This morning, I stopped at Panya Bakery for their downy-crumbed apricot pear almond muffin. I walked another block to the Mud Truck in Astor Place and ordered a perfect cappuccino, hot and foamy, with half a sugar and a little cinnamon. I took my breakfast to go, munching and sipping on the slow ride back to Sunset Park. That is my idea of a perfect breakfast.
And I had a little flashback of the time I visited my cousin in Rochester, where he treated me to the "good" local breakfast place, the Panera at the local strip mall, where we ordered half salads, half sandwiches and soups in various permutations. And back when I was in Chicago during a tour, we stopped at the Panera up the block from the Comfort Inn to get dry croissants and coffee before getting back on the road. And most recently, on a girls' day out in L.A., my girlfriend and I saved our appetites, drove out of the La Puente suburb and into town to get our ladies-who-lunch nosh at...Panera.
Don't get me wrong, I don't have anything against Panera. Their soups are a little Campbell's-starchy, and their pastries are quite average, but it's affordable and pleasant enough, and it's convenient for burb living. But I have grown to love the way we eat in New York.
I sometimes feel like I'm in that scene in The Pope of Greenwich Village, where the Eric Roberts character goes to one shop for the bread, another shop for the meat, and yet another for the cheese before he sits down to make himself the perfect sandwich. I have my favorite shops, and I'm willing to travel around to get the best of the best. New York is European in that way -- without the suburban sprawl, all of those incredible shops are only minutes from one another. I can get my Parmagiano Reggiano Vacche Rosso from Murray's on Bleecker, then pick up solid raw wildflower honey at the Greenmarket. I can pick up chanterelles, porcini, and even white truffles in the East Village from the same supplier that Le Cirque and Alain Ducasse use. Or I can head to Whole Foods to pick up organic beef and grass-fed lamb, then zip down to Chinatown for dainty baby bok choy and cheap 5 lb. bags of jasmine rice, all on the way home. During the course of an errand running afternoon, I can pick up tart raspberry lemonade and a crystal-crisp, toothsome chocolate chip cookie at City Bakery, or a few slices of pizza pomodoro and a tiny San Pellegrino Aranciata from Sullivan Street Bakery, or a taro bun and sweet milky tea at the Golden Carriage Chinese Bakery, or a snowy lemon ice from Caffe Roma on a hot day, or a hot 60 cent cup of filter coffee with half and half from the corner deli. I can check every errand off my list, shoot home on the subway, cook myself a light dinner, and then zip back out to meet my friends for a party. (Not that I really do that often, but I like that it's possible.)
I don't have to be content with $4 acidic coffee at Starbucks, or frozen margarita birthdays at Chevy's, or McDonald's chicken strips from a drive-thru which has been outsourced to a call center in a nearby town. And the thing is, I'm not content with that anymore. I have been royally spoiled by New York. When I think about leaving New York, not only do I think about leaving my loved ones; I also think about having to leave Dean and Deluca, Tacos Matamoros, the Greenmarkets, my Chinese bakery right next to my subway stop, the Grand St. pho joints, Pearl Oyster Bar, late night sandwich and frites at Balthazar, 24 hour Korean BBQ house-calls in the wee hours. I have a little map in my head of places to relax with a hot beverage, places to meet new friends after work, places to grab a soda and use the restroom, places to show my out-of-town friends what an amazing city this is. I worked hard to acquaint myself with the many pleasures this city has to offer, and it's hard to think about all of the knowledge I'd have to reacquire in another town. I'm sure there are places in Chicago, L.A., and maybe even Rochester where a girl can get the perfect muffin and the perfect cappuccino. But my muffin won't be served by a willowy Japanese girl with high-pitched, soft-consonanted English, my cappuccino won't come out of the window of a bright orange refurbished ice cream truck blasting Creedence Clearwater Revival at 10 am, and I certainly won't have the rest of the day ahead of me to enjoy doing and running and visiting and picking up and just being in my most favorite city of all.
Leave a comment