The sun filters through the open curtain and streaks warmly
across the double thick, full cream white bed sheets. The room seems to come
slowly to life as the thick lush carpet tingles through your toes, the water
tap delivers the perfect blend of heat and pressure as if the room itself just
knows what you want. The West House Hotel in New York City.
Eat, Walk, Repeat
Right. Let’s do this. Yesterday the People River swept us
away as we panted and clutched for safety. Today – We got this. Elbows out and
an unfaltering belief that the car will indeed stop for you. Just walk. And
walk we did. We walked from our hotel right down the southern tip of Manhattan.
Not entirely aimless I must admit: Once again it is the food that called to us:
Kats Deli: Pastrami sandwich.
As you arrive in this old fashioned building with the malfunctioning florescent
‘60s sign on the outside you are greeted by this huge man with a deep voice:
“Hey Guys, What ye here for?” A doorman? Like a bouncer type doorman? I, having
learnt from my recent top tips, explained we are from South Africa and we are
here to eat one of their famous pastrami sandwiches. This big fella smiled from
ear to ear, gave off a burly chested chuckle and pointed to the number 5 sign.
“That’s our best cutter – go to him”.
American Pride
That’s what is so impressive about Americans. You know:
Cutting meat into a sandwich here in South Africa would be a kak job. One that
you wouldn’t be proud of. There, in this place, the heritage and pride shines through
where a silly little job like cutting meat is taken so seriously and done with
such passion that they actually say “He’s our number one cutter”. And cut he
did. With flinging knives and sharpeners and chunks of meat exploding off like
Edward Scissor hands this dude masterpiece’d a Pastrami Sandwich. Twenty
dollars, worth every frikken cent.
From there it was across the road to another institution: Ice
cream at il Laboratorio del Gelato. Awesome
unique types and flavours of ice cream. We used their wifi quick to summon an
Uber. It’s that time – Time for Barbara to get a tattoo.
Yes, a Real Tattoo
Yes, that’s right. Barbara got a tattoo. Now to make sure
the story was worth telling we decide to do it not in some hyper market tattoo parlor in New York, not at some doctor’s rooms for people who have daddy
issues. You want to go where the artists themselves go. A place of legend. A
place where tattooing is an art – not business. We are heading to Brooklyn
baby.
Three Kings Tattoo. Great spot. They looked at Barbara’s
design, considered a few options and then took her downstairs to their work
shop. I followed her and started stressing off hectic. No idea why. I just
kakked off. I made a fool out of myself by standing in the wrong spot, and not
hearing what the dude was saying to me – just like staring blankly at him.
I
left. I left my Wife there and bailed out. I walked out of the shop and then
thought, what if she panics? What is she freaks out? What if it’s too painful
and she wants to leave and I’m not there?
I went back into the shop, slowly walked down the stairs to
hear this giggling. Giggling? Yip – she took it like a champ. I never went all
the way down the stairs, I just left her in the hand of the artist.
Brooklyn Beats
Well, I am in Brooklyn and I have some time to spare. What
better place on the East Coast to flip through some records? I pulled into a
second hand LP shop, flipped through some records and purchased a couple from
the heavily stoned fella playing classic jazz music.
Barbara was done and we walked to a spot named St Marks
Place. There is a shop that we both were heavily intrigued by: Search and
Destroy. Holy moly it is not what we expected. Well it kind of was but just
heavier and meaner. When you walk up the stairs and into the store you’re
greeted by bongs and a fake PVC ass butt. This is a sign of what is to come.
Erm, no pun intended. As you transcend deeper into the shop the merchandise get
weirder and weirder. Look – It is worth the visit to be honest. It’s just
pretty heavy going.
On our way back towards the Hotel we walked past an ASPCA
event with people playing with dogs and cats on the street. It is an adoption
drive that, interestingly, the tattoo parlor on that street was involved with.
Animal inspired tatts with the procedures going to the ASPCA. Great sight to
see.
That’s us back in our Hotel. It has been a massive day. We
took it easy for a moment or two upstairs on the rooftop dining area. Sipped away on some champagne and had a nibble. One last expedition for the day:
Barbara has
her eye on Carlos’s bakery for yet another meal. The queue was two hours long (yes two hours of standing) but relatively enjoyable as we chatted to a few of our fellow Diabetics in the making.
The treats are great and the setting is fun but jeepers, two hours? I am sure they could separate the off-shelf queue and the to-order queue which will make a massive difference. We do not have to stand there while some dim witted fellow without his reading glasses tries to make out what the writing on the boards say, stopping every so often to ask: "Your cream... is it Buttercream of Ganache?"and kak like that.
Anyways, Full of cream and custard we stumbled back to the Hotel and
hit the sack around 1am.
Carlo's Bake Shop - Cake Boss Cafe
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