After leaving Harlem, where we had our fantastic lunch, my friend Paul and I hopped back on the A Train (I still have a hard time saying – or typing that – without singing in my head) and headed back downtown. Paul had to meet his partner and head to the airport (they were returning to Toronto that evening) and I had to go back to Little Italy to retrieve the jacket I’d left there the night before.
We got off at 8th Avenue and 4th Street, and I walked for about 30 – 45 minutes to Little Italy. Now, here’s where I played a little game with myself. Never mind “Walk Like An Egyptian” …. I tried to “Walk like a New Yorker”. I wasn’t quite sure how to do this, but I watched a few others around me and decided that it mainly meant I had to walk at a brisk pace, and look like I knew what I was doing and where I was going. The pace was fine – I don’t mind walking quickly (I am Joan Bambrick’s daughter, after all. My mother can motor!). However, it was the whole “walk like you know where you’re going” part that gave me some trouble. I had general idea of the direction in which I had to walk - head south on 6th, until it intersected with Canal (which I kinda thought it did), then walk west on Canal to Mulberry Street. (I still giggle at the fact that that main drag in Little Italy is “Mulberry Street”. Lemme guess: the main drag in Little Ireland is “Fuggedaboutit Avenue”, right?) But beyond that general idea, I was at a loss.
Anyhoo, I quickly formulated a plan: keep a map up my sleeve – literally! That way, I could subtly glance at my watch AND check directions at the same time. Only problem is that, like an idiot, I’d bought a somewhat large, heavy cardboard, laminated map. Thus, the whole “up my sleeve thing” didn’t work out so well, unless I wanted to look like a New Yorker with a splint.
So, I just kept walking in the general direction in which I wanted to go, and even got daring with a couple of short cuts. Said short cuts took me through Soho, which was cool, and eventually got me to my destination. I’d called the restaurant the night before and told them I’d left the jacket there. They’d already found it and left it at the bar for me to pick up the next afternoon. So, you can imagine my surprise when the bartender told me that he knew nothing of a jacket for pick up and that he couldn’t look around for it because they were too busy for him to leave his post at the bar.
At first I thought it was a scam: hold on to lost items and resell them at one of the many kiosks along the street. Then I realized that there is no way they’d want - or be able to get much for - my jacket: I’d bought it at Costco. Not exactly what you’d call “high fashion”, certainly not by New York standards.
I listened as a couple of waiters asked the bartender what was going on. (Having an Italian best friend in college was really paying off!) Then, a wonderfully geeky little Italian waiter suggested that the bartender check a package that was on a shelf right in front of him. Sure enough, there was my jacket! I thanked the waiter profusely – in Italian, no less – and started to head out. I guess hearing a freckle-faced pasty white girl with reddish-brown curly hair intrigued them, because suddenly the bartender and another waiter (who was previously paying absolutely no attention to me) perked up. One waiter asked how I could leave a jacket behind, and I replied that last night was such I lovely evening, I forgot about it. Then the geeky waiter told me that a lovely woman should enjoy a lovely evening. (At least that’s what I heard him say … ) I blushed, giggled like a school girl, wished them a wonderful day and headed back down Mulberry Street.
Feeling rather pleased with myself, I got back on Canal Street to take the subway back uptown. I swiped my Metro pass, strode purposefully toward the appropriate track, and eventually boarded the train in a hurry – just like a real New Yorker. (The only thing that blew my cover was when I dropped most of the contents of my purse – which included 2 maps of New York and a “What To Do In The Big Apple” booklet - all over the subway car floor. My cover was officially blown!)
I decided to hop out at an earlier stop and enjoy a little more of a walk. (It was an absolutely gorgeous day!!) I eventually returned to the hotel and prepared for my evening.
My sister is a trained chef who now works in the hotel / hospitality business. When I told her I was coming to New York for the Thanksgiving Weekend, her first comment was: “You HAVE to go to Gordon Ramsey’s restaurant! You should go for lunch; you’ll never afford dinner there!” I decided to take her advice. Gordon Ramsey’s restaurant is called “Maze” and it’s in the London Hotel in Manhattan. I had done some research on line and it seemed they had a reasonable fixed price “pre-theatre” menu, so I had made a booking to have dinner there before attending a concert later that evening. (More about that in a bit.)
I called ahead to confirm the location, learned that they had a dress code, grappled over what to wear, and eventually headed out to walk the 17 blocks to the restaurant.
It was simply lovely. For those of you who saw the movie “A Single Man”, the maitre d’ could have passed for Colin Firth’s younger brother. He was adorable! I was comforted by the fact that I was seated in an area where there were 3 other people eating dinner alone, so I didn’t feel like, for lack of a better term, a loser. (As I said in the first chapter, I’m not one to go to dinner alone, so I was struggling a little bit.) The wait staff was wonderfully attentive and quite informative. Fernando was my waiter. (Consequently, I hummed ABBA songs each time he approached my table.) I ordered a glass of California chardonnay to start and he brought me an espresso cup full of an appetizer that was a welcome “compliments of the Chef”. I began to wonder who tipped Gordon off that I was there, but then noticed that the other tables all had the same cups. <sigh>
For my main course, I had pan-fried salmon with squash, tortellini, topped with a brown butter sauce. Now, I have to tell you: after the lunch I’d had at Sylvia’s I wasn’t what you’d call “ravenous”. Fortunately, however, the portions in restaurants like this are - how can I put this? – “modest”. The salmon was about 2.5 square inches and there were only about 3 or 4 pieces each of the squash and tortellini. That said, it was just enough and it tasted simply marvelous. (Yes, when you eat at restaurants like Maze, you use words like “marvelous”.)
Fernando ( “ … can you hear the drums, Fernando? …. “) asked me if I wanted to see a desert menu and I thought: why not? This was my Thanksgiving Dinner, after all. Truly, I only planned to look at it and didn’t think I would order anything until I saw this: “chocolate pudding, stout ice cream, pretzel and peanut butter powder”. Are you kidding me?!?!?! How could I resist that? I told Fernando (“ … I remember long ago another starry night like this … “) that I would order it, but in about 15 minutes. (I wanted to linger over my wine and let me 2.5 square inches of salmon settle.) In the meantime, I asked to see the scotch list. (If I was going to do this, I was going to do it right!) The sommelier came to my table with the list and asked if I had any questions. We chatted about various tastes and flavours and I eventually settled on an 18-year old Macallum, which we said he would send over following my dessert.
So …. the dessert. Simply put, it was the best dessert I have ever had in my life!!!! The pudding was so thick that it came in the form of a rectangular block. Again the serving was small, but it was just enough! The texture was beautifully smooth and creamy. The flavour of that, combined with the stout ice cream and peanut butter powder was a combination that rivaled Abbot & Costello, Martin & Lewis, Bogart & Bacall, and Brangelina. Amazing!!!! (I think I might have wept a little bit internally out of sheer joy.
I sipped my scotch, asked for the bill, and thanked Fernando (“ … there was something in the air that night, the stars were bright … “). Then I hopped in a cab and headed to the Coopers Union Building for an amazing concert courtesy of “NEW YORK VOICES”!!!
So, just to put things into perspective, New York Voices was the first vocal group that brought my ambition to sing Jazz to new heights. I was at a concert of theirs in Halifax back in the late 1980s when I made up my mind to pursue music. When I recorded my first album with the Beehive Singers, we ALL thanked the “Voices” for their guidance and inspiration. Over the years, our paths have crossed a few times, I’ve taken lessons with one of the Gals in the group, and I’ve even had the opportunity to adjudicate with a couple of “Voices” at music festivals, and have developed a friendship with the individual members of the group. Simply put: I adore them.
The only thing is: they rarely play in New York. So, I wasn’t exactly holding my breath when I checked their website to see their touring schedule. You can imagine my amazement when I saw that they were doing a concert on my last night in New York. It was a no-brainer …. I was there!!!
The show was fantastic. They sound better than ever. There’s a maturity and comfort in their sound. Their rhythm section was just amazing (cute, geeky little Italian drummer named “Marcello”!!), and the program was beautifully planned. The evening flew by and before I knew it, they were announcing their final tune.
I had sent one of the members (Peter Eldridge) a note saying that I was going to be in town for the show, but he didn’t mention it to the others, so it was really great to get their surprised reactions! Unfortunately, they were swamped with fans who wanted autographs, pictures, etc., and I had to get back to the hotel to pack, so we only had time for some quick catching up. (Note: We are hoping they will have an opportunity to perform in Toronto sometime soon, so I will post something if that comes to fruition. Theirs is a show that’s not to be missed!!)
While we were inside at the concert, a thunder storm was brewing, so by the time I left the hall, it was pretty nasty outside, and – of course – I didn’t have an umbrella. However, I decided to make the best of it, and pretend I was in one of those movies where the heroine desperately struggles to hail a cab in the middle of a rain storm. It worked!!! I got the first cab I hailed!
I returned to the hotel, began packing my things, and fought off the feeling of melancholy that always comes at the end of a vacation.
All in all, it was a great trip … so much so that I was inspired to share it with y’all.
Thanks for reading!!!
P.S. I’m leaving in a week to do a concert in Newfoundland and I have a feeling there might be some blogging moments in there somewhere. Stay tuned …..
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