Come On Irene...or the second most overused weekend wordplay, Rock You Like a Hurricane

Well, it's been a wonky week here in NYC. First an earthquake rocked the East Coast on Tuesday (as a Californian I am inclined to chuckle at the spastic reaction, but then again, as my 60 floor building swayed to and fro--despite my natural instinct to automatically duck & cover--it's quite counter-intuitive to wrap your head around the earth shaking on this side of the country)...and then we spent the weekend with Irene.

Bloomberg is taking some heat and some praise--shutting down mass transit, evacuating low lying areas of the city--but let's face it, we all bitched and moaned during Snowmaggedon, so no matter what Mayor Mike did this round he was gonna take some heat. But, with mass transit back up and running Monday AM and property damage and loss of life at a relative low, it's hard to say we weren't well prep'd. (On a personal note, I was never the biggest Bloomby fan, but after a weekend spent cooped up indoors watching four press conferences on NY1--his subtly unbuttoned shirt collars and gravely voice, telling us all to quit our bitching and stay safe, I gotta say I dig the guy).

So what really happened in NY this weekend? There's a lot of press going on about the sense of community amongst New Yorkers who rally together in disasters, but I am inclined to disagree. The reality is a bunch of individuals cooped up in their respective cubby holes, bitching about the inconveniences of limited services, lack of transportation, venturing out to buy up the last of the hurricane supplies (mainly beer, wine, and liquor although there was not a flashlight to be found on the island after 5pm Friday night), and then complaining that we were forced to eat and drink indoors on one of the last remaining summer weekends (the fear of impending Labor Day looms larger than a Cat 1 hurricane).

Stores, shops, restaurants, and empty groceries all boarded up (let's face it, bars really were our only option), the city was on lockdown after the subway closed at noon on Saturday. And god forbid we wait over 15 minutes for groceries. Watching cheese platters, salumis and quinoa salads (no more 11-grain whole wheat sandwich bread?! you mean the sushi guys aren't working today?! how on earth will we survive?!) fly off the West Village shelves Saturday morning was an interesting lesson in emergency preparedness. Easy for Manhattanites to complain, while our doormen and building employees were forced to spend the weekend in our basements monitoring storm damage. It makes one realize how those who live in the furthest boroughs are really the people who make the city run, without whom all of NY life's little conveniences (the bodegas, the cab rides, the deliveries) aren't possible.

While the storm was less intense than expected, Sunday morning was an eerie calm--no comforting rumble of trains beneath ground, no horns honking and not a cab in sight on 7th Ave, it was a surprisingly lonely and deserted city. But as yesterday's afternoon winds blew out the remaining clouds, the sunset was truly nature's silver lining to a weekend, if not well-spent, then at least interestingly-spent.

It's hard not to feel like something has changed today. As the plywood is discarded and tape comes off the windows, cloudless skies, humidity-less sunshine and a hint of fall in the air really do make it feel like we have started fresh. By far the most beautiful day we have had all summer, it's difficult not to feel warm about the city and people of New York. Like I said, it's been a wonky week.

NYC or bust!

After another Time Warner internet snafu (put them on the list of things I don't love about NYC) and a lovely month on the West Coast (which I still personally feel is the best coast but I'm working on my bias) I'm back in New York and ready for fall.  Had you asked me in August what I love about NYC I would have been hard-pressed for an answer...the humidity gets to me--I don't do well in it and don't pretend otherwise.  The city is sticky, smelly and generally overrun with confused tourists and the disgruntled locals who lack Hampton-getaways.  But this last week running around getting ready for school, watching the city refill with the post-labor day rush of New Yorkers working back into their city routines I have to admit, I too heart NYC.

They say that culture is so ingrained in our everyday lives, such an integral part of how we live, breathe and eat that we are hard-pressed to observe it from within.  Within classical genres of academia the study of foreign cultures is a fine balance between "going native" and maintaining the objective eye.  It's the minutiae, the tiny details you don't realize that define your role within (or outside of) a culture.  Die hard West Coaster that I am, I could swear up and down until I'm blue in the face that I will never succumb to being a "New Yorker" but that would be a lie...it's rubbing off.  Here are three things I forgot I loved about NYC:

1) Bagels.  This is kind of a no-brainer--you don't have to be a New Yorker to love a good bagel.  In fact, you can get them anywhere in the world so what makes NY bagels special? They're big, they're doughy, and if you ask a bagel-purist to toast it for you they will scoff at you as if you are from Nowheresville, Nebraska and not the apartment upstairs.  Thick with cream cheese or as the ubiquitous breakfast sandwich bagels are one of NYCs great contributions to Americana.  Trust me, they are just better here.  

2) Jay-walking. I didn't realize until I came back but I never press the crosswalk buttons here...why? Because most intersections don't have them (and for those that do, the buttons are decorative pedestrian placaters)! Lights are timed, crossing is on-the-light or as-you-dare.  You have to admit it's slightly more sanitary that pushing buttons touched by who knows how many overeager kiddos and impatient elderly. (Begs the interesting question: are crosswalk buttons at all effective in the age of computer-controlled traffic signals or do they exist merely to satisfy some primal urge to exert control over our environment?)

3) Street-music.  Nothing like being serenaded by the orchestral sounds of Metro buses, taxi horns, FDNY sirens and subway saxophones.  It can be loud and obnoxious but it is easy to forget how enjoyable it is to sit in Washington Square Park and listen to impromptu street shows while the city whirs by.  Welcome back and welcome home indeed!

Crazy little thing called...BRUNCH!

Brunch--that clever combination of breakfast and lunch--as American as apple pie, whose permutations across the continent run the gamut of culinary genius and savory skill...the bane of all chef's (there is literally nothing worse than slaving over bacon and eggs fighting the hangover from last night's post-dinner shift) and the joy of Saturday night owls (there is literally nothing better than scarfing down eggs and bacon to help the hangover from last night's shenanigans).  In the land of the 10,000 restaurants (actually, according to Restaurant Inspection Information New York City has closer to 20,000 restaurants) the iconic brunch has taken on a life force of it's own.

My understanding of brunch was a meal taken between 10am and 1pm featuring an assortment of breakfast classics with some clever savory lunch twists thrown in.  Obviously, a light cocktail is always an option (making brunch one of the great american excuses to drink during the day--the others being football Sundays, any sort of sporting playoff, wedding showers, etc.), light conversation with friends and family, and general merrymaking.

New Yorkers, however, (as they tend to do with most everything) have made brunch bigger and better--the meals are longer, the drinks are stiffer...brunch is, in effect, a day-long activity where drinking is encouraged and the possibilities for gastronomic expression are literally endless.  From dim sum to Latin American huevos to Malaysian curry crab, brunch in New York City is a culinary experience like no other that plays by its own rules:

1) Although Manhattanites are notoriously impatient with a knack for making reservations months in advance, brunch is something they will wait for--anywhere from 30 minutes to 2+ hours, all in the name of a fiery Bloody Mary, great locavore eggs, or the newest "it" chef (the lines at Prune make this abundantly clear). 

2) 11:30-12:00 is unfashionably early unless you have theater tickets.  Manhattan brunch is traditionally an afternoon affair lasting from 1 o'clock until anywhere as late as 5 PM.  If a friend calls to say she's at brunch and will be in touch afterward, don't hold your breath.

3) As an afternoon adventure, New York brunch is, for almost everyone, a drinking excursion.  Bloody Mary's and mimosas aside, brunch beverages range from microbrewed beers to the newest mixologist concoctions

4) Brunch is not, as in some parts, a special event.  It is a Sunday staple that can also be found on Wednesdays, Thursdays and the occasional Saturday.  It is celebratory of nothing in particular, festively sociable and never undertaken solo.  It is a free for all, a freebie and fallacy all in one.  

In NYC, brunch is "as much a state of mind as it is a meal," where the city that never sleeps can kick its heels up for an afternoon and just relax.  Summer brunches are the epitome of NYC where the lazy, the hungover, and go-getters and do-gooders come together in thousands of restaurants across the city to enjoy the delightful blend of savory and sweet, the high and the low-brow, astounding culinary combinations and the classics, all in the name of of that crazy little thing we call BRUNCH.