Breakfast at the Northside Grill

Lately, New Yorkers have reported an unusual sweet smell, resembling maple syrup, permeating the air in various neighborhoods in Manhattan and in the boroughs. While no one knows where the aroma is coming from (many suspect it's from NJ, but than again, that's not surprising, is it?), the sightings, rather the smellings, are becoming more frequent. I haven't actually smelled yet, but this story has affected me in a very profound level: It makes me think of breakfast. And thinking of breakfast makes me think of the Northside Grill, which is roughly 631 miles away (give or take a wrong turn or two), tucked away in what one may sorta call the north side of Ann Arbor, MI. The place is not really a grill, per se; it's more like a temple of comfort food. You haven't experienced the real meaning of breakfast until you've eaten there. Sure lots of hoity-toidy nicely decorated food establishments in New York specialize in the art of comfort food, but they are no Northside Grill, with its green booths, wood paneling and Billie Holiday playing in the background. Rumor has it that the Northside's proprietor is from New York, yet the place is as un-New York as it can possibly be.

Since moving to the east coast, we have yet to find a good breakfast joint. Not brunch. Not a place where Mimosas are an option. Simply a place where you can get a good pair of eggs, and where the wait staff pretty much knows what you are going to order before you open your mouth. And where sometimes you get that one waitress who seems to be one order away from a complete meltdown.

An article in the January 12-18 issue of Time Out New York proudly announced (and I'm not making this up): "Breakfast is the new brunch." Maybe it's time for Mimosas to be on the out and coffee on the in. And I don't care what anyone says: a two-egg breakfast (over easy) with rye toast is possibly the most perfect breakfast one can ever ask for. And at the Northside, if you go there often enough, you don't even have to ask...

Reality Sucks

(not about walking, but please read anyway)

While many of us would much rather continue to be blissfully unaware of what goes on in the world we inhabit, sometimes the it's impossible to ignore some very sad truths. A very good friend of mine, who has made several trips to the Katrina affected area wrote this very passionate "rant" about the conditions down there. Whether you agree or disagree with the administration's handling of the disaster, his first person account of the story is worth a read.

"I ’m going to make this quick so please bear with me, on my third trip down here, I have the unfortunate news to report that its still a total mess down here. Sorry to "preach to the choir" but there is still a lot of need down here, more than you can imagine if you haven't made the journey. Folks are now getting what were their homes demolished by bulldozers due to the health hazards they cause – people are getting sick and staying sick. There are still hundreds of families living in tent cities, there’s wreckage EVERYWHERE and again, desperate need for help. Let me remind you, this is in our country…. You know that one that you live in?

Yes there has been some progress, its not like 2 months ago, but there is no reason that our federal government needs to be pumping MILLIONS of dollars a week rebuilding a country that we just spent BILLIONS of dollars on “smart” bombs to destroy, a country that does not even want us there anymore, while American Citizens are picking through boxes of old clothes for something warm to wear this winter! Why am I so bothered? I never even gave a darn about The South, “stupid back country rednecks. That's what they get for living near the damned beach”… That was all before meeting some of the nicest, most gracious people in my life down here in the past few months. I won't go on too much about the people: just imagine how pissed you would be if all of your stuff was gone and your dogs were drowned... now smile and hug someone you love because that’s what you get from a "survivor". Its the strongest testament to The Human Spirit I have ever witnessed, the ability to feel love and trust toward a total stranger, when all you have left to show of yourself and everything you have ever accomplished in life is lying around your feet, ruined by saltwater and oily sludge.

I know its hard to give a shit, when you’ve got Tsunami's, Suicide Bombers, Earthquakes in Pakistan, and those great new 300 dollar heating bills to contend with, but please, try to give a tiny shit. What can you do? Well writing a check to the Red Cross may make you feel all warm and fuzzy, but if you really want to get something done?

I don’t know... you have some crappy old 386 PC or a laptop lying around that’s full of viruses and wont boot up anymore? Send it down & someone here can fix it and put it to great use…. write a letter to some editor, wondering why we need to know about “who was really wearing underwear at the golden globes” when we could be getting some real human interest stories from real humans! Hell, try writing a congressman and asking if giving all of your tax money to a military contractor is as stimulating to the economy as rebuilding a community about the size of England? So you have Spring Break coming up and you really can’t afford to go to South San Padre Island? Come down here and swing a hammer. There are dozens of places to crash and the beach is empty (and you can still get tossed)! You got some lame job that wont let you get any time off? QUIT! (Not really).... I don’t know, even if you don’t do anything; just keep these people in your head. Remember what you have the next time you bitch about scraping the frost off of your window in the morning.

Well that’s it... And thanks if you actually read this far. Just remember this, the stuff you see about New Orleans, that was really, really bad, and it makes good images for the front page, but that was pretty much caused by a slow rising flood, while the rest of the Gulf Coast (much bigger than Nawlins) was destroyed by some crazy ass winds followed by one very large wave, or “storm surge”, a really freaking big wave that came in fast: the coast was pretty much hydro formed flat after a really bad blow dry. Have you ever been to a batting cage and stood in front of the 90 mph ball machine? These winds were blowing like 150mph, which is totally nuts. Now please go climb the biggest tree you can find and stay there for 15-30 hours and tell me that this country can continue to turn its back on itself.

There are some clips of the footage I have been shooting down there on my site, you may recognize some of the music that I’ve used".
Clickhere to access Kevin's website.

Ops

The previous post "The D" apparently got screwed up, with an incoherent rambling of repeating paragraphs. Sorry about that.. I think I fixed it now and the link to DetroitBlog works.

The D

Yesterday and today have been gray and damp days. While it's not cold, the ambiance reminds me a lot of what winters are like in southeast Michigan, around Detroit. I just moved east a little (very little) while ago and I was in awe of the nice weather and the fact that the sun actually made an appearance almost every day.

I used to live in what is commonly referred to as Metro Detroit, a huge sprawling blob of suburbaness that surrounds the city - the city of which most of the suburbanites are afraid to visit. The city that the suburban folk call (sorry you have to read this) "Hockeytown." The "Paris of the West," the capital of the automobile, "Motown," has been reduced to an allusion to the local hockey team. Sad, really.

Despite of the image you may have of the city itself, which is probably at least 40% correct, there is something absolutely magical about the place. Like no matter how much the city gets kicked in the chin, it refuses to let go of its soul and its grace. Detroit has seen its better days and while many speak of revitalization, in reality, a comeback is probably a long way off. The city has steadily been losing population and the streets are mostly deserted. Burnt down houses await demolition signaled by the big "D" (for demolition, not Detroit) spray-painted on the facade someplace. The city government always seems to be in the midst of a scandal or another, involving lavish parties thrown by the mayor, an ever growing deficit, the looming threat of state receivership and the overall inability of the mayor and city council to agree on just about anything.

But besides all its demons and all its problems, Detroit is still one of my favorite cities anywhere. And since I'm not planning an outing to walk till tomorrow, check out this blog: detroitblog.org for some truly amazing acts of urban spelunking in the many majestic and very abandoned buildings within the city limits of Detroit.

Even Old New York was once New Amsterdam

It has been unseasonably warm here the last few days. It really doesn't feel like January, a feeling echoed throughout the streets of Manhattan. For a change, those wearing shorts don't seem freakish for showing their pasty winter skin, yet those still insisting in keeping with the winter getup - it is, after it is January - do seem a bit out of place. Now if we could only make the sun stay up longer... it's usually night by 5 p.m. or so. It's been the hardest thing to get used to. That and the fact that New Jersey residents can't drive. No wonder that the NJ state government doesn't trust their citizens to pump their own gas... but that's a different story.

To celebrate the fact that the thermometer broke 50 today (don't believe me, I have photographic proof), I decided (what else?) to go for a walk. It was a lazy day for me and I really couldn't think where I wanted to walk, so I just free-formed it as I went along, eventually deciding to explore Broadway downtown. All the way downtown.

My starting point was Washington Square, where I stopped for a Masala Dosa for lunch from a street vendor (more on this in a future food post). From there I walked a few blocks to Broadway and headed south on what is either the state or the country's longest street - I'm going to have to so some fact checking and get back with you on this one.

Walking downtown on Broadway is an interesting experience, because you get to a point where you no longer see buildings in front of you, just open space - something you don't see in Manhattan all that often. The other unique thing about Broadway in the general area of the Financial District is that it is very old New York. Sure whatever happens on a daily basis on Wall Street affects the world in many levels, but did you know that the street was named after the city wall? Apparently the Dutch built it to shield New Amsterdam from its original inhabitants. Perhaps thinking they may come to their senses and renege on the deal to sell the island for a small assortment of beads and coins. Anyway, the location of Wall Street is more or less the northern boundary of the old city back, way back in the day.

Something I found fascinating is the fact that the streets get very narrow, some barely wide enough for a car, some not even that wide. While it's probably one of the most recognizable icons of the modern New York and dare I say the country, the Financial District still holds some very vivid traces of a very bygone era.

I walked to the Staten Island Ferry and contemplating getting on, after all it's free for pedestrians, but decided to keep on walking. Since Broadway ends at the water, I turned right and walked up South Street all the way to the South Street Seaport, a kind of touristy, mallsy kind of operation with good views of Brooklyn and the Brooklyn Bridge, but beyond that it's pretty much uneventful. There are a few restaurants on the pier with outside seating but most of the patrons were eating off of paper plates. Need I say more?

Total miles: 7 or so

Mr. Sunny

Working on some new posts, but since I have a cold, it's been a slow (and snotty) go. So here is a picture I took of a architectural detail of a building in Chinatown. More posts very soon.

No need to pack Trail Mix

Forget the GORP (good ol' raisins and peanuts, for the uninitiated), leave the energy bars at home. All the sustenance you need during your urban hike of New York can be purchased within its streets. Street food can be found in many of the most pedestrian-crowded neighborhoods, such as Midtown, the Financial District, around colleges and universities, the Civic Center and, of course Chinatown.

The streets of Chinatown (provided you are not within smelling distance of one of the many fish markets) smell delicious. Egg rolls, dumplings, noodles, Chinese cakes, and many more tasty (and not so tasty) looking treats are available right there on the sidewalk. From shiny stainless steel carts, or from a tofu stand consisting of some upturned five gallon buckets nestled inside a shopping cart, lots of food changes hands in the city.

Because I grew up in the third world, I'm weary of street food. Back home, common sense dictated that those who appreciated their intestinal fortitude or had any moral objections regarding the consumption of meat of unidentified species were best to say away from the street corner, sweet smelling, and salivation inducing food. As best as I can tell, my weariness of street food has no basis in reality. It's just a hard habit to break.

New York offers a plethora of options in street dining, from pretzels, hot dogs and roasted nuts to kabob, falafels, dosas and the above-mentioned fare of Chinatown. Most of the Mobile Food Vendors - that's what the City calls them, must be licensed by the city and must also to be registered with the Health Department.

I decided to conduct an experiment of street dining. The Street Vendor Project has something called "The Vendy Awards," given to the tastiest food offered on the street. I decided I'm going to try the finalists' food and report back. OK, I will have Scott try the food and report back, being that I'm a vegetarian and, outside "The Dosa Man," there are no vegetarian choices among the winners.

If you'd like to know more about "The Vendy Awards," you can read all about it in the Street Vendor website at (sorry, I couldn't get this to make a hyperlink, so copy and past this into your browser): http://streetvendor.netfirms.com/public_html/staticpages/index.php?page=20051021224336800

My Birthday

(Hey - this posting is not about walking. In fact, there is very little will to with walking in it.)

Outside having your birthday fall on the day of a large scale tragedy, such as my brother-in-law, the lucky birthday boy of September 11th (who also just so happens to be a firefighter) and has the distinction, in my opinion, of having the suckiest birth date of all, I think I have what amounts to be the almost suckiest birth date: January 2nd. It's the end of the party and the fun is over. People are either on vacation, at work or recovering from the new years revelry. In Brazil, where I grew up, all stores close on January 2nd for inventory. It's like some kind of non-sanctioned informal National Inventory Day. No retail therapy is ever possible on January 2.

The second day of the year is not much better in the US, for that matter. Sure the stores are open, since it would be un-American for them to be closed. All are welcome to pick over the remains of the Christmas and Post-Christmas shopping orgies. It's cold outside and, frankly, it' simply not festive. Did I mention that most people are either gone or incapacitated?

I usually choose to spend the end of the year in Brazil. There is nothing like ignoring Christmas at the beach. No shopping, no crowds, no tree to decorate. Just the sand, the ocean, some sunscreen and the occasional cold beer. In short: paradise. This year, however, Scott and I stayed put. My birthday rolled around and I just wanted to stay in bed, because it was a fine example of a "blagh" day, one that is gray and raining and cold. It was one of those days when staying inside where it's warm pretty much outweighs any other proposition. But it was not to be so. Our houseguest had some unfinished business in the city, so off we went with the pretext that I would get to pick the day's activities. Did I mention that I wanted to stay in bed?

We parted ways shortly, as The Guest wanted to go see the World Trade Center site, something I find way too depressing to do on my birthday. He also wanted to go souvenir shopping, not something that I can file under the broad umbrella of retail therapy. So The Guest went on his merry way and we headed away from the lingering crowds to find a quiet spot in the city.

Washington Square stood lazily in the thin rain. A couple of bacci players, some guys tossing freesbies and the odd dog walker and a wet dog or two populated the park. Where is there a Starbucks when you want one? It was cold and wet and overall, not a good walking day. We lollygagged around till dinnertime, walking some, and ducking into coffee shops to sip something warm and dry out. Dinner was at a little Ethiopian restaurant (called Awash) way uptown, away from the tourists, the fanny packs and the cameras that still stubbornly remained after most of the crowds went home. It was still raining out when we headed back to Penn Station. Scott and I shared a bag of gummy bears, as the day drew to a close and it was no longer my birthday.

Crowd Control

I'm not much a fan of crowds. A crowded trail in the woods is no fun, neither is a jam-packed sidewalk in the city. They hamper progress and make me cranky. Sure it's nice to have people around. Sometimes going for a long hike off the beaten path and not seeing another person for days can leave one longing to pass another hiker. Gives me the metal peace of mind that if I fell and got trapped underneath something heavy, that someone would eventually find my body. Morbid, but true. In the city, moderately populated sidewalks add color and interest to my walk, not to mention the endless possibilities for eavesdropping - but that's another story all together. This story is about New Year's Eve in New York.

Ok. So this post doesn't have much to do with walking, in the Urban Hiking sense of the word, but I post it here as either an amusing little tidbit, a one person account of an event witnessed by countless others, or as a cautionary tale. You decide.

Having a directionally challenged out of town guest staying with us who was really excited to see the ball drop at Times Square, we felt it would be no harm in taking him to see what he had, for so many years, seen on TV from the comfort of his own couch. We knew it would be crowded and cold and an overall slow go, but we had no idea of the magnitude of it all, especially since Scott and I usually spend this time of the year in Brazil. I figured it would be an experience. And that it was.

When the news reports say there were hundreds of thousands of people at Times Square, that is a gross undercounting of the hoards packing 7th Ave. and Broadway, all the way to 59th street at the edge of Central Park. For the mathematically challenged, that's 12 blocks from the northern edge of the square. Hundreds of thousands of people my ass. There were way more of us there, squished together in very tight police barricades.

In an attempt at crowd control, and presumably to keep out weapons and alcohol, the police set up check points along the designated entry points into the viewing barricades along Broadway and 7th. The barricades were to contain the crowd and leave enough room for emergency vehicles to get through. Not a bad idea, but one that was poorly executed, at least from where we were standing.

By about 5 p.m., I already knew that I really didn't want to partake in the festivities. A bar, a beer or two and the company of friends seemed like a far more sensible alternative. We never planned on getting into the thick of things. Our naive plan was to watch it from a distance, from the edge of Central Park, which would, presumably, keep us out of the police corrals and away from the crowds. But it wasn't to be so.

After a leisure dinner, we slowly made our way uptown towards 59th and 7th, our planned viewing area. I had packed 36 grapes (12 a piece) to be eaten at midnight to ensure wealth and good fortune in the new year - a Brazilian tradition of eating lentils at midnight for the same purpose seemed unpractical given the circumstances - and off we went, walking up 6th Avenue. At that point the bar, the beer and the friends really seemed like a far-flung dream, compared to the hell of humanity we were about to join.

Our first corral was at the corner of 59th and 6th, were cops were using orange plastic fencing to keep people from crossing the street. They were trying to control the flux of people though the security checkpoint ahead. Some 10 minutes went by, a lot of complaining was voiced and we were finally let through. The police offices greeted everyone with a resounding "Welcome to New York" as they released the barriers. This was actually pretty amusing, especially when the fur coat clad women tried to pull rank and get through before everyone else, to no avail.

The second corral was at the security checkpoint, where officers with hand held metal detectors made their best effort to wand everyone. Purses and bags were peeked into and people were let through. This was all very fast and efficient, and I don't envy the police officers that had to stand in front of the ever-pushing crowd. It was a complete thankless job and frankly, probably a little scary because of the sheer number of people and the constant bouts of pushing.

The third corral was more like a bottleneck, which nearly caused a stampede. People pushed their way through and, for the first time that night, I was afraid.
Having cleared the obstacle, we were now in some sort of holding pen of police barricades on 59th street. A big screen TV posted at the intersection of 59th and 7th broadcast a feed of what was happening just down the street - with no audio other than what we could her from the source. The traffic light at the intersection hung exactly in the middle of the screen from where we were standing, obstructing the view. Performers were a red light, green arrow or green light with legs, which was also pretty funny. For a while.

As our holding pen was about to be released to the next corner, some altercation ensued between some bratty teens at the front of the crowd and the police. More pushing. Parents with small children looked concerned, as they probably should have been. A mob scene was forming and there was absolutely no way out. We were packed so tight it was hard to move your arms. We were not released. People were not amused. A man with a child in a stroller grabbed his kid and pushed his way to the front of the barricade. I think he thought he could get out. The stroller he left behind caused complete strangers to form a human shield around it to protect it from the pushing. It was not for a long time, after no one appeared to be claiming the child that the good Samaritans figured out that the stroller was empty. To make more space, they passed the baby carriage over their heads, to the front of the barricade, where some very concerned police officers didn't quite know what to do with a crowd surfing baby stroller.



And so we passed our time, wondering if we'd ever be allowed through. At that point I was very afraid, simply because we were close to the front and there were so many people behind us we could not see the end. And there was pushing and no way out.

We stood there, watching the monitor with the Times Square feed, standing shoulder to shoulder with our fellow strangers, for about two hours. We were the sideshow freak act. Those at home in the apartments above 59th assembled and looked at us, several to a window. I couldn't really see from where I was standing, but I'm pretty sure they were pointing and laughing. I even saw a few flash bulbs go off.

A feather-clad traffic light passed for Mariah Carey. Countdown appeared, the crowd cheered and all started counting 10, 9, 8... and at 1, the light turned green and 2005 was over. . The crowd screamed "Happy New Year." And we went home, glad to be alive, having watched the ball drop, on TV, from the vicinity of Times Square.