Perfect pass, undefendable
One knee equals two feet
Old foe thought unvanquishable
Clock ticking, victory awaits
Age-old goal, once thought unattainable
Our effort indefatigable
Lies not far, within reach perhaps
Give us the chance, the opportunity
That is all we will ever ask
Brash and Bold we mirror our leader
Our faith is with him and with our talent.
Curses end
A new era beginning
May this year be better than 40
J-E-T-S Jets Jets Jets!!!
Green and White, our founder is gone but is smiling down upon us
Giving us Hope once again renewed
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Tornado Poem (written 9/17/2010)
Raging river full of flood
Follow the mushroom's shadow
The crickets sound the way.
A dragon turns; The rain begins to fall
Your dog looks toward the sky
The cow sings Moo, It's not black and white but blue
The fog rolls into the plains.
Water against rocks like the steady resolve of a nation
The rain falls pitter patter on leaves
The seasons change, the old oak groans
But no one is there to hear
The frogs hop skelter for shelter
The water seeks its level
Pine trees bristle
The cobwebs glisten
The birds dry off their wings.
Head for cover before the wind recovers
and a gale starts heading this way
The ground shudders
The squirrels scatter
Bugs hurry here and there
When the lightning flashes
And the thunder comes like an echo
One would dread the end.
Then the drops start to lessen
and among the treetops
The light beckons
Order is hereby restored
Follow the mushroom's shadow
The crickets sound the way.
A dragon turns; The rain begins to fall
Your dog looks toward the sky
The cow sings Moo, It's not black and white but blue
The fog rolls into the plains.
Water against rocks like the steady resolve of a nation
The rain falls pitter patter on leaves
The seasons change, the old oak groans
But no one is there to hear
The frogs hop skelter for shelter
The water seeks its level
Pine trees bristle
The cobwebs glisten
The birds dry off their wings.
Head for cover before the wind recovers
and a gale starts heading this way
The ground shudders
The squirrels scatter
Bugs hurry here and there
When the lightning flashes
And the thunder comes like an echo
One would dread the end.
Then the drops start to lessen
and among the treetops
The light beckons
Order is hereby restored
New Year's poem (written 11/6/2010, Riverdale)
At Times Square many gather
The ball is dropped with glee
They huddle & bundle, many are so drunk they
Stumble
In Cali the Palms sway in the breeze
The ball is dropped with glee
They huddle & bundle, many are so drunk they
Stumble
In Cali the Palms sway in the breeze
The Fall (written 11/6/2010 in RIverdale, Bronx, NYC)
The blue turns to gray
The green turns to brown
The red, yellow, and orange seem to shout
Look at me Look at me Look at me!
And then they are gone
We won't see them for nearly a year.
We change our clocks; We gather to give Thanks
The whiteness signals the end and yet
We hope for a new beginning.
We know it will come, but at that moment
it is hard to believe.
The chirps have gone south; The nuts have been buried,
The bears all hibernate in caves
The nights are longer The days get shorter
Our exhaled breath seems to reach towards the Moon
The Evergreens that remain get cut down
instead of admired;
The celebrations are underway
As the numbers climb higher
It is time for a new calender
We are all one year closer to the End
The green turns to brown
The red, yellow, and orange seem to shout
Look at me Look at me Look at me!
And then they are gone
We won't see them for nearly a year.
We change our clocks; We gather to give Thanks
The whiteness signals the end and yet
We hope for a new beginning.
We know it will come, but at that moment
it is hard to believe.
The chirps have gone south; The nuts have been buried,
The bears all hibernate in caves
The nights are longer The days get shorter
Our exhaled breath seems to reach towards the Moon
The Evergreens that remain get cut down
instead of admired;
The celebrations are underway
As the numbers climb higher
It is time for a new calender
We are all one year closer to the End
Summer/Winter (written 8/20/2010) inspired at the walkway by the water at Carl Shurz Park NYC
A long walk under the summer sun,
we intuitively seek the shade.
The river flows, a cool wind blows,
It is more than we ever knew we wanted.
The evening comes ever earlier- soon the
leaves will line the streets.
Is snowfall all that far away?
Another thought to another summer gone
But tomorrow will still be hot.
we intuitively seek the shade.
The river flows, a cool wind blows,
It is more than we ever knew we wanted.
The evening comes ever earlier- soon the
leaves will line the streets.
Is snowfall all that far away?
Another thought to another summer gone
But tomorrow will still be hot.
Of Wind and Space (written 8/20/2010)
The moon, the night, the stars shine bright
The distance holds their secrets
The breeze blows over the plains with ease
The horse and dog reply
It is the wolf that goes solemn into winter
The butterfly stops, starts, and flutters with ease
Consider its lack of weight: She must make
friends with the wind and not work against it
The distance holds their secrets
The breeze blows over the plains with ease
The horse and dog reply
It is the wolf that goes solemn into winter
The butterfly stops, starts, and flutters with ease
Consider its lack of weight: She must make
friends with the wind and not work against it
Secret Path Poem (written 8/20/2010 inspired by secret path;Carl Shurz Park NYC
The birds leap and chirp
The leaves move and whistle
The ground on which I tread is soft
I hop from spot to spot
A new vista appears each time
And the melody of nature adjusts and amplifies
The creek runs over stones
The grass points to the sun
The carp never shuts its eyes
But the statue blinks each time
The flowers sprout and sing
The tune the bees hear oh so well
Let the sun and the moon dance in the sky
They love each other so much
As they move and the earth moves
The sky celebrates each time
Clouds appear to smile
The leaves move and whistle
The ground on which I tread is soft
I hop from spot to spot
A new vista appears each time
And the melody of nature adjusts and amplifies
The creek runs over stones
The grass points to the sun
The carp never shuts its eyes
But the statue blinks each time
The flowers sprout and sing
The tune the bees hear oh so well
Let the sun and the moon dance in the sky
They love each other so much
As they move and the earth moves
The sky celebrates each time
Clouds appear to smile
for Thurman Munson (Baseball poem written (8/20/2010)
Pinstriped suits aplenty, stars bright
in the summer sky
Let us share the balls, the gloves, the bats
and remember our youthful joy
There will be running and throwing and cheering
Let the game be played with verve
For as the moon and the sun cooperate
there are no thoughts
of time
As long as the game endures it connects past and present
If we all get our swings in eagerly
There is nothing left but smiles.
in the summer sky
Let us share the balls, the gloves, the bats
and remember our youthful joy
There will be running and throwing and cheering
Let the game be played with verve
For as the moon and the sun cooperate
there are no thoughts
of time
As long as the game endures it connects past and present
If we all get our swings in eagerly
There is nothing left but smiles.
Poem Inspired by Tao (written 8/20/2011)
Water, we are reverent
In Bamboo we see the divine;
Let us float down the river of life
in a bamboo boat under the shade
of a Live Pine Tree
In Bamboo we see the divine;
Let us float down the river of life
in a bamboo boat under the shade
of a Live Pine Tree
First Poem Ever (written 8/20/2010) inspired by walk at Carl Shurz Park NYC
The trunk of the trees crinkle
as a car's sheetmetal crumples
Does the tree feel the weight of
The rain, the birds, the leaves and
the squirrels?
as a car's sheetmetal crumples
Does the tree feel the weight of
The rain, the birds, the leaves and
the squirrels?
Decibel
25, even 20 years ago there were many hidden places in NYC. Private rooms where there were no signs or windows, no advertising pulling in people as they walked on by. These were the places for those in the know. They knew what was there and the way to get in.. Places you could get a drink after hours, hear a fabulous band, meet a group from another part of the world, or even partake in some illicit gambling. These establishments had no licenses, making them illegal, and perhaps adding to the allure, they were often run by or in conjunction with the mob.
There was an innocuous looking silver door on 10th street, with a computer printout in Japanese giving instructions to knock three times to get in. It was in a residential neighborhood, so it was quite a surprise to find a very fashionable and very authentic Japanese Lounge/Bar, with great snacks from the Kitchen. No other spot in NY was as authentic or less publicized. Once I forgot the exact locations and walked around in vain all over the neighborhood trying to find that silver door. If google had existed then, a search for this place would have yielded no matches. It didn't even have a name, just that silver door you knocked on three times and waited to be let in to a piece of Japan.
There was the Black door in the East Village on Houston Street a few steps down from the street which was a very narrow bar, with black walls and it was like a slice of Brazil in there, great Bossa Nova being played and enjoyed live, and sexy Brazilians galore. No name or sign there as well.
And my favorite, the after hours place that turned an Upper East Side computer rental place into an after hours den of drinking and gambling. You had to be really incognito to get in there. You were not supposed to knock, or make a scene or any noise. Just walk to the maroon painted door and wait. If they didn't have a problem with you, they would open the door, and you would volunteer to be frisked, so everyone knew there were no guns or knives inside. After all, if something started, nobody was going to be calling the police for help here. It was always good to bring shades with you, because after several hours of drinking, socializing, and gambling, the morning sun would be blinding as you walked out at 9am or so. It was always a surprise that it was well into mid morning by the time you stumbled out, but there was a lot to occupy you there, they had Blackjack and you could bet on a spinning wheel, and plenty to drink with all sorts of interesting characters milling about. And remember all this activity always started only after 4am, when all the legal bars had to close down for the night.
But over the years, NYC became more and more of a police state, and you could get away with less and less, so these beautiful throwbacks to the bygone era of speak-easy style secret spots disappeared one by one, and now if there are any, they don't last long. But in the East Village, in the center of what is referred to as Little Tokyo, there is a spot that gives one a taste of what things used to be like. All legal and above board of course, there is an understated wooden shingle in the style of a 16th century Japanese house. On it is simply written the word Decibel. There, one walks down some narrow steps below street level, and into what could only be described accurately as a hole in the wall. The heavy brown wooden door is opened and there is a front waiting area with big bottles of exotic Sake bottles on the wall. When you are finally seated, you go through a labyrinth of narrow walkways to the back areas, all small, with small tables and stools and lots of Japanese people and East Villagers enjoying themselves. This is a real drinking spot. I've never left Decibel without being trashed. There are seemingly endless choices of Sake and Sho chus and some Japanese finger foods to keep you thirsty. Not quite as cozy as one of the earlier places I mentioned, but you still get the sense that it is a secret, and it is a nice surprise to still find after 20 plus years, in amongst all the Gaps and Starbucks and other corporate showrooms in the area.
In fact, if you are meeting friends, you best meet them outside the Starbucks on the corner, and lead them personally into Decibel, otherwise they may be walking up and down 9th street trying to find it.
An authentic Japanese watering hole and a taste of what NYC used to have more of. In this age of Groupons, Googlemaps, and establishments devoid of all personality, Decibel still shines on and gives you an insider's feeling. Enjoy it, but don't tell too many people!
There was an innocuous looking silver door on 10th street, with a computer printout in Japanese giving instructions to knock three times to get in. It was in a residential neighborhood, so it was quite a surprise to find a very fashionable and very authentic Japanese Lounge/Bar, with great snacks from the Kitchen. No other spot in NY was as authentic or less publicized. Once I forgot the exact locations and walked around in vain all over the neighborhood trying to find that silver door. If google had existed then, a search for this place would have yielded no matches. It didn't even have a name, just that silver door you knocked on three times and waited to be let in to a piece of Japan.
There was the Black door in the East Village on Houston Street a few steps down from the street which was a very narrow bar, with black walls and it was like a slice of Brazil in there, great Bossa Nova being played and enjoyed live, and sexy Brazilians galore. No name or sign there as well.
And my favorite, the after hours place that turned an Upper East Side computer rental place into an after hours den of drinking and gambling. You had to be really incognito to get in there. You were not supposed to knock, or make a scene or any noise. Just walk to the maroon painted door and wait. If they didn't have a problem with you, they would open the door, and you would volunteer to be frisked, so everyone knew there were no guns or knives inside. After all, if something started, nobody was going to be calling the police for help here. It was always good to bring shades with you, because after several hours of drinking, socializing, and gambling, the morning sun would be blinding as you walked out at 9am or so. It was always a surprise that it was well into mid morning by the time you stumbled out, but there was a lot to occupy you there, they had Blackjack and you could bet on a spinning wheel, and plenty to drink with all sorts of interesting characters milling about. And remember all this activity always started only after 4am, when all the legal bars had to close down for the night.
But over the years, NYC became more and more of a police state, and you could get away with less and less, so these beautiful throwbacks to the bygone era of speak-easy style secret spots disappeared one by one, and now if there are any, they don't last long. But in the East Village, in the center of what is referred to as Little Tokyo, there is a spot that gives one a taste of what things used to be like. All legal and above board of course, there is an understated wooden shingle in the style of a 16th century Japanese house. On it is simply written the word Decibel. There, one walks down some narrow steps below street level, and into what could only be described accurately as a hole in the wall. The heavy brown wooden door is opened and there is a front waiting area with big bottles of exotic Sake bottles on the wall. When you are finally seated, you go through a labyrinth of narrow walkways to the back areas, all small, with small tables and stools and lots of Japanese people and East Villagers enjoying themselves. This is a real drinking spot. I've never left Decibel without being trashed. There are seemingly endless choices of Sake and Sho chus and some Japanese finger foods to keep you thirsty. Not quite as cozy as one of the earlier places I mentioned, but you still get the sense that it is a secret, and it is a nice surprise to still find after 20 plus years, in amongst all the Gaps and Starbucks and other corporate showrooms in the area.
In fact, if you are meeting friends, you best meet them outside the Starbucks on the corner, and lead them personally into Decibel, otherwise they may be walking up and down 9th street trying to find it.
An authentic Japanese watering hole and a taste of what NYC used to have more of. In this age of Groupons, Googlemaps, and establishments devoid of all personality, Decibel still shines on and gives you an insider's feeling. Enjoy it, but don't tell too many people!
Kenka
On one of the most interesesting streets of nyc, St. Mark's Place, on 8th street between second and third avenues. Here there lies a restaurant, but more than that, it is a portal to another time and place. Post-World War II Japan, specifically from the 1970s through the 1980s. I know, because since 1970 when I was born, my Japanese mother took me back to Japan nearly every summer growing up.. I split time between the most modern parts of Tokyo and the most old-fashioned countryside of Hiroshima. The first thing you notice as you walk up to Kenka (which means fight in Japanese) is the Giant Bear figure outside for good luck and the large number of people crowded around the entrance.. That's because there are always people waiting to get in. Sometimes the wait can be up to an hour!
When you first enter, you may be forgiven for just noticing the typical Japanese restaurant cues, the names of dishes written in characters on the walls, the people greeting you loudly as you come in. But there are a myriad of other details only available here, at this place.. There is a Red public pay coin telephone. In Japan when I was young there were many color telephones available to the public. There was Yellow, green, pink, and the most popular, the red. In America at the time, all payphones were the same black and chrome. I hadn't seen a red phone like that in 30 years, and the effect is very pleasing, all sorts of pleasant memories come flooding back.. On the back wall leading to the bathrooms there are real Pachinko machines, and not the kind where you dial up your shot and leave it. The kind with a real metal lever to shoot the balls one by one.. These machines are straight out of a Tokyo back alley.. (Pachinko is sort of like pinball, but with a gambling aspect to it as you can win prizes if you are great at Pachinko) The same Glico sign I remember from the only store in town near my grandparents house in the mountains outside of Hiroshima. Glico was a carmel candy popular at the time. In one of the smaller back rooms, there is a Royal Japanese Navy Flag proudly hanging on the wall, not seen much since World War II. Some older Americans might actually take offense, since to them, Japanese were the "bad guys", but for me, and other Japanese people I suspect, I smile and remember my Grandfather, who narrowly escaped being killed but was affected by the events the morning of August 6th, 1945, with the dropping of the Atomic Bomb on Hiroshima. My Grandfather, like every man at the time, was in the military, and was in the city of Hiroshima the night before the bombing, and would certainly have been killed, but he was called back to his base, near our home, deep up in the mountains outside of Hiroshima city. I remember vividly to this day how he would describe shaving that morning, then seeing the sky light up, thinking "we're hit," and going in to the city to help.. I remember my Granduncle, who was a POW and then thankfully returned alive and well after kind treatment from the Americans. His chilling story told of how he had a choice at the end of the war to get on one of two boats. Half the men boarded the American boat, and were nursed back to health and returned, and the other half had boarded the Soviet ship and were never ever returned, most never to be heard from again.. I remember all the great times we had sitting around the old house in the country laughing, praying and watching high school baseball. I'm so thankful they survived, but most did not, and everyone was affected. Over 70 years sounds like a long time, but the scope of something like WorldWarII is infinite.
One wall has a mural of Takakura Ken, the famous Japanese actor who had a background as a gangster before he became famous and made some of the best yakuza movies ever made. He's got that trademark scoul, tattoos and is brandishing a samurai sword. This scene is from Showa Zankyo-den, or Remnants of Chivalry in the Showa era, aka Brutal Tales of Chivalry. In it he plays an honorable old-school yakuza among the violent post-war hoods. It is a time of radical cultural changes.
In the background there wafts a mix of Japanese music. One time when I took my best friend, he asked them what the music was that was playing and they happily presented him with the CD that had been playing.. It simply had the word Showa written in Red Marker. Showa refers to the reign of the Emperor Hirohito, which began in 1926 and lasted all the way to 1989. I was there when he passed away, it was actually the only time I visited in the winter.. I remember some older people killed themselves, all the channels on tv were showing specials about the emperor and the older generations were glued to the tube, and the younger generation crowded the video stores hoping to get a reprieve from all the media blitz. The sounds include post-war Enka classics through 70s Japanese Punk Rockabilly.
And the last, and most curious aspect of the Kenka experience are the rules on the menu. They include, but are not limited to things like: No sex, no masturbating, no graffiti except in Japanese, no drugs, no fighting, you will be charged for throwing up. So I started thinking to myself, for the owners to write all of these things down on the menu, what sorts of things were going on before they had any rules?
There is also an outdoor area, sort of like an open air room, where one can go smoke. Helpful to many, as a majority of Japanese people are hard core smokers and there is a non-smoking ordinance for restaurants in nyc now..
A wonderful aspect of Kenka is that it is not expensive. At least it doesn't have to be. Most of the items are smaller dishlettes that are 3 or 4 dollars, so if you order just enough to satisfy your hunger, you can get away cheap, but if you get carried away thinking they are cheap and try to get some variety you may be surprised at the end of the night. There are dozens and dozens of types of sake and sho-chu, starting around 8 and going up to 100 or so dollars. The quality of the food is good, if not the best, but most people will love it.. There is a very wide selection, I'd be surprised if there was something you wanted that they didn't have..
But for me it is not so much about the food here. It's about the chance to step back in time and travel halfway around the world and be a kid again, and be Japanese again. As a final touch, the staff brings you a small plastic cup full of what looks like pink sand, and some thin wooden sticks. It's actually sugar, for the authentic down to the 100 yen coin slot cotton candy machine that was everpresent as a backdrop to wonderful summer festivals. You turn on the machine, put the sugar in, and you scoop out the cotton candy in a circular motion. Very difficult to get right, but down to the last moment stepping away from the restaurant, you get to step back over 30 years, and have a familiar childhood taste. Even if you were yet to be born back then it is nice to see how things used to be, and this place is very representative in every way.
St. Mark's Place is a very unique street. There are many head shops, tattoo parlors, and one of a kind hat and glove and wig shops on both sides. Years ago, and for a long time, there was a big social gathering spot where locals, and anyone who was there, could gather for poetry readings or other artistic endeavors, but sadly it is gone, replaced by big corporate clothing stores like the Gap. Pinkberry has arrived as well. The infamous pizza shop on third avenue that sold tasty slices but was a front for a huge heroine ring in the 70s is long gone and most people around here are new to the city so they never even heard about it. But for now, Kenka remains. Part of Little Tokyo but more uniquely, a chance to transport. Experience a culture from far away and long ago. Make mine a yaki niku and I'll take it around 1983 please, thanks.. See you back there my friends!
When you first enter, you may be forgiven for just noticing the typical Japanese restaurant cues, the names of dishes written in characters on the walls, the people greeting you loudly as you come in. But there are a myriad of other details only available here, at this place.. There is a Red public pay coin telephone. In Japan when I was young there were many color telephones available to the public. There was Yellow, green, pink, and the most popular, the red. In America at the time, all payphones were the same black and chrome. I hadn't seen a red phone like that in 30 years, and the effect is very pleasing, all sorts of pleasant memories come flooding back.. On the back wall leading to the bathrooms there are real Pachinko machines, and not the kind where you dial up your shot and leave it. The kind with a real metal lever to shoot the balls one by one.. These machines are straight out of a Tokyo back alley.. (Pachinko is sort of like pinball, but with a gambling aspect to it as you can win prizes if you are great at Pachinko) The same Glico sign I remember from the only store in town near my grandparents house in the mountains outside of Hiroshima. Glico was a carmel candy popular at the time. In one of the smaller back rooms, there is a Royal Japanese Navy Flag proudly hanging on the wall, not seen much since World War II. Some older Americans might actually take offense, since to them, Japanese were the "bad guys", but for me, and other Japanese people I suspect, I smile and remember my Grandfather, who narrowly escaped being killed but was affected by the events the morning of August 6th, 1945, with the dropping of the Atomic Bomb on Hiroshima. My Grandfather, like every man at the time, was in the military, and was in the city of Hiroshima the night before the bombing, and would certainly have been killed, but he was called back to his base, near our home, deep up in the mountains outside of Hiroshima city. I remember vividly to this day how he would describe shaving that morning, then seeing the sky light up, thinking "we're hit," and going in to the city to help.. I remember my Granduncle, who was a POW and then thankfully returned alive and well after kind treatment from the Americans. His chilling story told of how he had a choice at the end of the war to get on one of two boats. Half the men boarded the American boat, and were nursed back to health and returned, and the other half had boarded the Soviet ship and were never ever returned, most never to be heard from again.. I remember all the great times we had sitting around the old house in the country laughing, praying and watching high school baseball. I'm so thankful they survived, but most did not, and everyone was affected. Over 70 years sounds like a long time, but the scope of something like WorldWarII is infinite.
One wall has a mural of Takakura Ken, the famous Japanese actor who had a background as a gangster before he became famous and made some of the best yakuza movies ever made. He's got that trademark scoul, tattoos and is brandishing a samurai sword. This scene is from Showa Zankyo-den, or Remnants of Chivalry in the Showa era, aka Brutal Tales of Chivalry. In it he plays an honorable old-school yakuza among the violent post-war hoods. It is a time of radical cultural changes.
In the background there wafts a mix of Japanese music. One time when I took my best friend, he asked them what the music was that was playing and they happily presented him with the CD that had been playing.. It simply had the word Showa written in Red Marker. Showa refers to the reign of the Emperor Hirohito, which began in 1926 and lasted all the way to 1989. I was there when he passed away, it was actually the only time I visited in the winter.. I remember some older people killed themselves, all the channels on tv were showing specials about the emperor and the older generations were glued to the tube, and the younger generation crowded the video stores hoping to get a reprieve from all the media blitz. The sounds include post-war Enka classics through 70s Japanese Punk Rockabilly.
And the last, and most curious aspect of the Kenka experience are the rules on the menu. They include, but are not limited to things like: No sex, no masturbating, no graffiti except in Japanese, no drugs, no fighting, you will be charged for throwing up. So I started thinking to myself, for the owners to write all of these things down on the menu, what sorts of things were going on before they had any rules?
There is also an outdoor area, sort of like an open air room, where one can go smoke. Helpful to many, as a majority of Japanese people are hard core smokers and there is a non-smoking ordinance for restaurants in nyc now..
A wonderful aspect of Kenka is that it is not expensive. At least it doesn't have to be. Most of the items are smaller dishlettes that are 3 or 4 dollars, so if you order just enough to satisfy your hunger, you can get away cheap, but if you get carried away thinking they are cheap and try to get some variety you may be surprised at the end of the night. There are dozens and dozens of types of sake and sho-chu, starting around 8 and going up to 100 or so dollars. The quality of the food is good, if not the best, but most people will love it.. There is a very wide selection, I'd be surprised if there was something you wanted that they didn't have..
But for me it is not so much about the food here. It's about the chance to step back in time and travel halfway around the world and be a kid again, and be Japanese again. As a final touch, the staff brings you a small plastic cup full of what looks like pink sand, and some thin wooden sticks. It's actually sugar, for the authentic down to the 100 yen coin slot cotton candy machine that was everpresent as a backdrop to wonderful summer festivals. You turn on the machine, put the sugar in, and you scoop out the cotton candy in a circular motion. Very difficult to get right, but down to the last moment stepping away from the restaurant, you get to step back over 30 years, and have a familiar childhood taste. Even if you were yet to be born back then it is nice to see how things used to be, and this place is very representative in every way.
St. Mark's Place is a very unique street. There are many head shops, tattoo parlors, and one of a kind hat and glove and wig shops on both sides. Years ago, and for a long time, there was a big social gathering spot where locals, and anyone who was there, could gather for poetry readings or other artistic endeavors, but sadly it is gone, replaced by big corporate clothing stores like the Gap. Pinkberry has arrived as well. The infamous pizza shop on third avenue that sold tasty slices but was a front for a huge heroine ring in the 70s is long gone and most people around here are new to the city so they never even heard about it. But for now, Kenka remains. Part of Little Tokyo but more uniquely, a chance to transport. Experience a culture from far away and long ago. Make mine a yaki niku and I'll take it around 1983 please, thanks.. See you back there my friends!
Burgers
My favorite meal has always been hamburgers. You might find that kind of odd, but to have a burger is not just a slab of beef between some bread, it represents home, safety and comfort. Especially when I was younger, I was a very picky eater. I only ate a certain few dishes, and I was totally uninterested in trying something new. So whenever I was outside, eating out became a concern. My solution; McDonald's. Yes, it's true, it seems unthinkable to me now, but back then I loved McDonald's. It was always the same, a couple of regular hamburgers, those addictive fries, and a soda. Basic meal, always filling, it seemed to satisfy a basic need. To this day, when I see the golden arches, I feel like I should get some Micky D's. But these days, in an effort to be healthier, and because my taste has improved, my search for the best burgers has led me to three choices depending on your budget: Upscale choice; Bar 11. Midscale choice; J.G. Melon's, Affordable and delivery choice; Jackson Hole.
Bar 11 is on 6th ave and 11th street. It is an upscale bistro with a beautiful mirrored bar in front and a skylight topped back section that feels old fashioned and hip at the same time. The fact that you can even get a burger in a place like this makes me smile. I like to get a bottle of Veuve Cliquot to go with some strawberries and cream. It's nicely presented, and guests are always suitably impressed. The burger is basic, with high quality beef, bun and garnishings of lettuce and tomato. But here it is the french fries that set the experience apart. The fries are from fresh, real (not frozen) potatoes and are cooked in fresh oil. Sounds so simple, but there are precious few restaurants anywhere that actually offer non frozen fries. Expect to spend over $75.
J.G. Melon's is on 74th and 3rd Ave. This Melon themed burger joint is a staple of the Upper East Side and it's hard to get a table here without waiting at least an hour at peak times, the service is painfully slow at the best of times, so don't let yourself get too hungry before showing up here. It's basically a Bar/Restaurant with a melon theme in the dark green color of the paint on the building and the melon focused art, and the same people have been working here over 30 years. Think about that for a minute in a place as temporary as NYC, that's saying something. Very Homey, comfortable atmosphere. No frills, not even ice cream. Just tasty burgers and cottage fries. Here one burger is not quite enough for me. When hungry, I'll order two and put my order for the second one in early. Expect to spend $45, and outdoor seating is available.
Jackson Hole. The only spot on my list with multiple locations, and they deliver as well. I prefer the ones on 64th and 84th on 2nd ave. The one on 64th has a western motif, and has a spot dear to my heart because it was the first time I ever had a high quality gourmet burger. The walls are covered with old western movie posters, and the theme is carried further with props like leather saddles and snow shoes. Pictures of John Wayne and Elvis Presley look down on you from the brick walls as you devour your large burger. This place has wonderful pickles, and they are even free! I also enjoy a Pepsi Float with my meal, and the ice cream mixes exceedingly well with the cola. As for the burger itself, I always enjoy the flavor of the beef, it is unique and impossible to replicate elsewhere. I think it is very high quality and it's very large at 8 ounces. You are never hungry when you leave here. The taste is also consistent store to store with always that unique quality flavor.
On 84th, there's an old gas pump and signs evocative of the 50s, as was popular in many American diners in the 70s and 80s. Finally, the price is extremely affordable, the last great bargain in NYC, even less than shake shack, a poor fast food substitute, totally unworthy of their ridiculously long lines and wait times.
So if you're in nyc, and the craving for a burger comes and hits you, try one of these burger specialty restaurants, and be blown away at the depth of experience a nice hamburger meal can bring you, and don't be shy about smiling at those golden arches which bring back such great childhood memories, just try to avoid endulging yourself too much there, because I think we all know it's not the healthiest of moves. Happy Burger and Fry munching, everyone!
Bar 11 is on 6th ave and 11th street. It is an upscale bistro with a beautiful mirrored bar in front and a skylight topped back section that feels old fashioned and hip at the same time. The fact that you can even get a burger in a place like this makes me smile. I like to get a bottle of Veuve Cliquot to go with some strawberries and cream. It's nicely presented, and guests are always suitably impressed. The burger is basic, with high quality beef, bun and garnishings of lettuce and tomato. But here it is the french fries that set the experience apart. The fries are from fresh, real (not frozen) potatoes and are cooked in fresh oil. Sounds so simple, but there are precious few restaurants anywhere that actually offer non frozen fries. Expect to spend over $75.
J.G. Melon's is on 74th and 3rd Ave. This Melon themed burger joint is a staple of the Upper East Side and it's hard to get a table here without waiting at least an hour at peak times, the service is painfully slow at the best of times, so don't let yourself get too hungry before showing up here. It's basically a Bar/Restaurant with a melon theme in the dark green color of the paint on the building and the melon focused art, and the same people have been working here over 30 years. Think about that for a minute in a place as temporary as NYC, that's saying something. Very Homey, comfortable atmosphere. No frills, not even ice cream. Just tasty burgers and cottage fries. Here one burger is not quite enough for me. When hungry, I'll order two and put my order for the second one in early. Expect to spend $45, and outdoor seating is available.
Jackson Hole. The only spot on my list with multiple locations, and they deliver as well. I prefer the ones on 64th and 84th on 2nd ave. The one on 64th has a western motif, and has a spot dear to my heart because it was the first time I ever had a high quality gourmet burger. The walls are covered with old western movie posters, and the theme is carried further with props like leather saddles and snow shoes. Pictures of John Wayne and Elvis Presley look down on you from the brick walls as you devour your large burger. This place has wonderful pickles, and they are even free! I also enjoy a Pepsi Float with my meal, and the ice cream mixes exceedingly well with the cola. As for the burger itself, I always enjoy the flavor of the beef, it is unique and impossible to replicate elsewhere. I think it is very high quality and it's very large at 8 ounces. You are never hungry when you leave here. The taste is also consistent store to store with always that unique quality flavor.
On 84th, there's an old gas pump and signs evocative of the 50s, as was popular in many American diners in the 70s and 80s. Finally, the price is extremely affordable, the last great bargain in NYC, even less than shake shack, a poor fast food substitute, totally unworthy of their ridiculously long lines and wait times.
So if you're in nyc, and the craving for a burger comes and hits you, try one of these burger specialty restaurants, and be blown away at the depth of experience a nice hamburger meal can bring you, and don't be shy about smiling at those golden arches which bring back such great childhood memories, just try to avoid endulging yourself too much there, because I think we all know it's not the healthiest of moves. Happy Burger and Fry munching, everyone!
Headlights in Cuneo
In the summer of my 29th year, I took up the opportunity to attempt something bold, and on retrospect, perhaps slightly naive and foolhardy. The idea: To buy and drive an as-is 30 year old Alfa Romeo in Milan, from people I met on the internet, and drive it all over Europe, to Krakow, Poland, and back to Milan. I was full of youth and optimism in equal measure, and took off in that 1970 Alfa Romeo Giullietta for the adventure of my life, often pushing the limits of my physical endurance, and the 30 year old vehicle's engine, suspension, wipers, tires, brakes, and gas systems. But one thing which provided an iconic memory of the trip was the headlights. Much of my adventure was to take place at night, in the often overwhelming darkness of Europe in the mountains.
Early on, I realized there was a problem, namely that the headlights were aimed too low. I wasn't able to see far enough ahead. So I made a mental note to try and get them fixed as soon as an opportunity presented itself. So we headed north out of Milan, to the northeast without too much of a plan. Eventually we came to an area known as Cuneo. There wasn't much there, a traffic roundabout, and some industrial looking small buildings. I saw a big airplane hangar type structure, with a big truck being tended to inside. I figured this would be as good a time as any, so I pulled in, and relying on the kindness of strangers, as I often do when I'm driving around, tried to explain to the older Italian gentleman fixing the truck my predicament. He got very excited, and spoke no English, but seemed to infer he was busy. Then his son appeared, and he did speak some English. I talked to him and convinced him to coerce his father into helping out with the lights. In fixing the lights, we found that the highbeam switch was faulty. I was floored and expected the worst because after all, we were basically in the middle of nowhere. But sensing my stress, the son soothed my worries and told me it wouldn't be a problem, and promptly called over his sister, a stunning dirty blond of about 20, typical of most of the lovely ladies I came across in Italy, cute and stylin'. She took the old switch, tossed her hair to one side, put on a brightly colored helmet, and hopped on an equally stylish and high performance scooter, and took off buzzing down the road. I felt like I stumbled on the set of a Vespa commercial.
Soon enough she was back, produced a perfectly suitable replacement switch, smiled, and took off again. To this day I have no idea how she managed it, after all, there weren't any Pep Boys stores nearby. It was like magic. Her brother took the switch, installed it, and we checked all the lights once more, and we were done. I tried to pay them for their kindness, but they were having none of it, so I thanked everybody, and left with a smile on my face. The driver of the truck blared his horn and waved as he was finished too.
It struck me as a surreal moment, yet very typical on this trip, that in the middle of nowhere, in a town with no traffic lights, that there were friendly, helpful, passionate and stylish Italians always on your side. I think showing up in a 30 year old Alfa Romeo at a time when seeing older cars on the roads was becoming more and more rare really did the trick. I don't think any Italian worth his or her salt who can look at a classic Italian car and not smile from their very soul. It is in their DNA, it is after all the land of Nuvolari, the Mille Miglia, the Targa Florio, Monza, Alfa and Ferrari, Maserati, Fiat and Lancia. The land is steeped and intertwined with the history of automobiles and racing and motorized travel after all. For me, they were always there with a smile and a wave. Good thing too, as being able to see in the dark mountainous nights of Europe is a definite plus, as the trip to Monaco would prove, more on that in a later post.
Early on, I realized there was a problem, namely that the headlights were aimed too low. I wasn't able to see far enough ahead. So I made a mental note to try and get them fixed as soon as an opportunity presented itself. So we headed north out of Milan, to the northeast without too much of a plan. Eventually we came to an area known as Cuneo. There wasn't much there, a traffic roundabout, and some industrial looking small buildings. I saw a big airplane hangar type structure, with a big truck being tended to inside. I figured this would be as good a time as any, so I pulled in, and relying on the kindness of strangers, as I often do when I'm driving around, tried to explain to the older Italian gentleman fixing the truck my predicament. He got very excited, and spoke no English, but seemed to infer he was busy. Then his son appeared, and he did speak some English. I talked to him and convinced him to coerce his father into helping out with the lights. In fixing the lights, we found that the highbeam switch was faulty. I was floored and expected the worst because after all, we were basically in the middle of nowhere. But sensing my stress, the son soothed my worries and told me it wouldn't be a problem, and promptly called over his sister, a stunning dirty blond of about 20, typical of most of the lovely ladies I came across in Italy, cute and stylin'. She took the old switch, tossed her hair to one side, put on a brightly colored helmet, and hopped on an equally stylish and high performance scooter, and took off buzzing down the road. I felt like I stumbled on the set of a Vespa commercial.
Soon enough she was back, produced a perfectly suitable replacement switch, smiled, and took off again. To this day I have no idea how she managed it, after all, there weren't any Pep Boys stores nearby. It was like magic. Her brother took the switch, installed it, and we checked all the lights once more, and we were done. I tried to pay them for their kindness, but they were having none of it, so I thanked everybody, and left with a smile on my face. The driver of the truck blared his horn and waved as he was finished too.
It struck me as a surreal moment, yet very typical on this trip, that in the middle of nowhere, in a town with no traffic lights, that there were friendly, helpful, passionate and stylish Italians always on your side. I think showing up in a 30 year old Alfa Romeo at a time when seeing older cars on the roads was becoming more and more rare really did the trick. I don't think any Italian worth his or her salt who can look at a classic Italian car and not smile from their very soul. It is in their DNA, it is after all the land of Nuvolari, the Mille Miglia, the Targa Florio, Monza, Alfa and Ferrari, Maserati, Fiat and Lancia. The land is steeped and intertwined with the history of automobiles and racing and motorized travel after all. For me, they were always there with a smile and a wave. Good thing too, as being able to see in the dark mountainous nights of Europe is a definite plus, as the trip to Monaco would prove, more on that in a later post.
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