New York City

About a month ago, I traveled to Newtown, PA to visit the Manscout pair: Tim Sugrue and Andy Huber. It was an impromptu visit, that spurned from my desire to go to New York City. They live about an hour away by train.

So, we planned it on Wednesday. I was there Saturday. This is my kind of trip, people. Tim's home is lovely, just like the rest of his family. I quite enjoyed sitting on his deck with his mom discussing antiques and real estate and his dad discussing marching band stories and crossword puzzles.

Sometimes I forget there are real people. Real people who are nice. People like them make me remember.

Saturday

The city was beautiful and crazy. Manhattan is such a different world than DC. So much fashion, whereas DC is so much business. I have to say, I prefer DC. But NYC is great for a weekend. We spent almost the entire day in Central Park. People watching, Musician watching, even Wedding Watching.

Then we went to dinner at a local joint (so local it didn't even have a sign saying it's name).

It was like stepping back into Italy. We had no idea really what to expect, but the owner was outside giving wait times. We got 15 minutes. Almost exactly 15 minutes later, true to his word, we were sitting in the restaurant, a tiny place packed with mismatched tables and chairs. We were bumping elbows with the people at the table next to us, literally. The owner shouts something in Italian to the our waiter, who hurries over but clearly couldn't really care less about us, he just wanted to know what we wanted and now. Over his shoulder I caught a peek at the brick oven. It was easy to order a cappuccino and a margherita pizza.  We took a few moments to take it all in. Beautiful Italian language surrounded us as they tried to shove people out the door as quickly as possible. The diverse clientele was clearly local, as if they've been here a million times. It was the type of ambiance that just makes you talk with your hands, even if you aren't in the habit of doing so generally. I feel like I was probably outrageous in my storytelling, but who cares? I felt like I was back in Venice, but with two lovely gentlemen instead of four lovely ladies. And then came the food. Beautiful pizza. I mean, so so so authentic. It was one of those where you relish every bite in Giada-like ecstasy. You savor every flavor as your tastebuds just scream. At least for me. I feel like simple dishes are the best in that way.

We made our way home on the train, quite sleepy, but we made it.

Sunday.

I found two halves of a rocky heart. And skipped them along the water.