A Tale of Two Diners

Another night, another crazy memory in this city of blinding lights. After using most of the day to clean and explore web photo-hosting options (I'm taken again by the idea of photoblogging and definitely want to make full use of the Sony DSC-W1 that I picked up just before we went to India), I told D that I'd drive her into the city for her dinner plans with a friend and fellow desi community worker. I didn't want to crash their party, and thought it a good chance to just cruise a bit in the city leisurely before my long trip tomorrow. I gave A a call to see if she was around, since I'd be in her 'hood.

I had a tentative plan in mind already, thinking that we could drive up to the Park to see what we could see of the progress of The Gates installation process. After reading the blog relating the stages of installation, I was hooked and wanted to catch what I could of this historic piece before the masses crowded the walkways and ruined the experience.

So we head out, taking the Brooklyn Bridge and admiring the wide array of midtown towers gleaming with various bright lights - far more than I was accustomed to, in fact. Maybe V-day has something to do with it? We swung around the South side of Manhattan to catch the West Side highway, and were actually able to peer into my office, which is lined up perfectly with the FDR. As I predicted, my director was in his office, working at 6:30 PM on a Saturday. That caused D and I to talk about work/life balance and realize that our priorities are definitely more clear than some folks out there.

Anyway - so I drop D off, pick up gas, and get to where A was to meet me. We started catching up, and drove up to Central Park. We took in the City as we drove up, some of which we hadn't seen in some time, including a small group of dedicated protesters in front of the Waldorf-Astoria with signs like "Fuck Marriage: Universal Healthcare Now!" and shouting slogans about AIDS/HIV Drugs for All. We weren't sure of the target, but it's interesting that folks within this particular movement have such a different take on yesterday's ruling. Of course we didn't think that marriage was the Holy Grail for the activist LGBT community, but the message was more clear after seeing it in stark terms.

Once we got to the park, sure enough, little to nothing was visible of the Gates, which haven't even gone up yet, I don't think. So we drove up to the 79th street crossover, and I made clear to A that my next priority was eating, which I hadn't done since morning, which was quickly becoming a 9-hour fast. We drove down Fifth avenue, and my crazy neurosis about eating at just the right place took over. For some reason, I was again consumed by the desire to eat at the perfect place, driven by the fact that I don't go out that often in Manhattan anymore, and I wanted to make the most of having the car, and command of the decision-making. Meanwhile, we were bordering on an hour in the car, driving through neighborhood after neighborhood, and laughing at the sheer idiocy of car and food culture in the city.

When we got to 14th Street, I had a sudden craving for wasabi mashed potatoes, of the variety served at Fuzion on A, and wanted to pay the place a visit to repay an old debt of friendship and coolness that the owner had bestowed upon me at my last birthday, which friends and family celebrated with me in that fine establishment. We get down to 13th and A, where the spot is located, and there's a Tsunami-related benefit going on. I, with $6 in my pocket, and limited patience for tsunami-related benefits at this point, wasn't having it. And so we continued, past 1 million joints to eat and nary a parking spot to be had. We swung around to Houston, where the cab stops beckoned with promises of $.75 samosas reheated and served in paper trays with the perfect chutney. But there was nowhere to park, and I was feeling more road rage than hunger - at drivers, at weekenders walking the streets that I once so proudly walked, and at my stomach for being so relentless.

At the tail end of our hour on the road, we head back up 1st Ave and finally settled on a Belgian place on 19th and 1st. We parked, and checked out the menu: not good. Pricey, and not veggie-friendly. Where were the pomme frites?! So we ended up, at long last, in a diner. Of all the places to end up in Manhattan, we ended up in a diner. It took us way back to our respective towns, during high school, when driving around and going to a diner were the stuff that nights were made of. But who does that in NYC? Apparently, tourists go to diners, and so do people who don't want to venture far from their comfort zones. I went there searching for fries - the night one long spud quest - from mashed to fried (finally to hashed, which is what ended up joining my shitake-scallion-mozzarella omelet and toast).

Afterwards, I drove A home, and passed a Home Depot on 23rd Street(!) as I went to pick up D from her after-dinner coffee, at the Moonstruck Diner in Chelsea. A Saturday night in the city at last, and I spent it in two diners. I'm so done with the dining and drinking "scene" in Manhattan - this just reminds me that I'm really only looking for comfort in this city, and that in that search, I'm starting to revert to patterns from my yout.

I just want a nice comfortable, non-gentrified neighborhood in Queens where I can speak to my neighbors and their kids about their days and their lives, and integrate more fully into the peaceful hum of what's left of neighborhood NY.