a taste of balmy

Not one delectable thing that I've eaten here can compare to the magic of a warm New York day. Today was delicious.

Some mornings I can't discern the weather from inside my apartment. This morning was standard in that I woke up after noon and leisurely showered and dressed for a day out. I enjoyed a yoga session to Britney's greatest hits. I don't like the calm, chanting, chakra-soothing crap they force on you at yoga studios. I like hip hop and pop music that pulsates and writhes out of the speakers as I stretch and strengthen. I think the juxtaposition calms me.

Cereal in the belly and wool scarf and coat on the body and I was on the move only to step out of my building into a curious and wonderful New York. A New York of a springtime softness. I removed my coat and beamed with delight. It was a beautiful, balmy day and I had missed the morning rain in the safety of my flannel sheets.

At 5pm, I arrived at Bullfrog and Baum for a meeting about a possible internship. The company represents a lot of chefs and restaurants and also has a burgeoning lifestyle division which is where I would land. In all honesty, not an admonishment of their hiring practices but who would say no to me for an UNPAID internship? I enjoyed meeting the women with whom I would work. They were welcoming and encouraging. It felt strange going from one who would order interns around and who had to conduct interviews to be the one sitting on the scrutinized side of the table. I smiled and did my best. I have nothing to lose except two days a week of furious strolling through the streets of Manhattan.

I asked the ladies of Bullfrog for a restaurant recommendation. I was sent to Cafe Grumpy where I sat in the corner with a green tea latte begrudgingly brewed by an obstinate barista. The tea was roasted and clashed with the cream I'd added to it so I finished it as quickly as I could. I attempted to read "The Memory Keeper's Daughter," a novel I stole from a friend but I was too distracted by the city outside.

The sky had dimmed when I began my stroll up 7th Avenue. I surveyed the shops in the fashion district. Fabric stores and notions stores and stylish future designers everywhere. I was hungry and decided to stop at Ginger House which before I looked at the posted menu I had mistaken for an English pub due to its dark wood paneled walls. It felt like I was in Boston or Washington DC. But better...because I craved roast duck and they had it. My parents were 3000 miles away and it was Chinese New Year's Eve. I connected with them gastronomically.

I sat alone along a wall outside a wait station. Most of the patrons were not Chinese but I don't usually judge Chinese restaurants by the racial barometer reading. The waiters were stern but swift and soon I had BBQ pork, roast duck, sauteed string beans and white rice before me. Starved, I set about my dinner and watched a table of loud, boisterous fashionistas. They were dressed with spunk and loving their conversation. As I finished, I cracked open my fortune cookie which read: "Be calm and collected. Peace is a virtue." And then on the reverse, "haircut" with the Chinese characters in translation. I suppose fate finds me harried and hairy. I am not.

I walked. I walked for blocks. Forty. I carefully crossed forty streets along 7th Avenue and then Broadway. I wove through the tourists in Times Square. The lights, the signs, the bustle, the taxis, the life vibrating in the warm air of this glorious night. The last night of the Lunar New Year and I was standing in the middle of the city that continues to entrance me. I looked up to the top of the skyscrapers, the cliffs of industry and we the meandering river of bodies and strollers and packages that course through the divide. I swelled with peace and joy and light. My heart was brighter than the marquees on Broadway.

At Columbus Circle, I boarded the M10 bus headed north on Central Park West. A homeless man also got on and threw his fare with disdain into the till. There was a bit of tension between the driver and this man. A kind woman swiped her Metrocard for him to avoid a delay in service. The driver was edgy. I sat with my leftovers in my lap, the scent of my people wafting out of the smiling plastic bag. When I returned home, my roommate Ed rang and we met to explore our neighborhood and find his dinner.

It was 9:30pm in Harlem with my roommate as we stopped along the restaurant row of Frederick Douglass Parkway. We will try them all in due time. The air began to change. It was growing cold. I decided to take Ed back to Miss Mamie's where I would have my first repeat restaurant experience here. Where without warning, suddenly I became a frantic cornbread glutton. I had just eaten dinner but I consumed two plates of cornbread. I just walked forty blocks, I justified to Ed, so I had to eat four orders of cornbread so that I wouldn't die. Butter became a game of "How much can Katie use?" I made a small city with the emptied, tiny white plastic containers with their foil lids peeled away. Ed ordered us the "Sampler Platter" with Southern fried chicken, North Carolina BBQ rib, short rib and fried shrimp. We had potato salad and beans and rice on the side. Everything was delicious, especially the short rib. The meat was tender and soaked with a rich glaze.

We barely spoke. The comfort between us like that of people who hate yet tolerate each other. As we strolled home, I shivered in my sweatshirt and Ed repeatedly offered me his jacket. Perhaps we don't hate each other. Or perhaps one beautiful day had thawed a hardened cop turning him into the chivalrous gentleman I glimpse now and again. A man doesn't always have to be a meal of perfection. Sometimes a taste is good enough to tide you over. Much like the day that will resound in my memory. A day that was everything I loved about New York from all my vacations here.

At home, more eating. Nate had made hummus and babaganouj today which we inhaled on soft torn slices of pita bread in front of the ALT (Absurdly Large Television.) We watched Project Runway and retired to our rooms in the wee hours of the morning. Our midnight snacks a new favorite pastime.