Really really good iced coffee please. The kind of coffee that makes you regret having automatically put in milk and sugar without stopping to taste it first. The kind of coffee that also somewhat explains why people would like living in Park Slope, where they could walk to get this. Oh, okay, I see. But also it still doesn't excuse you wearing those really expensive black strappy heels to walk your dog.
This pizza please, even with the anchovies. I will only order anchovies when I'm in NYC. Let's talk for a moment about how I think Chicago style pizza is an affront to the idea of pizza, like if NYC pizza is a tart, and Cleveland pizza is a pie, then Chicago pizza is a cake made of tomato casserole and can go fuck itself.
We went to the famous deli and it was totally overcrowded and the walk made me super tired and the sandwiches were too expensive and the egg creams melted all over our hands in the subway, but the pastrami is definitely the best pastrami ever. The corned beef was eh though.
I like that every trip to NYC includes at least one moment of quintessential New York Americana. Like the year we ended up at the french piano bar where the NY Met singers were taking requests from their castmates. Or the New Years Eve I was on a rooftop in Hoboken, watching the Italian social clubs set off fireworks in the street. This time it was this dim sum place hidden on a curvy little side alley in Chinatown, where the same guy had been cooking for a 100 million years, and the little fried turnip cakes and scallion pancakes and huge soft steamed buns were all amazing and cheap. The servers were all obviously cousins. There were little plaster saints on display behind the counter. The bathroom led out to the alley. Also, the crowd will make you feel like one of the cool people, like if you were an amateur documentary filmmaker and I was a struggling dance/theater major, we would come here on date night after a film release in someone's basement.
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