Traveling from the City that Never Heats to the City that Never Sleeps.

Chicago to New York City. And Back.

Days after the dust has settled on my trip east to the Big Apple, I’m still in a foggy, moderate depression over how much I miss and need New York City. I’m just a drop in the ocean regarding that opinion. Millions flock in and out of Manhattan everyday hoping to soak in the energy and that after-glow the city leaves behind. Many squeeze themselves into oversized boxes literally shitting where they eat just to feel the achievement of living in the toughest, most alive city in the world.

This was not my first trip. At this point I’ve lost count. I was fortunate enough to visit shortly after 9/11/2001 for my high school graduation; which, needless to say, profoundly impacted my adolescent mind and left me yearning for more. I’ve made subsequent trips to keep feeding my new addiction, including exploring on my own while my Dad worked, attending the U.S. Open tennis tournament with my Mom in 2005, and taking a memorable honeymoon in the fall of 2006. During these long weekends I did all the cliché things. We went to the Empire State Building, carriage ride in Central Park, watched the Yankees beat the Red Sox, beamed from ear to ear watching the immense talent Broadway has to offer, and ate our way from Midtown out.

None of the previous times in the city ever compared to my 6 week respite living on the Upper West Side in the Lincoln Towers while I attended Sonic Yoga’s 200 hour teacher training. I lived in a small space, took the subway everywhere my feet couldn’t, had a regimented schedule, and most importantly, I met friends. I cannot possibly encapsulate what this experience meant to me and how it’s affected who I am today, but suffice it to say I’ll never be the same. I live in a great city now, with endless options for food, sports, people and entertainment and yet I still dream of New York. So my return for a reunion with yoga teachers and friends conjured up so much anticipation, nostalgia, and ultimately, another awe-inspiring experience.

The Best Yoga Studio in New York City: Sonic Yoga

In lieu of my usual review or story about a particular restaurant or experience, I’m going to give a nod to those which are memorable and those which I highly recommend, in both the caloric and entertainment fields.

Amarone’s Italian Ristorante: Located in Hell’s Kitchen, west Midtown on 9th avenue between 47th and 48th street lies the most satisfying, soul-stirring, flavorful 2 hours you can acquire without actually flying to Northern Italy yourself. It was the first restaurant I ever enjoyed in the city and I’ve continued to support their efforts in my subsequent visits. I’ve also recommended it to many friends and family who’ve had the pleasure of dining themselves, with nothing less than stellar reviews as well. Because it’s such a challenging dish to replicate or find in good quality, I highly recommend the Gnocchi di Sorrentino. First off, Gnocchi should be pronounced like you’ve got peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth, hold on to the N, try not to pronounce it like every other white person and say Noki, the G is there for a reason, to give it the ole Italian gangsta nyokki, emphasis on awesome. Secondly, it’s a dumpling made with potatoes and if you’ve never had the pleasure of consuming these little pasta pillows I have deep sympathy for you and urge you emphatically to seek it out, but only via reputable Italian restaurants or Grandmothers. Mine of course makes the very best, here, NYC, or Italy is no match for her. I’m a very lucky lady. The staff is Italian, friendly, relaxed, and passionate about what matters in life, good sustenance with people of substance. Do yourself a favor and enjoy. Tell them I sent you. Just kidding, they have no clue who the hell I am. :)

Delizioso

Azuri Cafe: Not far from the above entry is a typical New York stop; tiny, lunch based, executed impeccably by minorities in which English is not their first language, reasonably priced, and damn delicious. I have my beautiful yogi teachers and friends to thank for this one as we’d scurry to 51st street between 9th and 10th avenue during our lunch breaks to walk and talk and scarf. It’s very veggie friendly but I believe they have meat options. What I recommend is the falafel pita. Whole wheat pita, fried balls of chickpeas and herbs, then combined with grilled peppers, tabbouleh, babaganush, spicy mystery sauce, herbs and topped with spicy pickles. Honestly, I never really know what I’m eating besides falafel and pita mixed with a flavorful supporting cast, but I love the texture, flavors and nutrition this hand-held meal provides. Also for fans of Seinfeld, the owner is a total falafel nazi, exuding pure disdain for all human kind, but I always mess with him and get him to smile. Make it a game and see if you can too!

Lombardi’s Pizza: Let’s head downtown now, near Soho, 32 Spring street to be exact, and eat at what’s understood to be the first pizza establishment in New York City and therefore emerging the first NYC style pizza. Walking around Little Italy and China town with visiting relatives is what first landed me at Lombardi’s, a serendipitous occasion, a very happy accident indeed. I’m a simple girl. Part of being Italian has led me to appreciate simple, fresh ingredients, and certainly acquired a snobby chip on my shoulder watching American’s pretend to be Italian and forcing 85 ingredients into something only needing 4. This is precisely why I order the basic, Margarita thin-crust pizza baked to perfection in a wood-burning oven. Thin crispy crust, delicious, not too sweet sauce, topped with circles of fresh mozzarella and basil shavings. Simple and so perfect. It makes me think of Italy, Napoli in particular, where pizza was perfected and is still the very best. Enjoy the history, the neighborhood, have a beer, share with a friend.

Yum!

While you’re in Hell’s Kitchen if you are feeling hummus, hit up the Hummus Kitchen. Best in the world, creamy and delicious. Get their lemonade and mint frozen adult beverage, positively delightful!

Head toward 57th if you’re feeling burritos. The Burrito Box is where it’s at. OMFG. I dream about it. So great.

Tu Va Bien for excellent French, also in Hell’s Kitchen.

Gray’s Papaya, besides an authentic Chicago dog, is the best hot dog in NYC hands down. The flavor of the beef itself, matched with a good quality, not oversized bun, is unbeatable. And so is the price.

Anything in Chinatown is above and beyond authentic.

Cafe Lalo: This may be a slightly cliché place, only because it featured in You’ve Got Mail. Meg Ryan anxiously awaits the arrival of her online beau and finds Tom Hanks instead. During the film Lalo is almost empty. This is not typical as any time of day I’ve visited it is hopping, vibrant with sugar and energy. Situated in the Upper West Side, W. 83rd Street between Amsterdam and Broadway, the amber lit trees in front of the large wood-framed windows will lead you down the path to enlightenment. For lack of a better description, this place is just too damn cute. It’s fricken adorable, and you feel adorable being there. The antique cash register, the tall round tables, stools along the often open windows, or the tiny two tops enveloping this L-shaped dessert shop are just a few of the nuances giving this place life. The clear, also L-shaped glass case proudly distributing the pastry chefs finest work is what keeps people like me coming back for more. I can’t make a specific recommendation for dessert because they have everything for every taste, be open but also go with your gut. What I will recommend is the hot chocolate with Bailey’s Irish Cream. My last trip we not only visited Lalo twice in one day but I believe 5 times in total and we enjoyed the warm alcoholic beverage every single time. The wait staff is friendly albeit busy, and remembered me. I’m not sure whether to feel embarrassed or encouraged by this, so I’ll settle on neither. Humans and labeling everything, ridiculous. Enjoy.

I’ve had the pleasure of attending Yankees games at both the old and the new stadium. Given the old stadium is no longer an option for you I’d highly recommend watching a game from the beautiful new Yankee Stadium, rooting strongly against them as New Yorkers LOVE visitors and Yankee haters, and getting some soft serve ice-cream in a tiny Yankee helmet. I’ve enjoyed the beer and pretzels too, but New York has nothing on a Chicago dog. Sorry. You win at almost everything else, including fricken baseball!

Everyone who considers themselves a star, or the most skilled and talented of their generation makes it their business to succeed in the Big Apple. As we’ve heard Frank Sinatra croon a million times, and now Jay Z, if I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere. This is certainly true. And therefore you’re overwhelmed with a plethora of talent to feast your eyes, ears, nose, and brain on. Those who can’t do, enjoy. Although I do not consider myself to be über girly, even from a young age, I do have an intrinsic love for the arts, musicals in particular. Over the years I’ve enjoyed musicals such as: Chicago, Mamma Mia, Hairspray, West Side Story, the Phantom of the Opera, Moving Up, Wicked, Billy Elliot, All Shook Up, Come Fly Away, Fosse, Promises Promises, Avenue Q, We Will Rock You in London, and various dance and music productions off-Broadway. I’ve enjoyed each and every performance immensely; but nothing compares to the musical I was lucky enough to catch recently. Amidst the hype, pomp and circumstance, a great friend and I braved a long line of hopefuls waiting for a standing room only ticket to the Book of Mormon. Written by the brilliant comic minds behind South Park, the Book of Mormon surrounds two young Elders about to embark on a mission trip to Uganda. Not only is it the most hysterical piece of live theatre I’ve ever witnessed, but it’s also deeply poignant and resonates so much with what is going on in the world today. I will not detail the story, or recount some of the genius songs and lyrics to emerge from the very talented cast, but I will say it’s what musicals should be. By poking a bit of fun at a ridiculous book of beliefs, written entirely by a pathological narcissist since being proved by every logical mind to be false, it not only is one of the most inclusive pieces of art performed for the masses, but the most provocative, conversation inducing material I’ve had the joy to come across. I cannot encourage everyone to see this enough. Give yourself the gift of this show.

The Book of Mormon

I tapped into maybe .000001% of what NYC has to offer. All of this exuberance and sheer pleasure would not be possible without the city itself. You may be more of a suburb, small-town, or even quiet, nature type of person, but I still implore you to broaden your mind and heart by visiting this city. Sure it’ll chew you up and spit you out but like anything worth working for, you’ll want and need more. You’ll come through the Midtown tunnel a better, more evolved, more interesting person. And you’d have had one hell of a time.

Eat. Drink. Travel. Dance. Explore. Enjoy.

Look and listen, but mostly listen...

I love food, very much, bona-fide living to eat kind of person and not the other way around. But in order not to turn into a person that needs a crane to be exported out of their house I find ways to balance my life between mastication. Some of these things involve being sedentary but not most. Hear me out. Actually, listen. Below are 3 semi-rant suggestions on various forms of entertainment. I enjoy movies, TV, music and comedy immensely. As described below I often do not seek such things out as they somehow find me, perfect for a lazy masticator. I only plan to blog 2-3 times a week so I've included these "entertainment of the week" segments in one long blog. You can enjoy said things while walking, biking, training, busing, driving, as I often do. Except the film, give yourself a lazy Sunday and focus yourself for 90 minutes damn it! Read this at your leisure. Thanks, masticate, enjoy. Song of the week:

This is something I’m choosing to write about because I get into moods, or obsessions, I don’t know really but I’ll be into one particular song for years, more like days or weeks, but I’ll just listen and listen and dissect and analyze. I love music, but I don’t pursue it. My brother pursues it, finds it, good music lurking in the undergrowth. It just happens to me, someone wonderful will bring something by me and I’ll go, hey! I like that, that’s now mine and was my idea, you screw off, thanks for nothing.

Years ago, my man child lover friend also known as my husband (such a boring, antiquated word), Derek, puts on this song by a band that will soon become MY favorite band, the band I’VE been listening to for years before anyone else and before the radio stations and MTV finally got wind of it. It was a song called The Lengths, by the incredible two-man band, The Black Keys. Feels good to just say that, ahhh, or write it, type it. Shut up. I’ve since fallen in love with every single one of their records, every single song on every single album, no exaggeration. I push them onto my loved ones like I have some secret, juicy gossip they’ve just got to hear and I’ve just got to tell before anyone divulges it before me.

This particular song I have been obsessed with for years, not just days or weeks like the others. It’s a departure for them, a rare slow, somber, heart-wrenching semi-ballad sandwiched between the wicked riffs and drums and 3 minute wonders some of you may be familiar with. The song wreaks of longing, of resentment, torture, emotional demise, a light-hearted vengeance, or more likely, heavy-hearted revenge filled hatred disguised in this incredible melody and soul-crushing lyrics. Here’s just a few from the beginning:

'Tell me where you’re goin What is going wrong Felt you leavin Before you’d even gone

Hold me now, or never, ever, hold me again No more talk, can take me from this pain I’m in'

I’m chill-ridden and emoting just from typing that. Top it with the unbelievably beautiful music and you’ll never be the same.

So, as my first song of the week entry into this blog, I choose this. This, because I quite literally put my iPod on repeat and listened to it no less than 100 times on an international flight back to the states. This, because it makes me both love and hate my husband at the same time and I don’t know why! But I love it. Just listening to the first few seconds of the mind-bending guitar riff will send anyone with a soul into a meltdown. It crushes you, renders you completely shattered, broken and then renewed. I love these guys for many reasons and am very grateful and proud for their recent success. I will stand by them when people ultimately get sick of them because radio stations overplay their awesomeness. You’ll never hear this song overplayed, because it’s too obscure, before their break into the mainstream scene. And for that, you’ll never get sick of it or forget it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o8tBPidveM4

Listen. Learn. Transform. You’re welcome.

Podcast of the week:

Like everything else except meetings and parties, I’m late to the trend. My Mom tried to convince me for a good two years to wear wedges. I refused, not sure why, just wasn’t into it. Then one day, out of nowhere, I wore a pair, most likely belonging to my mother, and I was hooked. My Mom just looked at me in disbelief like “really?seriously?” That clearly has nothing to do with this, it merely serves as an example that I’m late to things most people already are enjoying and pursuing, like podcasts. I am now quite obsessed with podcasts. It all started about 18 months ago when I got wind of the Ricky Gervais podcast. Ricky and his awesome co-writer, co-comic genius Stephen Merchant, pioneered the podcasting movement and have a record-breaking 300 million downloads as of late. I plan to delve into particular episodes, conversations or simply the mind of Karl Pilkington in general at some point, but for today I’m just going to pay them their respect with an honorable mention and then move on to the chosen podcast of the week. Drum roll please..... oh, no one’s reading this? Except my mom? Right.

Doug Loves Movies. DLM is hosted by none other than funny man Doug Benson. He calls himself the professional humoredian, which I quite like because I love wordplay! Almost as much as cadbury mini-eggs. I munch on them now as I explore my lexicon and cleverly devise some diction for your entertainment. DLM came across my lap like almost everything worth experiencing does, through someone else telling me about it. Again I don’t pursue things, like music, it just happens upon me and I soak it up and invariably pretend it was my own idea. So, MY favorite podcast as of recent stars the lovable Doug Benson, best known to me while watching VH1’s Best Week Ever, and always mistaken for I Love the 80’s, 70’s, 90’s, and all the sequels I followed incessantly during my college years. I’m still desperately waiting for those to release on DVD. My god that’d be a dream come true. But I digress.

Doug brings on a few guests, usually comedian friends of his, often who’ve worked together on some recent project, most likely another podcast as it’s an incestuous trend there in Hollywood. He’s had such guests as the cast of NBC’s Parks and Recreation, podcast favorites like Jimmy Pardo, Scott Aukerman, and Chris Hardwick. He’s even landed big names like Kevin Smith, Sarah Silverman, and John Lithgow. Needless to say they’re all entertaining, laughter is abound in this 60 minutes of amusement.

He spends the first half discussing movies he’s seen recently with his guests, often leading to non-related tangents, which induce the most laughs, and then always bringing it back on message to play the AhMazing Leonard Maltin game. Doug created this fun and easy game with the helpful tool of the Mr. Leonard Maltin (famed film critic and regular on Reelz Channel, see if you can find it) App. I won’t go into detail on how the game is played because that would be tedious and time-consuming; all I’ll say is it’s hilarious to listen to and ultimately informative at the end. It may be useless knowledge but it’s knowledge nonetheless. And that is knowledge I’m ripe with, serves me so well in this cruel world. Each guest plays for an audience member, most of which are fans and bring in creative (or not) name tags that each celebrity can choose from, and the winner then hoists a cavalcade of peculiar prizes at said audience member. Doug rounds out the 60 minutes in heaven by calling someone a shit head. The names being chosen by the audience member whose representative did not win the Leonard Maltin game. It’s random, but funny, really seals everything together.

Mainly I enjoy the podcast for very simple reasons. I love to laugh, first and foremost, and this hour is filled with it. I also love movies, so when they do occasionally talk about movies I can pretend I’m part of the discussion and 90% of the time I agree with Doug, except on Inception, that movie blew my mind! And most importantly, Doug genuinely seems like a nice guy. That might sound lame, but there are so many douchey, asshole, semi-funny people out there that are making boat loads of money and being rewarded for their assholiness. I’m fairly selective on who I invest time and energy in, and especially money, and although the podcast is free, DLM is well worth it. You can also buy DLM comedy albums on iTunes for 2 bucks or purchase other podcasts and albums with which Doug is a participant. This was about podcasts, and like a DLM episode, about half of this was relevant material.

I hope you came away with some useless knowledge.

www.douglovesmovies.com

Laugh. Eat. Laugh and eat. Enjoy.

Movie of the week:

Seems like Old Times

What? Is that a real film? Is it one of those on-demand, straight to DVD movies with Val Kilmer and 50 cent? No, it’s not, but more on that later, as I love Val Kilmer and do not relish being made fun of for still loving him despite his Chaz Bono like appearance these days and multiple straight to DVD films with the aforementioned rapper/actor. Already digressing, apologies.

Seems like Old Times is a smile inducing, 1978 comedy starring Chevy Chase, Goldie Hawn, and Charles Grodin, written by the incomparable Neil Simon. Hot off his year-long stint on the freshman season of Saturday Night Live, Chevy was cute as ever with that cavernous chin dimple and impeccable delivery. He plays Goldie Hawn’s ex-husband, Nick, a journalist living in a deserted area in the mountains of California. Goldie’s character, Glenda, is a defense attorney now married to Charles Grodin’s character, Ira, Assistant District Attorney, soon to be named District Attorney if all goes to plan.

Glenda is famous for defending the defenseless, then employing the unemployable herself in order to keep her clients in check. Her soft spot lead to her employing a driver, caterers and maids despite not necessarily affording it. She also has 6 dogs, 2 cats, and 5 goldfish, a fact charmingly thrown in her face by Aurora, her sassy hispanic house-keeper, burdened with the task of caring for all species of the house.

The fun really starts to happen when Nick is abducted, forced to rob a bank, then thrown out of a car for dead in Glenda and Ira’s very district. The chemistry between Chevy and Goldie is palpable, and the orchestra of lies floating between the three main characters as Chevy’s character Nick becomes a fugitive in need of defense would entertain the animals taking up their house, let alone the humans fortunate enough to watch this by choice. Charles and Goldie’s characters are at odds because while attempting to keep work and home separate, they’re consistently reminded they are on opposite sides of the courtroom as a defender and prosecutor, and then the added stress of an ex-husband making his way back into their lives and the potential ramifications, both to Ira’s career and to their relationship in general.

Not to be forgotten or discounted are the infectious performances by the supporting cast, including the previously mentioned Aurora, the driver and at times butler/servant Chester, the Native American brothers Glenda defends, the judge, the governor of California and Ira’s co-worker, the two idiots who devised the plan to abduct Nick and start this whole charade, and of course the animals. The sarcasm and banter within the cast makes this movie beyond watchable, the end bringing them all together in a very satisfying way.

I have my mom to thank for introducing this film to me at a young age, along with other classics from that era like Caddyshack, Arthur, The Goodbye Girl and Fletch. Seems like old Times, in particular, is so gentle and sweet. There is no filth or vulgarity, and that’s not something that bothers me, but this allows for enjoyment from all ages and let’s it rely on the clever writing and genius delivery by the very talented cast. I highly recommend cozying up with the family, or even by yourself, one lazy Sunday afternoon and spending 90 minutes you won’t regret watching Seems like old Times.

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0081480/

Watch. Eat popcorn. And bunch-a-crunch. Cherry Coke. Enjoy.