Parent Trap

Great things about my parents visiting me for two weeks:

* Saving a significant amount of money from the enforced quarantine away from my party-loving friends.

* Sleeping soundly for 10 hours every nights (see above point).

* Having a seemingly endless of supply of bagels in the house as my parents are strangely obsessed with them and made daily trips to H&H to stock up.

* Feeling like a child again as we sat down for breakfast every morning (I had to build in an extra 30 minutes in my morning schedule), Mum cooked some of my favourite dishes (and froze them so that I could have homemade food when they left) and they generally looked after me as if I was not much older than 12.

* After many trials and errors, finally finding a decent baguette in the City at the Food Emporium.

* Quitting smoking.

Not so great things about my parents visiting me for two weeks:

* Trying to look very interested while Dad showed me all the pictures he took of the vegetables growing in their garden.

* Being completely up to date, in sometimes more details than strictly necessary, on all of our extended family's news.

* Realizing, after they had left, that Mum had subtly reorganized all my kitchen cabinets.

* Being left with a fridge full of cheese and a brand new pot of Nutella.

* Being shamed into realizing there are still so many areas of New York that I have yet to explore such as Brooklyn Heights, Ellis Island and well ... the Upper East Side, while my parents on the other hand adventurously wondered around by themselves despite their very limited command of English and came back from their escapades with wonderful observations and photographs.

* Quitting smoking.

All joking aside now, the greatest thing about my parents' visit is that it turned out to be quite a revelation for me.

When they first came to see me here I was so new to the City - barely 7 months in - and although I had managed to pack in many experiences in that short time, I didn't know the City in the way I know it now and I also wasn't the person I am now. Despite our enduring love affair, New York has kicked me pretty hard to the ground a couple of times very early on and taught me tough lessons ... some of which I only very recently finally absorbed and accepted.

So in the midst of all this, I hadn't really realized until my parents' second visit that in the past two and a half years, New York has actually become home. Not just an exciting adventure. Not just a place in which to temporary put my bags down for a while before moving on. But instead the place where I belong. Where I feel comfortable and happy. Where my heart is.

Grimaldi's

On the few occasions that I have walked past Grimaldi's, steps away from the Brooklyn Bridge in DUMBO, I have always been puzzled and slightly put off by the line of people snaking down the block to get inside.

But in my experience, there is only one thing that New Yorkers are willing to patiently wait in line for and that's great food: Grimaldi's pizzas are widely recognized to be amongst the best ones in town. It is is also one of the few remaining vestiges of a New York of an earlier era - they don't take reservations, do not deliver and never sell pizza by the slice. 

It is therefore with some trepidation that my friends and I joined the queue late one Sunday afternoon and we were not disappointed. Entering the restaurant is a little like stepping back in time as the decor doesn't seem to have changed much since it opened. You can easily imagine how it would have been a meeting place for local Italian American families but these days they are very likely to have been pushed out of the now trendy area by rising property prices and the clientele is very mixed.

One side of the room is adorned with black and white pictures of Frank Sinatra (including a mug shot from a police arrest) while the other boasts a myriad of pictures of celebrities and notaries who have graced the establishment with their presence. The wood burning oven takes center stage at the back of the room and watching the flurry of activities, including some pizza dough throwing of course, is fascinating.

We opted for a simple pie - tomato, pepperoni, mozarella and basil - which came on a perfectly thin and deliciously chewy crust. Washed down with a cold and crisp bottle of Pinot Grigio, it was simply heaven. Slightly dazed and confused from the carbohydrate overdose, we left the restaurant and walked across the bridge to get back to Manhattan, stopping every few minutes to take in the breathtaking scenery and wonderfully pink sunset over the City skyline.

The perfect conclusion to a perfect meal.

Delayed grief

When L, K & I went for dinner and drinks at Roc in Tribeca two nights ago, we thought we knew exactly what our main topic of conversation was going to be. L had just been through a bad experience with a guy and was in need of girl support so we were going to be indulging in one of my favourite past-times of late (I'm sure it's just a phase!): man-bashing.

Which is precisely what we did, fueled by the flowing wine that kept being poured into our glasses by the attentive waiter, while enjoying probably one of the last balmy evenings of the year sitting in the outdoor terrace ... that is until the sun started to set and we noticed two tall blue lights emerging from between buildings, where the World Trade Center would have been. And our conversation took an entirely different turn.

I remember watching a documentary on 9/11 around six months after I moved here. I was catching up on emails late one night with the TV tuned into the Natural Geographic channel in the background. The documentary came on, and while I would have normally opted not to watch it, I found myself not only engrossed by it but also crying uncontrollably.

Like everyone else I remember that day and the shock I felt. But I found myself overcome with new grief and sadness that night. My office at work overlooks Ground Zero so I was surprised by my strong reaction as I am essentially reminded every single day of what happened. But when you live in Manhattan you come to appreciate that, despite the skyscrapers and the wide avenues, it is really just a tiny strip of land and I truly realized for the first time the scale and enormity of what happened to New Yorkers that day.

Both L and K were working in the World Financial Center and hearing their first hand experience of the events of that day was heartbreaking. The panic of the evacuation, the dust they were covered in, being unable to reach their families, seeing people jumping out of the blazing towers (a sight they both still have nightmares about) - these are accounts I had heard on TV but hearing it from two of my best friends made it terrifyingly real. They explained that the terrace we were sitting on right now would have been covered with flyers about missing persons. They told me of the emptiness of the City for the first couple of weeks following the tragedy with no taxis, no public transport, no-one in the streets. A ghost town. A city striken by grief.

Boy troubles obviously paled in comparison. There are much more important things to be concerned about as well as things to be truly thankful for, and our evening, however emotionally intense, helped put everything in perspective.

Photo by richardkingphoto @ flickr.com

Swinging Manhattan

Not, of course, that type of swinging but while looking through some photos I took on my Iphone a few months ago, I remembered some of my favourite music-themed nights out this year which haven't made it onto this blog yet.

A picnic in Central Park is by far my favourite summer past-time. I love the hive of activities that Sheep Meadows becomes as soon as the first rays of sunshine appear. Finding an empty spot, as well as navigating your way through flying frisbees and other airborne implements, can be quite a challenge. But one that I do not mind.

Marie, Larry, Caroline and I had our first picnic in the park back in April on one of the first truly beautiful weekends of the year. Everyone will tell you that it is illegal to drink alcohol in Central Park and if caught, you will be fined. So far, it is a risk that we have been more than prepared to take and we had a wonderful afternoon, whiling away the hours chatting, laughing, eating and, of course, sipping wine.

As the evening dawned, Larry and Caroline decided to go home but Marie and I were of course still full of energy and she took me to the skate circle. I had never been before - it's an area of the park where groups of roller bladers congregate every weekend and dance until late at night. At first, we sat on a patch of grass and watched in awe as the skaters swirled and jumped. But it wasn't long before everyone there, whether skaters or spectators, started to dance together and a couple of guys dragged Marie and I into head spinning routines, the kind of old-fashioned couple dancing that I do with my dad at every family parties. I'm not exactly sure but I think that we stayed there and danced non-stop for four or five hours, amazed at how friendly, fun and eclectic the crowd was.

I am a huge fan of little Jimmy Scott, the 84 years old Jazz vocalist whose amazing and almost feminine voice combined with his physical frailty bring me to tears whenever I see him perform.

His live performances are very far and few between now because of his age and ailing health but I was lucky enough to see him at the Dizzy Jazz club at Columbus Circle when I moved here in 2007 and when he came back for a brief stint at the same venue back in April this year, I jumped at the chance and took along music-loving D, who I knew would enjoy it as much as I would.

Little Jimmy did not disappoint even though his set was much shorter than it was even two years ago with just four songs. But he delivered them with such emotional intensity that it sent shivers down my spine and made the evening even more special for me. The venue itself only added to the experience as its huge floor to ceiling windows overlook Central Park and 59th glittering in the night.

I really like Razorlight - to me, they are very much the epitome of alternative British rock bands: skinny lead singer, dodgy hairstyles, but with solid beats and occasionally thought provoking lyrics.

While they are big in the UK and would normally play at venues the size of Wembley stadium, they are pretty much unknown in the US and Libs, Marie and I got the chance to see them at the Hiro Ballroom, a smallish club in the basement of the Maritime Hotel on the edge of the Meat Packing district.

There were probably no more than a hundred or so people packed in the venue and unsurprisingly, they all seemed to be British. We perched up on the stairs leading to the balcony which afforded us fantastic views of the stage and the band. The atmosphere was electric as they played their original hits ("In America" and "In the morning") alongside tracks from their latest album "Golden Touch" .... and while we may have been feeling too old for the mosh pit, it didn't stop us from jumping up and down and head bang like a bunch of teenage groupies!

Outer Borough

Just when I thought, especially after relentlessly pounding its now familiar streets with my sister over the past week, that I had pretty much seen everything there was to see in the City, an outer borough excursion showed me that New York as a whole has so much more to offer and plenty of surprises still in store for me.

Laurie and I headed to Brighton Beach, at the very end of the Q line in Brooklyn, this past Sunday. It is better known as "Little Odessa" because its patchwork of residents are primarily from former Soviet Union territories such as the Ukraine and Latvia. We landed in a bustling market street as soon as we exited the subway, filled with people shoving each other (and us) out of the way to get to the best fresh produce and haggling for them in Russian. In fact, we hardly heard any English being spoken ... the journey from the Upper West Side may have only been 20 miles but culturally we were thousands of miles away and I regretted not learning how to say "hello" and "thank you" in Russian ahead of time (the two expressions I always make a point of learning in the native language of whichever country I am visiting).

After fighting our way through busy Brighton Beach Avenue, we opted to have lunch at Cafe Glechik, a traditional eaterie frequented almost exclusively by Russian locals. We sampled a plate of pickled vegetables (incredibly garlicky and including pickled watermelon which was surprising to say the least), pork Pelmini and potatoes and mushrooms Vareniki (both are types of dumplings) to the nostalgic sounds of gypsy music - making the experience even more "out of this world", especially when the bill came to just $7 per person for what was a very generous meal.

We walked off lunch by heading towards the sea and the boardwalk which leisurely stretches to Coney Island. The latter has never been on my list of places to see - I had very low expectations and anticipated a run-down and tacky amusement park, possibly full of shady characters.
But perhaps it was the strolling in the sea on the way there (which made me feel on holiday), or the brilliant sunshine or maybe the company (Marie and her friend L had joined us by then) ... whatever it was, I was won over by Coney Island.
Sure it is indeed a little tacky with its arcades and fun rides and there are plenty of colourful characters meandering about, but it all made for fantastic people watching. It was also surprisingly clean and friendly and I loved the small booths lining the boardwalk, each playing different types of music that people danced to in broad daylight without an ounce of self-consciousness. My favourite was the open air karaoke which made American Idol's worst contenders almost sound talented. A bumpy ride on the Wonder Wheel was (quite literally as it stands 150ft tall) the high point of our visit as it offered unbeatable views of the Ocean on one side and the distant Manhattan skyline on the other.

I may well have become one of those annoying Manhattanites who dread leaving the safety and familiarity of their tiny island, but after this taste of an almost entirely different universe I am more determined than ever to stop whinging about the long subway rides and absence of taxis and get to the business of seriously exploring New York's more culturally authentic boroughs.

* While the "shoot the freak" photo may alarm some of you, fear not - it's only a paintball game ... catchy name though.

Memory Bank

My sister is visiting from France for two weeks and, as previously mentioned on this blog, there is nothing I love more than having people staying over and making the most of the City with them. It makes me fall in love with New York a little more every time.

Laurie and I are actively building up a pretty cool memory bank of experiences together ...

Visiting the Frank Lloyd Wright exhibition at the Guggenheim with Libs ...

Followed by oysters at Ocean Grill.

 

Fighting our way through the crowds at the first Japanese street fair hosted in NYC ....

And chilling out at Cipriani's in Grand Central afterwards, the calm and serenity of which still amaze me to this day.

A stroll through wonderfully tiny Chelsea Market ...

And walking the High Line on a perfectly balmy evening.

Cutting shapes to Britney Spears' "Womanizer' at Madison Square Gardens with a bunch of girlfriends.

And enjoying amazing bruschetta alfresco with some chilled Pinot Grigio at Oscar in Soho last night.

Transient City

As I attended not one but two farewell parties this weekend, I was reminded of the transient nature of New York City. Both friends felt their time was up - one is moving back to London while the other has decided to try his luck in Thailand and enjoy a more sedate lifestyle for a while.

I believe that transience is quite unique to New York and an intrinsic part of the social dynamics in the sense that it changes the way friendships are formed (and perhaps one could argue also the volatile nature of romantic relationships). I met most of my friends here through shared UK connections - it is very natural for people to meet up with friends of friends if they have just moved to the City and quickly include them in their own social group. There is a common acknowledgment that the City can be a big and daunting place if you don't know anyone. It makes building new friendships in the City a much faster process but it also creates a fairly tight knit expat community as I am finding now that a lot of my friends here are British.

It is with a little sadness that I am facing this first wave of departures but I also have long been preparing myself for it. As with any expatriate community, a lot of people have no real sense of how long they will be staying in their new adopted City. But I also know first hand that true friendships can withstand geographical distances.

At least, goodbye parties make for memorable evenings. K's party on Saturday night was a pretty wild affair - we started with drinks at Madame X, a small and dark Soho bar modeled after a bordello with crimson walls and odd paintings on the walls, before hopping in a taxi to Fat Baby. We danced relentlessly until four o'clock in the morning and although I paid the price for it dearly the next day, I still have the awesome beats of DJ Kool's "Let me clear my throat" running through my head and putting a smile on my face two days later!

On the other hand, S had opted for a relaxed dinner gathering on Sunday night to bide her farewell to New York. A group of about ten of us went to Public, which may well become one of my new staple restaurants in Noho. We opted for the amazing Sunday tasting menu and were in for a little surprise ... The restaurant was primarily filled with the head chef's friends (who happen to include the actress Julia Stiles who was sitting at the table next to us) for a special screening of his appearance on Iron Chef America, where he won the challenge ... with the exact menu we had just sampled!