did it, but eventually he tells family friend (Louise - the same one who calls 1985-François), which leads her to finally tell him the horrific secrets held by his family history.
Flashback to pre-WWII France and it's Maxime's wedding day. Only, he's marrying Hannah, played by Ludivine "Swimming Pool" Sagnier, who looks good as a redhead. Just before they say their vows, Hannah introduces Maxime to her brother Robert...and his wife Tania. The chemistry is obvious from the start, although Tania at least makes an effort to conceal it and Hannah is too caught up in wedding day excitement to notice. Oh, and it's a big Jewish wedding and Maxime is really starting to look as though he had met Tania a little earlier. Shortly afterwards, along comes a son - a big, strong, healthy son called Simon, who is a born athlete and the apple of his father's eye. Unfortunately for Hannah, it is an eye that likes to wander, especially when Tania is around, and eventually even Hannah notices.
Tensions are rising, not least because of the German occupation, and Hannah and Maxime's different takes on Judaism - Hannah is proud of her heritage and doesn't want to hide, whereas Maxime happily hides his, considering himself French above Jewish. It doesn't help that Tania likes to parade around in her swimming costume, doing increasingly complicated dives when Maxime is around; nor does it help that Simon adores Tania.
Eventually, it becomes too dangerous to stay in Paris and Family Friend Louise knows some people who own a little cottage in the country, in a part of France not occupied by the Nazis and plans are made for the whole extended family - Maxime, Hannah, Simon, Tania, Louise and some other friends - to go into hiding there (Tania's husband is off fighting and/or held prisoner by this stage). Maxime and one of the men go down first, on a reccy, and Hannah and Louise will come with Simon later on. They have some fake papers made up so they can get across the border and Simon is very excited about his train journey.
Tania, meanwhile, has, at Maxime's invitation, arrived at the cottage, which, with its people working the land, preparing communal dinners, and bathing in the stream together, is pretty much an Edenic, hippy commune. Tania and Maxime frolic a little, in the river and in the garden, but Tania fends off Maxime's implications. Only, he then makes the error of writing to tell Hannah that the house is ready for her to bring Simon - "oh, and by the way, Tania's here too." This changes everything and suddenly, all sorts of events spiral out of control and go awfully, tragically wrong.
Un Secret is not a happy film but nor is it a terribly maudlin film. It is tightly and powerfully acted by a good cast who together unveil the awfulness of the decisions people make - both in and out of wartime situations - and of the totally unexpected consequences that can result from casual utterances or actions. The characters' varied and variable takes on notions of family, love, betrayal, jealousy, regret and revenge work just as well outside of the film's historical context as within it.
I didn't come out crying, just with a deep sense of sadness, which, thanks to the achronological plot was dully painful. Often, what wasn't said - or, at least, what the audience didn't hear said - was acuter than the dialogue. When Maxime turns up at the swimming pool with Simon - the same pool he has been visiting for years - when the owner stops him at the gate and talks to him, the camera pulls back and we can't hear what she is saying and yet we know that she is telling him they can't go in because they are Jewish; for Maxime, who has longed so much to reject his Jewishness, this is a terrible blow and for us to not hear the owner tell him he can't go in is all the more sad.
I definitely want to see La Vita è Bella now, which I have somehow managed to avoid watching thus far; I like starkly contrasting pairs of films, and it seems that La Vita è Bella will contrast well with Un Secret (and with Le Scaphandre et le Papillon, in the way the central character in each makes great use of his fantastic imagination). On the other hand, maybe I'll just go for some crystal skull action that doesn't require too many brain cells, next time, instead...
The Arts Picturehouse's description of Un Secret is carefully coy about the titular secret, although if they were so concerned about ruining the secret, they might have been more careful with the disclaimer: "contains moderate sexualised nudity and Holocaust images." The last French Holocaust film I watched was Louis Malle's superb and painful Au Revoir les Enfants, the story of Jewish boy being hidden at a French boarding school in World War Two, which we watched one tearful Monday afternoon in double French during the upper sixth. More poignant still is that Malle based the film on his own experiences at a French boarding school, never mind that this was hardly likely to be a rare experience.
Un Secret is in many ways much more complicated than Au Revoir les Enfants, because it's not simply the story of a single, nuclear Jewish family in Nazi-occupied France, and each of the main characters makes choices that remind us that people often behave irrationally and over-emotionally when faced with betrayal, even when the betrayers are supposed to be on the same side as the betrayees in this awful game called war.
Almaric plays François, a man in his late thirties who, interestingly, narrates in black and white. He receives a call from a family friend telling him that his father has disappeared from his Parisian flat and so he ventures back to Paris to try to find him. On the way, he has a series of extensive flashbacks, which are all vivid with colour (the blonde hair of his mother, Tania, the gorgeous turquoise of the swimming pool, and so on), and in which he tells the story of his family.
François, aged seven, is a sickly child who is a constant disappointment to his athletic father. His mother is a champion swimmer and diver and so François constantly feels like the odd one out and so comes to invent an imaginary older brother who is just like a stronger, more athletic version of himself - a version of himself that might please his father more. Papa overreacts somewhat to the discovery that François has an imaginary friend who is his older brother, and then overreacts again when François unearths an old soft toy from a suitcase in the attic. Maman is more sympathetic to her son but still tends to side with her husband.
Eight years later, François is still shy, quiet and thin but he is at least having more luck with the ladies, although his father is less impressed that François' girlfriend is named Rebecca. The family is Jewish but Maxime (Papa) is in serious denial and prefers to pretend he has nothing to do with Judaism, and has François baptised. One day at school, though, François is watching a documentary about the Holocaust - one which is pretty graphic, and one of his classmates starts making jokes, causing gentle François to beat the crap out of him (later when being chided by his father, you get the impression that Daddy Dearest is actually glad that his son had the capability to "act like a man"). François won't say why he did it, but eventually he tells family friend (Louise - the same one who calls 1985-François), which leads her to finally tell him the horrific secrets held by his family history.
Flashback to pre-WWII France and it's Maxime's wedding day. Only, he's marrying Hannah, played by Ludivine "Swimming Pool" Sagnier, who looks good as a redhead. Just before they say their vows, Hannah introduces Maxime to her brother Robert...and his wife Tania. The chemistry is obvious from the start, although Tania at least makes an effort to conceal it and Hannah is too caught up in wedding day excitement to notice. Oh, and it's a big Jewish wedding and Maxime is really starting to look as though he had met Tania a little earlier. Shortly afterwards, along comes a son - a big, strong, healthy son called Simon, who is a born athlete and the apple of his father's eye. Unfortunately for Hannah, it is an eye that likes to wander, especially when Tania is around, and eventually even Hannah notices.
Tensions are rising, not least because of the German occupation, and Hannah and Maxime's different takes on Judaism - Hannah is proud of her heritage and doesn't want to hide, whereas Maxime happily hides his, considering himself French above Jewish. It doesn't help that Tania likes to parade around in her swimming costume, doing increasingly complicated dives when Maxime is around; nor does it help that Simon adores Tania.
Eventually, it becomes too dangerous to stay in Paris and Family Friend Louise knows some people who own a little cottage in the country, in a part of France not occupied by the Nazis and plans are made for the whole extended family - Maxime, Hannah, Simon, Tania, Louise and some other friends - to go into hiding there (Tania's husband is off fighting and/or held prisoner by this stage). Maxime and one of the men go down first, on a reccy, and Hannah and Louise will come with Simon later on. They have some fake papers made up so they can get across the border and Simon is very excited about his train journey.
Tania, meanwhile, has, at Maxime's invitation, arrived at the cottage, which, with its people working the land, preparing communal dinners, and bathing in the stream together, is pretty much an Edenic, hippy commune. Tania and Maxime frolic a little, in the river and in the garden, but Tania fends off Maxime's implications. Only, he then makes the error of writing to tell Hannah that the house is ready for her to bring Simon - "oh, and by the way, Tania's here too." This changes everything and suddenly, all sorts of events spiral out of control and go awfully, tragically wrong.
Un Secret is not a happy film but nor is it a terribly maudlin film. It is tightly and powerfully acted by a good cast who together unveil the awfulness of the decisions people make - both in and out of wartime situations - and of the totally unexpected consequences that can result from casual utterances or actions. The characters' varied and variable takes on notions of family, love, betrayal, jealousy, regret and revenge work just as well outside of the film's historical context as within it.
I didn't come out crying, just with a deep sense of sadness, which, thanks to the achronological plot was dully painful. Often, what wasn't said - or, at least, what the audience didn't hear said - was acuter than the dialogue. When Maxime turns up at the swimming pool with Simon - the same pool he has been visiting for years - when the owner stops him at the gate and talks to him, the camera pulls back and we can't hear what she is saying and yet we know that she is telling him they can't go in because they are Jewish; for Maxime, who has longed so much to reject his Jewishness, this is a terrible blow and for us to not hear the owner tell him he can't go in is all the more sad.
I definitely want to see La Vita è Bella now, which I have somehow managed to avoid watching thus far; I like starkly contrasting pairs of films, and it seems that La Vita è Bella will contrast well with Un Secret (and with Le Scaphandre et le Papillon, in the way the central character in each makes great use of his fantastic imagination). On the other hand, maybe I'll just go for some crystal skull action that doesn't require too many brain cells, next time, instead...
23 May 2008
All About All About Eve
Watching All About Eve tonight, I couldn't help feeling as though I had seen the movie before and as the plot unfolded, the more familiar it seemed. Themes of ambition, jealousy and female bitchiness aren't exactly rare, but it went deeper than that. Then, I realised that a Sweet Valley High book I read when I was about ten (She's Not What She Seems) completely, shamelessly ripped off All About Eve right down to the last detail. There was me thinking that the ghostwriter had come up with all of those plots of her own accord! Here's the book's blurb:
Shakespearean tragedy!
Jessica Wakefield has landed the starring role in Sweet Valley High's production of Macbeth, and suddenly she's too busy for anyone except Paula Perrine, a timid new transfer student who idolizes her. At first Paula spends all her time fawning over Jessica and helping her prepare for her role. But before long, Paula seems to be better friends with Jessica's crowd than Jessica is.
Jessica is pleased that her new friend is coming out of her shell, but when Paula falls to tell Jessica that she's been made her understudy, Jessica wonders if Paula is trying to steal not only her friends but her role as Lady Macbeth as well! No one else, not even Jessica's twin, Elizabeth, believes shy Paula could do such a thing. Can Jessica convince her friends of the truth before it's too late?
I guess that to be fair to the ghostwriter, the target audience of SVH wouldn't really have much overlap with that of All About Eve, but still! In the SVH book, there are the following similarities:
· Paula has a real sob story in her past but is very sketchy when quizzed about her background and when people try to pin down some details.
· Jessica's boyfriend (and everyone else) thinks Jessica is completely over-reacting and that Jessica is just jealous of Paula's popularity. Paula subsequently hits on the boyfriend who then (of course) realises she (Paula) is evil. (Never mind, Jess, he's going to die in another seven books, anyway.)
· Jessica ends up going on a journey out of town, only to get lost/break down and end up missing the opening night of Macbeth, allowing Paula to grab the female lead. Coincidentally, all of the world's media (or, at least, the film critic of the LA Times) have descended upon
· Jess's friends then catch Paula in her lies and they all realise how damn cold she is. Paula is, though, they all concede a tremendous actress but she is also a conniving, heartless bitch. Luckily, in SVH, minor characters tend only to appear in one or two books before being obliterated from everyone's memory.
· The comparison would have been complete if there had been an epilogue in which Paula is backstage after the next play where she has won some award, only to find some freshman or sophomore girl waiting in her dressing room being all mousy and timid and stalkerish...
Needless to say, from what I remember of She's Not What She Seems, it was a pile of derivative (actually, that implies there was some creativity in it) shite. All About Eve, on the other hand, was fabulous. It is also good to know where Dawson's Creek stole its "fasten your seat belts; it's going to be a bumpy ride [night]" line from - ahh, Dantean mixing of high and low culture. Incidentally, the line was used in an episode called All About Eve, where a not-very-Eve-Harrington-like character descends upon the creek and wreaks some havoc; even more incidentally, the DC Eve was played by Brittany Daniel, who played Jessica Wakefield in the dire TV series of Sweet Valley High.
11 May 2008
Take a Chancer on Me
I had to rewatch some of the episodes of Chancer last night to relive those great moments of Clive in my village (even if for the purposes of TV, it was pretending to be Buckinghamshire). Exciting as it was to see him being chucked out of a car by some bird outside a nearby pub and for him then to hitch a lift into the village itself, walk past my old school (!) and make a call from a phone box that never existed, I think the series has lost something in the passing of time.
The first series was aired in 1990 and it really has a very dated, late '80s/early '90s feel about it.
I can't really remember the plot but Clive plays Stephen Crane/Derek/Chancer who is basically a bit of a one who gets involved with two birds, one of whom is the daughter of the owner of a posh, Warwickshire car manufacturer with whom Clive wants to go into business. He rips people off a lot and is quite cheeky with his sage advice in the form of, "Crane's law number one," which varies ("live fast, die young" or "it's not what you do, it's who knows you are doing it"). Also, time has done Mr Owen very well - he looks way better in Closer, Children of Men and The Golden Age (not to mention in person) than in Chancer, though that bizarrely sexy hint of a Coventry accent and cheeky glint in the eyes was there even way back when.
Sigh. I think I'm going to have to order the DVD boxset...
The first series was aired in 1990 and it really has a very dated, late '80s/early '90s feel about it.
I can't really remember the plot but Clive plays Stephen Crane/Derek/Chancer who is basically a bit of a one who gets involved with two birds, one of whom is the daughter of the owner of a posh, Warwickshire car manufacturer with whom Clive wants to go into business. He rips people off a lot and is quite cheeky with his sage advice in the form of, "Crane's law number one," which varies ("live fast, die young" or "it's not what you do, it's who knows you are doing it"). Also, time has done Mr Owen very well - he looks way better in Closer, Children of Men and The Golden Age (not to mention in person) than in Chancer, though that bizarrely sexy hint of a Coventry accent and cheeky glint in the eyes was there even way back when.
Sigh. I think I'm going to have to order the DVD boxset...
08 May 2008
Last Day, Last Burger
Oh, how I hate going home after a great holiday, even though on this occasion "home" is my parents' house and even when the weather is as pleasant in England as it was in New York. Still, yesterday passed all too quickly.
I had insisted on eating pancakes with bacon and maple syrup before leaving the Tristate Area so we breakfasted at Europa Café, where I drank a truly awful double espresso and ate some pretty good pancakes. We have been up the Empire State Building many times before but this time, decided to try the Top of the Rock (AKA the GE Building) at Rockefeller Plaza. It was actually much more pleasant than the terrible queues of the ESB and besides, at the Top of the Rock, you can actually take photos without them being ruined by the glass and, of course, I came one step closer to my goal of making a fool of myself in all of the world's capital cities by appearing in yet another "magical, flying photo."
It was then time for some power shopping and I frog-marched myself down Madison Avenue (no sign of Don Draper, sadly), through Grand Central (no sign of Clive, sadly) and into Madison Square Park. I had been meaning to try a burger from the Shake Shack in MSP for some time now, especially as most NYC restaurant guides recommend it as one of the top three burgers in the city. I arrived at lunchtime and the queue was insane - indeed, I ended up waiting for 40 minutes; worse, I was stuck behind a group of i-bankers, who were spending their lunch break checking their BlackBerrys and talking about differentials. Hot. Luckily, Shake Shack provide entertaining "trivia" boards to read while you are waiting ("the angles of the Shake Shack are designed after what famous NY building?"), as well as "Shack-Cercise" boards to stop you getting DVT. I was busy trying to finish my book so I didn't have to pack it later on, anyway.
Eventually, I got to the front of the queue and was presented with a GameBoy-like device, which the cashier said would buzz when my order was ready. Buzz it did and the burger was delicious. Worth 40 minutes? Well, MSP is very pretty in the late spring sunshine and there are great views of the Flat Iron building. I'm not sure I'd be prepared to wait so long in winter but on a day like yesterday, sure!
Refuelled by the burger, I then ambled through Chelsea and the West Village, stopping at Joe for an iced latte - this time, fortunately, Subway Dude wasn't there and I could write and drink in peace. After almost losing my sunglasses, it was time to catch the subway back up to the hotel for a last spa sesh and refuel at the lounge, before we headed off to the airport.
We went into the BA lounge at JFK for a pre-flight dinner and G and T. Dad had used air miles to allow the brother and me to go business class so we didn't need to worry about getting upgraded. I slept extremely well for the entirety of the six-hour flight before arriving at Heathrow and enjoying a reasonably decent cappuccino, along with a bacon sarnie and a copy of the Grauniad.
It sucks so much to be back and yet, all good things...
I had insisted on eating pancakes with bacon and maple syrup before leaving the Tristate Area so we breakfasted at Europa Café, where I drank a truly awful double espresso and ate some pretty good pancakes. We have been up the Empire State Building many times before but this time, decided to try the Top of the Rock (AKA the GE Building) at Rockefeller Plaza. It was actually much more pleasant than the terrible queues of the ESB and besides, at the Top of the Rock, you can actually take photos without them being ruined by the glass and, of course, I came one step closer to my goal of making a fool of myself in all of the world's capital cities by appearing in yet another "magical, flying photo."
It was then time for some power shopping and I frog-marched myself down Madison Avenue (no sign of Don Draper, sadly), through Grand Central (no sign of Clive, sadly) and into Madison Square Park. I had been meaning to try a burger from the Shake Shack in MSP for some time now, especially as most NYC restaurant guides recommend it as one of the top three burgers in the city. I arrived at lunchtime and the queue was insane - indeed, I ended up waiting for 40 minutes; worse, I was stuck behind a group of i-bankers, who were spending their lunch break checking their BlackBerrys and talking about differentials. Hot. Luckily, Shake Shack provide entertaining "trivia" boards to read while you are waiting ("the angles of the Shake Shack are designed after what famous NY building?"), as well as "Shack-Cercise" boards to stop you getting DVT. I was busy trying to finish my book so I didn't have to pack it later on, anyway.
Eventually, I got to the front of the queue and was presented with a GameBoy-like device, which the cashier said would buzz when my order was ready. Buzz it did and the burger was delicious. Worth 40 minutes? Well, MSP is very pretty in the late spring sunshine and there are great views of the Flat Iron building. I'm not sure I'd be prepared to wait so long in winter but on a day like yesterday, sure!
Refuelled by the burger, I then ambled through Chelsea and the West Village, stopping at Joe for an iced latte - this time, fortunately, Subway Dude wasn't there and I could write and drink in peace. After almost losing my sunglasses, it was time to catch the subway back up to the hotel for a last spa sesh and refuel at the lounge, before we headed off to the airport.
It sucks so much to be back and yet, all good things...
07 May 2008
The Long Walk
Tuesday ended up being a long day but not in a bad way. After breakfast in the lounge, I caught the subway to Brooklyn and walked across Brooklyn Bridge, stopping to enjoy the view with a book, halfway along, and then through Tribeca, SoHo, NoHo and then all the way up to the hotel at 59th Street. It was quite a trek but I find that such walks are a pleasant way of clearing my mind, which was pretty damn busy. I ate sushi in Madison Square Park and raided another two J. Crews. No Clive, though; I guess he must have finished filming that one scene eventually.
I got back to the hotel and made the most of the steam room in the spa, which was pretty relaxing, and then we went for cocktails and "light viands" at the club lounge. I was having internet issues and ended up upsetting the poor, internet-non-savvy concierge, who failed to allow me to complete a simple online task. Even and G and T didn't make me feel better, but it was a gorgeous evening and very pleasant walking down Seventh in my summer dress and boots, carefully avoiding the steam vents. We went to see Boeing Boeing, which was pretty funny. I hadn't heard of the stars, although I recognised Christine Baranski who played Cecile's mother in Cruel Intentions. Plenty of laughs, plenty of farce, plenty of Wisconsin jokes and plenty of blatant stereotypes. The accents were a little shaky at times but it was still a good show.
It was way too late for me to properly enjoy dinner at Bar Americain when we came out at ten. This was a real shame because my steak was absolutely delicious and perfectly medium rare. I ordered some peanut butter/chocolate/ice cream pudding but only managed a couple of mouthfuls. It's such torture being a pudding fan in America as I am so rarely hungry enough to order a pudding. This one was the only one I managed all week. The brother and I then dragged ourselves to Death and Co. in the East Village for a quick mojito before collapsing into bed, realising I had to pack and then re-collapsing into bed.
Not a bad penultimate day...
I got back to the hotel and made the most of the steam room in the spa, which was pretty relaxing, and then we went for cocktails and "light viands" at the club lounge. I was having internet issues and ended up upsetting the poor, internet-non-savvy concierge, who failed to allow me to complete a simple online task. Even and G and T didn't make me feel better, but it was a gorgeous evening and very pleasant walking down Seventh in my summer dress and boots, carefully avoiding the steam vents. We went to see Boeing Boeing, which was pretty funny. I hadn't heard of the stars, although I recognised Christine Baranski who played Cecile's mother in Cruel Intentions. Plenty of laughs, plenty of farce, plenty of Wisconsin jokes and plenty of blatant stereotypes. The accents were a little shaky at times but it was still a good show.
It was way too late for me to properly enjoy dinner at Bar Americain when we came out at ten. This was a real shame because my steak was absolutely delicious and perfectly medium rare. I ordered some peanut butter/chocolate/ice cream pudding but only managed a couple of mouthfuls. It's such torture being a pudding fan in America as I am so rarely hungry enough to order a pudding. This one was the only one I managed all week. The brother and I then dragged ourselves to Death and Co. in the East Village for a quick mojito before collapsing into bed, realising I had to pack and then re-collapsing into bed.
Not a bad penultimate day...
06 May 2008
Welcome to Jazz Club...Nice
After a revitalising coffee, we made the most of the warm climes and paid a visit to my favourite NYC bookstore, before checking out Ralph Lauren Rugby and - having found Washington Square Park closed for refurbishments - we went for lunch at Otto, a great pizzeria/enoteca with a killer wine list and an even cooler address (One Fifth Avenue). We then had to go and meet Papa, who had been in meetings all morning. I emptied the contents of another J. Crew before we did a Maman-led walking tour of NoHo.
Eventually, we ended up at Union Square, where we chilled (I didn't have a book with me, so I bought the gorgeous Read Montague's How We Make Decisions - popular computational neuroscience; no, not an oxymoron!), before heading off to the designated jazz club de la nuit, the Jazz Standard, at the Blue Smoke restaurant. Blue Smoke is a southern/Tex-Mex place and I barely managed half of my half-rack of Memphis ribs. Despite my attempts at daintiness, somehow biting into a deliciously juicy rib was surprisingly satisfying. Oh, and the mojitos were good too. We had a good view of the jazz, too; tonight's act was Ben Sidran's Talking Jazz, which was a combo of jazz and chat with the featured artist de la nuit, David "Fathead" Newman (I hadn't heard of him but he played with Ray Charles between 1954 and 1964 before joining Herbie Mann, whom he tricked into paying him $2000 per month instead of the $500 Charles was paying). The music was great, even if I didn't get all of the jazz in-jokes and even though Papa kept trying to join in on the flute solos...
The bro and I then took a cab back down to the West Village for a night cap. This time, we did go to Employees Only, which appeared to be filled with gorgeous men (and women, although they were of less interest to me). I did get chatting to one guy but sadly, he turned out to be a seriously dull banker type. Still, Employees Only is a seriously cool place and the cocktails were awesome. I had a Ginger Splash, consisting of, "Muddled Ginger Root & Fresh Cranberries shaken with Beefeater Wet, & Berentzen Apple Liqueur served over ice," which was gorgeous, followed by a Pimm's Cup (Pimm’s No1 served tall with a blend of Cointreau, Lime Juice and Ginger Soda, garnished with Cucumbers & Fresh Mint) to get me in a weather-appropriate state of mind. Each time, the bro went for the suitably girlie options of a Fraise Sauvage and a Mata Hari, causing the hilarious, friendly barmen to serve our drinks the wrong way around. The West Village was a-buzzin' as we wandered back to the Christopher Street subway and travelled the 50 blocks back to the hotel, where the doormen are still overly polite.
No Clive today, but another swell day.
Eventually, we ended up at Union Square, where we chilled (I didn't have a book with me, so I bought the gorgeous Read Montague's How We Make Decisions - popular computational neuroscience; no, not an oxymoron!), before heading off to the designated jazz club de la nuit, the Jazz Standard, at the Blue Smoke restaurant. Blue Smoke is a southern/Tex-Mex place and I barely managed half of my half-rack of Memphis ribs. Despite my attempts at daintiness, somehow biting into a deliciously juicy rib was surprisingly satisfying. Oh, and the mojitos were good too. We had a good view of the jazz, too; tonight's act was Ben Sidran's Talking Jazz, which was a combo of jazz and chat with the featured artist de la nuit, David "Fathead" Newman (I hadn't heard of him but he played with Ray Charles between 1954 and 1964 before joining Herbie Mann, whom he tricked into paying him $2000 per month instead of the $500 Charles was paying). The music was great, even if I didn't get all of the jazz in-jokes and even though Papa kept trying to join in on the flute solos...
The bro and I then took a cab back down to the West Village for a night cap. This time, we did go to Employees Only, which appeared to be filled with gorgeous men (and women, although they were of less interest to me). I did get chatting to one guy but sadly, he turned out to be a seriously dull banker type. Still, Employees Only is a seriously cool place and the cocktails were awesome. I had a Ginger Splash, consisting of, "Muddled Ginger Root & Fresh Cranberries shaken with Beefeater Wet, & Berentzen Apple Liqueur served over ice," which was gorgeous, followed by a Pimm's Cup (Pimm’s No1 served tall with a blend of Cointreau, Lime Juice and Ginger Soda, garnished with Cucumbers & Fresh Mint) to get me in a weather-appropriate state of mind. Each time, the bro went for the suitably girlie options of a Fraise Sauvage and a Mata Hari, causing the hilarious, friendly barmen to serve our drinks the wrong way around. The West Village was a-buzzin' as we wandered back to the Christopher Street subway and travelled the 50 blocks back to the hotel, where the doormen are still overly polite.
No Clive today, but another swell day.
04 May 2008
Super Sunday
Now that I've had time to recover from my close encounter of a Clive kind, I can concentrate on the rest of the day. I woke up at eight, not in the least bit jet lagged after nine hours' sleep. Today was the Five Boro Cycle Tour and so there were 30,000 cyclists racing along Sixth Avenue and along Central Park South, which was a great sight from the window. It wasn't really a race as there were so many people queuing up at various traffic lights along Sixth.
After a quick "cappuccino" (i.e. latte) and a bagel from a friendly, Mafioso Benny Hill fan on Sixth, I then went to Bloomie Nails to have my first ever manicure and now have pretty, pink nails. Maman and I had parallel manicures from some Japanese girls, while oh-so-metrosexual Papa had a pedicure, although his ticklish screams were enough to put me off ever wanting to undergo such torture.
It was then that Papa had the Grand Central brainwave, which led to Clive-fest, and I haven't quite got over the excitement just yet. Suffice to say, that it was probably the most awesome celebrity sighting of the year (yes, even more so than meeting Steve P., not least because I managed to restrain myself in front of Clive and didn't make a fool of myself). The notice I spotted on the way out also implied I might even be accidentally included in the background of the film. What a shame that would be — Clive and me on camera together!
After another "cappuccino" from the W on Lexington, it was shopping time. I did J. Crew again and then (naughty, naughty) went to Tiffany's for the first time. It might not be quite the same to buy yourself some Tiffany jewellery as to receive it for a gift, but it was still quite fun to go up to the silver jewellery floor and pick out a charm for my bracelet or to wear as a necklace (a B in a padlock). In the elevator, the operator said, "congratulations" to the girl who got out on the second floor (engagements and wedding rings). Sigh.
The sun then decided to shine, so I went to change into a skirt and shed my jacket. I then grabbed a choose-your-own-salad, which I ate in the park with the New York Times. Perfect. A bit more shopping still ensued, involving a trip to Bloomies.
Tonight we're going out for Italian and I will hopefully then head downtown for some bar action. What a great day!
After a quick "cappuccino" (i.e. latte) and a bagel from a friendly, Mafioso Benny Hill fan on Sixth, I then went to Bloomie Nails to have my first ever manicure and now have pretty, pink nails. Maman and I had parallel manicures from some Japanese girls, while oh-so-metrosexual Papa had a pedicure, although his ticklish screams were enough to put me off ever wanting to undergo such torture.
It was then that Papa had the Grand Central brainwave, which led to Clive-fest, and I haven't quite got over the excitement just yet. Suffice to say, that it was probably the most awesome celebrity sighting of the year (yes, even more so than meeting Steve P., not least because I managed to restrain myself in front of Clive and didn't make a fool of myself). The notice I spotted on the way out also implied I might even be accidentally included in the background of the film. What a shame that would be — Clive and me on camera together!
After another "cappuccino" from the W on Lexington, it was shopping time. I did J. Crew again and then (naughty, naughty) went to Tiffany's for the first time. It might not be quite the same to buy yourself some Tiffany jewellery as to receive it for a gift, but it was still quite fun to go up to the silver jewellery floor and pick out a charm for my bracelet or to wear as a necklace (a B in a padlock). In the elevator, the operator said, "congratulations" to the girl who got out on the second floor (engagements and wedding rings). Sigh.
The sun then decided to shine, so I went to change into a skirt and shed my jacket. I then grabbed a choose-your-own-salad, which I ate in the park with the New York Times. Perfect. A bit more shopping still ensued, involving a trip to Bloomies.
Tonight we're going out for Italian and I will hopefully then head downtown for some bar action. What a great day!
Clive Alert!
I popped back to the hotel to get changed, as the sun has finally deigned to come out in Manhattan, so I had to get the excitement of spotting Clive Owen out of my system!
Papa suggested we go to Grand Central to grab a coffee and I thought why not? When we got there, it was obvious that the people milling around in the central concourse were doing so in a more organised fashion than usual and then I spotted the film crew. Being me, I asked the stage manager what they were filming. A movie called Duplicity, she said. I asked who was in it and she said Julia Roberts and...Clive!
Then I spotted him, looking gorgeous in a grey suit! They shot the scene, which consisted of him answering his cell phone in the middle of the concourse and then walking across to one of the grand staircases and walking up and out the door, about three times. There was a huge crowd of spectators who kept ruining it by using the flash on their cameras even though, as one of the crew kept saying, they had provided the perfect lighting for us. I took quite a few pictures but my camera isn't so good without the flash; luckily, Papa n0w has a big paparazzi camera and he took about 50 for me, so I'll be posting some of those later when I've got them downloaded onto my computer (oh, and there are some of Julia Roberts too but who cares about that?).
Maybe Clive is following me. Not only did he shoot Chancer in my village when I was a kid, but he also came to distract me from revision for finals by shooting Elizabeth: The Golden Age in my college in 2006. Wow: what a superb day!
Papa suggested we go to Grand Central to grab a coffee and I thought why not? When we got there, it was obvious that the people milling around in the central concourse were doing so in a more organised fashion than usual and then I spotted the film crew. Being me, I asked the stage manager what they were filming. A movie called Duplicity, she said. I asked who was in it and she said Julia Roberts and...Clive!
Then I spotted him, looking gorgeous in a grey suit! They shot the scene, which consisted of him answering his cell phone in the middle of the concourse and then walking across to one of the grand staircases and walking up and out the door, about three times. There was a huge crowd of spectators who kept ruining it by using the flash on their cameras even though, as one of the crew kept saying, they had provided the perfect lighting for us. I took quite a few pictures but my camera isn't so good without the flash; luckily, Papa n0w has a big paparazzi camera and he took about 50 for me, so I'll be posting some of those later when I've got them downloaded onto my computer (oh, and there are some of Julia Roberts too but who cares about that?).
Maybe Clive is following me. Not only did he shoot Chancer in my village when I was a kid, but he also came to distract me from revision for finals by shooting Elizabeth: The Golden Age in my college in 2006. Wow: what a superb day!
03 May 2008
May the Shopping Commence
As predicted, after a brief detour via
Walking down
I popped briefly into Anthropologie, which would probably be Betty Draper’s favourite store were she not fictional and also about 75 in 2008. It has lots of pretty, girlie clothes and houseware kit. In fact, the kitchenware and the other decorative items for the rest of the house are so pretty that I really wish potential
Tonight, we’re going out for an early burger at P.J. Clarke’s and then I may head out to
Writing this from the window seat of the 17th floor, looking out on Sixth Avenue, Central Park and the smart apartment blocks of the Upper West Side, listening to The National on the awesome, Bose speakers certainly makes a change from my cold house in Nowheresville, even if I suspect the barrage of overly smiley, overly “helpful” employees guarding the doors of the hotel and lurking in the lifts will start to drive me nuts before too long.
Guess Who's Back
As transatlantic flights go, today’s was pretty damn tolerable. Window seat in Economy-plus, watched a good film (No Country for Old Men), read some of Empire of the Sun, caught some zs, arrived 30 minutes early. We got through immigration quickly and – thankfully – our baggage came too. Papa had arranged a car to take us to the hotel. Maman was very unimpressed when she discovered (after a few false starts in the car park) that it was a stretch limo. How embarrassing, she sez.
Ah well. We ended up at the hotel just before
It’s definitely good to be back.
02 May 2008
One Shop to Rule Them All
Of course, there are many, many shops I love in New York, but if I had to pick just one, it would have to be J. Crew. Maybe its clothes aren't the most exciting in the world but it has jeans that actually fit me perfectly and it has gorgeous summer dresses and pretty tops. I imagine I will probably empty the contents of four or five of its Manhattan branches within the space of about three days (although my bank account may be emptied before the shops themselves are). This time tomorrow, it's quite conceivable I will be in the J. Crew at Columbus Circle, being flattered by the incredibly camp sales assistant. The flight gets in 1t 11.15 local time, so I will probably be shopping by lunchtime, NYC time.
Honourable mention: Kate's Paperie. I do love my stationery and Kate's store practically brings me to a stationery-fuelled orgasm. Pretty cards, beautiful writing paper, great notebooks... It's just a shame that I didn't manage to achieve my goal of writing a proper letter for Letter Writing Month, which was last month. There is something special about a beautifully-penned belle lettre on fancy stationery. Maybe next year.
Time to go prep my NYC Moleskine.
Honourable mention: Kate's Paperie. I do love my stationery and Kate's store practically brings me to a stationery-fuelled orgasm. Pretty cards, beautiful writing paper, great notebooks... It's just a shame that I didn't manage to achieve my goal of writing a proper letter for Letter Writing Month, which was last month. There is something special about a beautifully-penned belle lettre on fancy stationery. Maybe next year.
Time to go prep my NYC Moleskine.
01 May 2008
Two Seasons of Central Park
I quite like the Jardins de Luxembourg and Hyde Park and St James's Park are both pretty good, as parks go, but they can't really compare to Central Park, somehow. Maybe it's the sheer size of Central Park (more than twice the size of Hyde Park), which makes it such a great oasis amid the skyscrapers. I had never really strayed much into the northern reaches of the park before last September, when I was staying in the relative ghetto of 103rd Street, which made it a pleasant, 45-block stroll from Midtown and which allowed me to take an almost infinite number of routes, following the overly curving paths and roads within CP. Watching pick-up games of volleyball, laughing at the couples who paid for the cheesy carriage rides, admiring the view of the skyscrapers from the reservoir and not feeding the ducks or squirrels (as per the strict, hyperbolic signs) are just a few fun things to in CP. My favourites, though, would have to be:
2. Picknicking on the grass near the southern extremes on a glorious sunny afternoon in the summertime. Whole Foods has made this a whole lot easier now that they have a branch at the Columbus Circle shops on 59th Street, which contains all you could ever want for a gourmet picnic and more. Last June, when it was the brother's 21st, we filled a whole basket full of treats, which was way too much for five people, but it was so nice to just sit back, drink some champagne, eat some cake and read the wonderful publication that is the New York Times -
And I love to live so pleasantly,
Live this life of luxury,
Lazing on a sunny afternoon.
In the summertime
- and all that. The most amazing thing of all is that less than two blocks away, the frenetic buzz of the ubiquitous traffic jams is still humming away; somehow, the noise is soaked up by the trees and all you can hear in the park is laughter and lovers whispering sweet nothings, floating along in the breeze.
1. Much as I like CP in summer, my favourite CP moment would have to be on the Wollman Rink on a freezing cold December night, preferably with a little light snow in the air. The rink is often crowded and you frequently have to queue to get in but it's so worth it just to feel the buzz from skating with such an amazing view of the city's skyscrapers, edged in a starry sky. Holding someone's hand as the current '80s power ballad plays, "Take my hand and we'll make it - I swear, Whoa, livin' on a prayer" or similar (Giant's I'll See You in My Dreams and 3 Doors Down's Here Without You are also qual songs I've discovered at the rink). And then, of course, your feet hurt like hell because you have forgotten to wear a second pair of socks and so you go to sit down on one of the benches and sip a shockingly rich hot chocolate while looking up at the skyline. I haven't skated in New York for ages; the last time I went when the rink was open was last October but as they were in the middle of a 25-degree heatwave, it didn't feel quite right to go skating, somehow. Oh well; I'll have to schedule another New York trip for later in the year.
Meanwhile, I've been trying to pack but I'm not excited yet because I know tomorrow is going to be a long day and I need to get through it and the subsequent road trip back to the Shire first (which reminds me - road trip playlist to get me in a New York state of mind!) but this time tomorrow, if I'm not completely brain dead, I will probably be very excited.
2. Picknicking on the grass near the southern extremes on a glorious sunny afternoon in the summertime. Whole Foods has made this a whole lot easier now that they have a branch at the Columbus Circle shops on 59th Street, which contains all you could ever want for a gourmet picnic and more. Last June, when it was the brother's 21st, we filled a whole basket full of treats, which was way too much for five people, but it was so nice to just sit back, drink some champagne, eat some cake and read the wonderful publication that is the New York Times -
And I love to live so pleasantly,
Live this life of luxury,
Lazing on a sunny afternoon.
In the summertime
- and all that. The most amazing thing of all is that less than two blocks away, the frenetic buzz of the ubiquitous traffic jams is still humming away; somehow, the noise is soaked up by the trees and all you can hear in the park is laughter and lovers whispering sweet nothings, floating along in the breeze.
1. Much as I like CP in summer, my favourite CP moment would have to be on the Wollman Rink on a freezing cold December night, preferably with a little light snow in the air. The rink is often crowded and you frequently have to queue to get in but it's so worth it just to feel the buzz from skating with such an amazing view of the city's skyscrapers, edged in a starry sky. Holding someone's hand as the current '80s power ballad plays, "Take my hand and we'll make it - I swear, Whoa, livin' on a prayer" or similar (Giant's I'll See You in My Dreams and 3 Doors Down's Here Without You are also qual songs I've discovered at the rink). And then, of course, your feet hurt like hell because you have forgotten to wear a second pair of socks and so you go to sit down on one of the benches and sip a shockingly rich hot chocolate while looking up at the skyline. I haven't skated in New York for ages; the last time I went when the rink was open was last October but as they were in the middle of a 25-degree heatwave, it didn't feel quite right to go skating, somehow. Oh well; I'll have to schedule another New York trip for later in the year.
Meanwhile, I've been trying to pack but I'm not excited yet because I know tomorrow is going to be a long day and I need to get through it and the subsequent road trip back to the Shire first (which reminds me - road trip playlist to get me in a New York state of mind!) but this time tomorrow, if I'm not completely brain dead, I will probably be very excited.
Three Burgerless Restaurants
I may have mentioned that I quite like a really good burger and that while England in general and Cambridge in particular aren't t so hot at purveying me one, New York is heaven for the burger connoisseur. However, there are New York restaurants I like that don't serve burgers, so I suppose I ought to list some of those for once:
3. Rosa Mexicana - 61 Columbus Avenue, Upper West Side. So, it's a chain and as a former vegetarian and formerly very fussy eater (now partly vegetarian and partly fussy), I am probably not the best person to judge a Mexican restaurant but Rosa Mexicana does do very nice pomegranate margs, which are so delicious that it doesn't matter what the rest of the meal tastes like because I will be too drunk to know any better. The food is, apparently, good and the atmosphere is really fun. They say that it's over-rated and over-priced, but I find that they are often idiots.
2. Angelo's Pizza - West 57th Street, Midtown. A list of New York restaurants wouldn't be complete without a pizzeria and I find that John's doesn't live up to the hype with big queues and not so thin and crispy pizzas. Angelo's is great, though, not least because it's opposite a hotel I often stay in. The pizzas are coal-fired (of course) and very thin, very crispy and very delicious, which makes it a shame that eating more than half of a small pizza is never more than a crazy, distant dream for me. It certainly ain't fancy but for a good pizza without the fuss, you could do a lot worse than Angelo's.
1. Café Condesa - 183 West 10th Street, the West Village. I only discovered this tiny, eight(-ish) seat restaurant on a busy intersection in the heart of the West Village, quite recently. It really is very small with just a handful of tables and then the bar, behind which lies the mini-kitchen. This doesn't seem to limit the chefs as the food, which is often French or Spanish inspired, is really good and I seem to remember being suitably impressed by whichever wine it was that whichever man I was with ordered for me. They also do breakfast, brunch and lunch and it really is a cool, little place with lots of character and great food.
Having completed this top three, I'm not convinced these are my three all-time favourite non-burger restaurants in NYC, not least because I've never really pondered the question that much and because I have been to so many great New York restaurants that it's hard to keep track of them and to play them off, one against the other; it's like comparing oranges and apples. At the very least, though, these are three very different restaurants, each of which I like an awful lot and each for its own reasons. I could name another ten places that could just have easily made it into my shortlist had I been in a slightly different frame of mind. They will do, though.
3. Rosa Mexicana - 61 Columbus Avenue, Upper West Side. So, it's a chain and as a former vegetarian and formerly very fussy eater (now partly vegetarian and partly fussy), I am probably not the best person to judge a Mexican restaurant but Rosa Mexicana does do very nice pomegranate margs, which are so delicious that it doesn't matter what the rest of the meal tastes like because I will be too drunk to know any better. The food is, apparently, good and the atmosphere is really fun. They say that it's over-rated and over-priced, but I find that they are often idiots.
2. Angelo's Pizza - West 57th Street, Midtown. A list of New York restaurants wouldn't be complete without a pizzeria and I find that John's doesn't live up to the hype with big queues and not so thin and crispy pizzas. Angelo's is great, though, not least because it's opposite a hotel I often stay in. The pizzas are coal-fired (of course) and very thin, very crispy and very delicious, which makes it a shame that eating more than half of a small pizza is never more than a crazy, distant dream for me. It certainly ain't fancy but for a good pizza without the fuss, you could do a lot worse than Angelo's.
1. Café Condesa - 183 West 10th Street, the West Village. I only discovered this tiny, eight(-ish) seat restaurant on a busy intersection in the heart of the West Village, quite recently. It really is very small with just a handful of tables and then the bar, behind which lies the mini-kitchen. This doesn't seem to limit the chefs as the food, which is often French or Spanish inspired, is really good and I seem to remember being suitably impressed by whichever wine it was that whichever man I was with ordered for me. They also do breakfast, brunch and lunch and it really is a cool, little place with lots of character and great food.
Having completed this top three, I'm not convinced these are my three all-time favourite non-burger restaurants in NYC, not least because I've never really pondered the question that much and because I have been to so many great New York restaurants that it's hard to keep track of them and to play them off, one against the other; it's like comparing oranges and apples. At the very least, though, these are three very different restaurants, each of which I like an awful lot and each for its own reasons. I could name another ten places that could just have easily made it into my shortlist had I been in a slightly different frame of mind. They will do, though.