2003-03-16 - 7:51 p.m. NYC Visit, October 2002 Day One I�m a big fan of taking the Friday night red eye from SF a little before 11:00 p.m. and touching down at the Newark airport at 6:30 a.m. or so local time. After collecting one�s suitcase, this gets you into the City at 7:30 a.m., just in time to grab some coffee and take advantage of the beautiful morning light for taking photos. Unfortunately for me, my last flight to Newark was shared by the unruly child of an ineffective parent. While awaiting my boarding time, and fighting off the fatigue that came from my sushi and beer/sake dinner w/my ex (this ended up being our �last supper� so to speak, but that is merely an aside for my own benefit as it is not an appropriate topic for a travelogue) I saw a rambunctious little 2 or 3-year-old boy running from one end of the terminal to the other, shouting and throwing things, as his father smirked and his mother mostly ignored his antics. This screaming, floor smacking, terror of a child was a real horror. And just my luck, he and his mother were on my flight. Apparently, the child had been on an airplane once before in his life. The flight had been turbulent. Thus, the little darling was afraid to fly. His ear-splitting screams started before he even boarded the flight. Why the crew allowed him on board I�ll never know. He screamed for 5 hours, and ran up and down the aisle with his mother chasing after him. Come on!! The aisle is narrow. The plan has a defined space. How could she not have caught and dealt with the little darling? If she knew he�d had trauma before hand, why did she fuel him up with a can of soda beforehand? I would�ve given him some children�s Tylenol PM!! After disembarking and grabbing my bag from the baggage carousel, I attempted to find signage to direct me to a waiting place for airport shuttles. Unfortunately, no such signage exists. Apparently, you have to know to get on the air train to be taken to a different part of the airport. You�d think the crew might have told the weary passengers this tidbit. But no matter. I strode outside and asked a *Shuttle driver where to go. He gave me the scoop, but took pity on me and drove me over to a different terminal�s shuttle stop and got me on a shuttle into the City that was leaving immediately! I checked in to my hotel (the not so Grand NY Hyatt) located directly above Grand Central Terminal. It was a tiny, ugly, dark room, but I didn�t plan to spend much time in it so I didn�t ask to be moved. See my epinions review for more details. After checking in around 8:00 a.m., I quickly unpacked, took a gander at my specially annotated photocopied map, and set out down Lexington. I cut over to Park at 37th, making my way to Union Square to check out the green market. I stopped in my tracks on the way there when I saw Les Halles, first brought to my attention via reading Kitchen Confidential. I snapped a photo of its burgundy fa�ade, noted its noontime brunch menu, and continued on my way. Luckily for me, my stroll down Park Avenue was largely unimpeded thanks to the many police officers and barricades set up to make the street safe for a bunch of marathon runners. The Green Market had good prices and a fair selection. It�s quite a bit smaller than my favorite SF farmers� market, and had only one or two places offering tastes or samples of their wares � and that�s always one of the most fun aspects of these markets for me. I�m still glad I went though, for perspective. On my walk back to the hotel, I stopped off at Delmonico�s for supplies of the breakfast snack kind, including some of those fabulous mini toasts from Italy, then headed back out by 11:00 to make the most of museum mile. I window shopped as I walked down Madison, enjoying the beautiful, warm, sunny day, stopping in at E.A.T. Gifts to buy some copper cookie cutters (1 star and 1 fleur de lys), then cut up to Park Ave. My first attempted museum stop was the Cooper Hewitt. It was closed�but I didn�t let that stop me from taking a look around. The design shop was open, and the guards paid little attention to me as I strolled in, moving towards the shop, then turned on my heel and went to the elevators instead. There was a puny little sign that said "no admittance" or something of that ilk, but it was unclear to me if that meant the elevators, the hallway, or what. Clearly, if it meant "almost gold, do not go into the elevator�"someone surely would have stopped me, yes? I went upstairs and got to see the "new hotels for global nomads" installation being set up, then left. My next stop was the Guggenheim. As I awaited my entrance to the museum, the gentleman in front of me in line got in a bit of a snit and stomped off. Turns out he�d announced to the clearly not impressed staff that he was "a professional artist" who "shows at the Sonn*bend G*llery" and demanded free admission. The admissions clerk informed him politely yet firmly that only artists in the Guggenheim�s permanent collection get in free. Thus denied, he stomped off,leaving his friends at the desk. NOTE: the admission is only $12. His shoes clearly cost someone at least $150. He should get over it already, or come back on a free day. Out of all the works on display, the one I was most enchanted with was Christian Boltanski�s installation with reproduced "found" photos (I think many were actually of his dealer's family?) and light bulbs hanging from black cords of various lengths, which was in a room off to the side of the "Moving Pictures" exhibit. (The Tate�s magazine has a cool interview w/him.) The oddly dispersed hanging lights were the only illuminating source in the dark room, giving off a feeling of mirror reflection and a loss of depth perception. It was amazing! I took a break at the Guggenheim�s caf�, siping some tea and eating a pumperknickel baguette with brie and ham before trekking back down Park to the Whitney. Their permanent collection had some great pieces, including a gorgeous big black Calder mobile, and a long skinny Giacommetti cat sculpture. Tired after my three-museum, several mile treks, I cabbed back to the hotel and took a nap before dinner at Rosa Mexicano. I had been specifically recommended the pomegranate margaritas at Rosa Mexicano (on 1st at 58th) during my previous trip to NYC by a fellow foodie. These liquored up glasses full of sunshine were heavenly (I want one now!) Everything on the menu was of the authentic Mexican (not the watered down, mild Cal-Mex we get so used to in SF) vibe. The interior was sexy, cool and dark, with planters full of corn stalks dividing the dining room in half. While waiting for my margarita, I was served a tiny cup of creamed corn which, despite how odd it sounds, was actually quite good. I had to have the table-side prepared guacamole since avocados are one of my five most favorite foods. I chose medium spicy since I didn�t have any experience with this restaurant�s spiciness gauge. They mashed up an entire haas avocado with cilantro, some sort of chopped green peppers, tomatoes and white onions. They served it with some house-made tortilla chips. It was very good and actually *quite* spicy. The menu says it serves 2, and it�s priced accordingly ($14), but, thanks to my hours of walking no doubt) I polished it off quite easily. My main course was enchiladas poblano mole. The mole sauce was a dark and beautiful maroon color, with a cinnamon/Mexican chocolate taste, garnished with white onions and queso fresco. The only way it could have been improved is by replacing the chicken with carnitas. Then the enchiladas would have been perfect. Stay tuned for days two and three, in which additional eating, shopping, and museum-hopping ensue. any comments? (0 so far) previous - next recently on almostgoldsf... in defense of an email box I came to do battle with SPAM - 2008-05-17 hello 2006 - 2005-12-31 Happy Thanksgiving - 2005-11-14 bon voyage - 2005-11-05 October already? - 2005-10-09