12/50 NYC Adventures: Harlem's Secret Barbeque

Harlem's Secret Barbeque

It was a rainy Sunday afternoon. Church was over, all the people were squeezing through the exits, spilling out onto the sidewalk, scurrying along quickly to make their lunch plans. We were some of those people. In the icy spring air, with the rain misting all around us, I looked up, desperate for him to read my mind. He just nodded back at me, thoughtfully. He knew.

It was time. For my feeding.

That beautiful man said, "Why don't we go up to Harlem and get barbeque sandwiches at that place?"

That place!

I almost exploded with glee.

We had been hearing rumors about that place. That place up in Harlem (shhhhhh don't go there at night!), close to the water (be carrrreeeeful, don't go there!), underneath an old bridge (seriously, DON'T GO!) that had the best barbeque in New York. For Georgians? Barbeque is like the ambrosia of the Gods. We are always in the mood for it, always craving it, and never quite satiated in this Yankee-ville we have found ourselves living in. But friends of friends had mentioned that place in passing. It was like a whisper of a recommendation. And we had been wanting to try it, except... well, it's located in HARLEM.

I mean, you don't just go up to Harlem. Not unless you have a good reason. And you need a very good reason. You don't just stumble around Manhattan and find yourself accidentally in Harlem. It's a rough hood. And we didn't think there was ever a really good reason for us to try this place for dinner (since you have to walk about a mile off the subway, mostly on side streets, until you get to the restaurant, which is located on the Hudson River). It just seemed... well, like dangerous work. Like we would need a Jack Bauer escort for a complete sense of security. And we've gotten really lazy, living in wonderful cities where everything can be delivered to your door... so that place had remained simply a rumor.

But on a Sunday afternoon? A rainy one? Well, the exception had to be made. We practically skipped to the subway, rode it for an eternity up to 125th, and carefully stepped out. Time to put on my fight face. You know, to ward off attackers. Reminiscent of the time we avoided thugs in Naples in hopes of eating the best pizza on Earth. (Now that I think of it, we are making a habit of going into unsafe places at just the promise of a tasty meal, hmm what does that say about us?) Anyway, I couldn't let the hoodlums know I was practically panting at the thought of a juicy pulled pork sandwich on a hot bun. With mac & cheese.

Oh dear LORD, I prayed, get to me that barbeque place. And help me look "street"

.

// It's kind of like the journey to grandmother's house... instead of going over the river and through the woods, you go under the bridge and past the scary night club. //

// Yeah. This is my protector. The guy who thought that acting like Batman and running through the streets with his "wings" would ward off terror. Thanks for making us look inconspicuous, hon. //

// Once you've reached the infamous Cotton Club, you're almost there. Don't linger. DO NOT LINGER. //

// Our destination! Follow the hooded gentleman. //

Dinosaur Barbeque.

So here's the deal. Once you're inside Dinosaur Barbeque, this place carries absolutely no indication that it is located on the island of Manhattan. It's wonderfully UN-pretentious, reasonably priced, and full of completely unassuming patrons. Like, there was a biker gang sitting up at the bar. I've never even SEEN a biker gang in this city (where would they park?)  But at Dino Barbeque, they sat loud and proud during our entire visit. Gulping down their brew, Gaston-style. Everyone in the restaurant just seemed like they were from Georgia, Florida, Alabama and South Carolina, not the chic metropolis that is New York City. What a relief. These are our kind of people! There were normal looking families (the kind who TALK, not just shove an iPad in their kid's face to shut them up during the meal, which yes, I have seen one too many times in city restaurants). The waitress actually knew about the different ingredients in the various homemade barbeque sauces, could explain the craft brews (to Stevie, not me. I just drooled while she spoke), and recommended the mac & cheese as their best side. I almost asked her to marry me. Darn it, she got away too quick.

But she came back quickly, like an angel from Heaven, with our gigantic platters of ambrosia barbeque. A silence came upon us for a good twenty minutes. This was feeding time.

// Alright, you can't see the biker gang here, but I was kinda afraid to photograph them. THEY WERE THERE. //

// Pure. Joy. //

The Results Are In.

People. This place. Was gooooooooooOOOD. WORTH THE COMMUTE. Worth the Bauer-less safety risk. Worth it all. If you ever find yourself jonesing for a hit of BBQ in the middle of Times Square, don't settle for some pricy pampered ritzy chef's interpretation (which will probably consist of tiny portions and include at least one french ingredient that you can't pronounce.) Just get yourself to the 123 or ACE train! You can do it. Maybe just throw up your hoodie once you get off the train and take the journey westward... the divine scent of smoky pork and motorcycle fumes shall guide you. And it will be WORTH IT.

11/50 NYC Adventures: Opera at the Lincoln Center

Opera at the Lincoln Center.

Have you ever seen the movie Moonstruck? It’s this fantastic little film centering around an Italian family in Brooklyn, starring Cher (yes, CHER) and Nicolas Cage. Way back in the day. It’s this hilarious, overly-dramatic story and just happens to be one of my family’s favorite movies. In the film, Cher gets asked to go on a special date to the Met Opera House, and she gets all done up – hair, nails, clothes, the works. And then she gets to the Opera and just cries and cries because the experience is so beautiful and meaningful to her.

That, my friends, was my grid for what the Met Opera would be like. So when Stevie and I were offered FREE tickets from our sweet friend Ina, there wasn’t even a question about whether or not we would go. Yes, yes! A thousand times yes! So off we went. We went to the Opera!

// Lincoln Center Fountain //

// Walking to The Lincoln Center. Check out my epic photobomber. //

// Just warming up my chords. In case, ya know, they need some back up. //

// Inside The Met //

// Our view from the top. //

// That famous gold-leaf ceiling. //

The Show.

This particular opera was Arabella, and it was entirely in German. Now listen, I’m going to be honest with you. I can be honest with you, right? No judgment here? I was really excited to go to the Opera. I was really excited outside, taking all sorts of fanciful pictures by the fountain. I was really excited when we were ushered to our fabulous seats and got to stare up at the epic gold-leaf ceiling. And I was really excited when the curtain went up and the room darkened, signaling the beginning the show. However, my excitement came to a crashing HALT when the performance started. The Opera is… well, operatic. And it’s not ignorant to say that most operas consist of large women screaming singing at each other throughout the performance. Because that’s pretty much all that happened during the first act. I might have fallen asleep. By might I mean that I definitely fell asleep. For about thirty minutes. Don’t judge me. You said you wouldn’t judge me! I didn’t understand what was going on! I DON’T SPEAK GERMAN.

Let’s Get a Disclaimer Going Here.

I am almost seven months pregnant. I have to eat, drink and pee around the clock. It’s obnoxious to anyone who doesn’t love me (and still grating to those who do, lets be real.) I didn’t know that the opera would be FOUR HOURS LONG. I didn’t know that I should have packed snacks and drinks and prepared for a day-long event. I just didn’t know. So my low blood sugar and parched throat (and measly 5 hours of sleep the night before) could have had a LOT to do with my annoyance/lack of considerate understanding during the first act. However, something changed. Something wonderful happened.

When Stevie started laughing.

It may or may not have woken me up. I look over, and he’s laughing (along with members of the audience), at whatever is happening on stage. There he is, giggling knowingly, as if he’s in on some sort of cheeky joke with the cast. I hissed at him,

“How do you know to be laughing right now?! YOU DON’T SPEAK GERMAN!!”

He just smiled and pointed down, down past the row in front of us, where someone had turned on a monitor with subtitles.

Subtitles!

Eureka! I didn’t know we had those!

He helped me find the dark button for a secret screen right in front of my face, and suddenly things got interesting. Suddenly, there was a story to follow. Suddenly I was excited again. Thank goodness, right? Because I was starting to feel guilty. You know, for my attitude, my appalling ignorance, and my lack of enthusiasm for this incredibly exclusive privilege. And also - we had two more intermissions and two more acts to follow. It was time to get on board this train. It was time to get into the opera.

The second act had a gorrrrrrrgeous set depicting a ball in 18th-century Vienna. There was dancing and pretty costumes, too. Thankfully, Stevie ran across the street during the intermission to get me fuel. He sneaked in an iced coffee and a Starbucks protein box, and for this I will be forever thankful. He revived me. Woke me from my low blood-sugary stupor. Which completely prepped us for the third act, which showcased a little bit of scandal thrown in for good measure. Wild stuff. We were pretty shocked by the story’s turn of events. And the voices, well, they remained operatic. But they were incredible. So strong, so incredibly disciplined and trained. These people are renowned, some of the world’s greatest voices in their craft. How can someone sing full-out for 4 hours straight? It’s honestly athletic what those people can do.

// This guy.

He deserves an A+ in husbandry. And also... here he is reflecting on what we just saw. BAHAHA. //

All in All?

I think the opera is a distinctive kind of experience. I don’t think you can expect to naturally love it the first time. It an acquired taste, like when you first drink coffee or try snails or something. It’s just not an automatic LOVE. Which I hate to admit, because I fancy myself a theater person, so I thought this kind of performance would be right up my ally. But I don’t think we (we, being the broader American people) should be too hard on ourselves. It’s not totally our fault that there is practically zero exposure to the opera in our education system – I mean, we are ignorant to this art form, but should we really be punished for not knowing how to appreciate it? I can’t say that I loved it. But at the end, I liked it an awful lot and I can say with complete honesty that the show was a masterpiece. The kind of masterpiece that you KNOW took a really long, tedious time to create, even though you don’t totally understand all that went into it. Like trying to understand… a really hard math problem? That’s a bad example. But that’s all I’ve got for ya.

Thankfully, my beautiful, cultured friend Ina was totally on the same page. She admitted to feeling similarly about the 1st act. Which made me feel better about my audacious and idiotic lack of initial appreciation. What can I say? We can’t all be Cher, welling up with tears at the creative masterpiece that is the opera. Some of us, well, we’ve got to feel bad for not being in on the joke. We’ve got to be shown how to use the subtitles. And we have to fumble our way through attempting to understand something loftier than ourselves. But that’s just a metaphor for life, right? Mmm see how I turned this around? Now you’re not judging me so harshly, are you?

No. I bet you’re still judging me.

Yeah, I’m gonna have to live with that.

9/50 NYC Adventures: Metropolitan Museum of Art

Metropolitan Museum of Art.

This place ignites an ocean of memories in my mind. I remember first visiting the museum when I was about 13 years old. My dad had surprised me on my first trip to the Big Apple, and touring the Egyptian exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art was on my bucket list. At the time, I was studying Egyptian history in school, so walking through this massive exhibit was more than a thrill. It sounds sort of geeky now, but it's a lot like the experience of seeing a movie after reading the book. Everything comes alive, because a part of you has experienced the narrative. I've been to the museum several times since I was a wide-eyed 13-year-old, but to this day, my favorite spot in the gigantic maze of masterpieces is still the Egyptian exhibit, especially the Temple of Dendur.

The Temple of Dendur.

Housed in the most beautiful part of the museum, The Sackler Wing, the Temple of Dendur lives in a a most meticulously designed room of slanted floor-to-ceiling glass windows. The echoey space is illuminated in the watery sunlight, peering down at the temple, bending prisms through the plated glass. All the inquiring wanderer needs to do is follow the path of the lazy river ("the Nile") leading up to the temple's impressively open mouth. It's ostentatious. Almost obnoxiously so. It's a brooding construction of sandstone, etched with delicate lotus bundles, papyrus stalks, power-hungry statues and prayerful relics. This is a complete construction that was removed from it's original site in 1965 (built around 15 BC) and put back together in this room (in 1978 - thanks, Jackie O!) You really feel like you are standing in the Nubian oasis, staring up at the mammoth pagan sanctuary. It's a strange kind of wonder. And I just love it.

// The Path through the Irises, Monet // Figures on the Beach, Renoir // Bouquet of Sunflowers, Monet // Bridge Over a Pond of Water Lilies, Monet // Roses, Van Gogh // The Manneporte, Monet // Camille Monet in the Garden at Argenteuil, Monet // Irises, Van Gogh // By the Seashore, Renoir //

// We LOVED this one. My grainy iPhone pic doesn't do it any justice. Notre-Dame-de-la-Garde, Paul Signac //

The Impressionists.

Stevie has endured The Temple of Dendur with me before. Even though there is SO MUCH more to see in this museum (it would take weeks to get through all the exhibits), I can't help but beg to visit this spot each time we visit. It's just a special place. However, this time around Stevie got to pick the tour, so we spent most of our visit with the dear, fanciful impressionists in the European Paintings and with the feisty in the Modern and Contemporary art. It really is so impressive that an American museum has so much famous work from European artists. It's a shame that more people don't visit, because the gang's all here! Manet, Monet, Van Gogh, Renoir. Not to mention - Klimt, Matisse, Dove, O'Keefe, Picasso. All housed under the same roof! It's a mighty wonder.

One favorite memory came back to me while we wandered amongst these European visionaries. When I visited with my dad years ago, he also wanted to spend all his time in the Impressionists wing. I remember how he would lean into the art as close as physically possible, nose almost to the brushstrokes, eyes lit up, scrutinizing and fawning over the artists' work. He was awe-struck. And consequently, the museum guards would rush out, "Sir, sir! You cannot touch the art! Please step away..." This must have happened twenty times. My dear dad. He's a curious examiner of the world. And unafraid to get in trouble. And humorously alive in my memory :)

Stevie & I wandered for hours. My feet tired out. I sneaked snacks. We had such a blast. And it definitely brought back some memories from this past summer's Euro Trip, where we traipsed through countless museums and had the absolute time of our life.

// Stevie and Claude with his Water Lilies. We tried to see an almost complete collection of these bad boys in Paris, bus alas, we ran out of time!

// I love this guy A LOT. Oh Gustav. These were the non-nudes. Serena Pulitzer Lederer, Klimt & Mada Primavesi, Klimt //

// I promise, we were ALLOWED to photograph the art. We aren't rebels. Although we might already be soccer parents (Exhibit A: Stevie & the camera bag. Nuff said.) //

A Perfect Rainy Day.

Spending this excessively rainy Saturday with Stevie was pretty perfect. With so much to see in NYC and so little time until this little one arrives, we are scurrying at our best pace to experience all the gems New York has to offer! And this one? Well, it's fine art at its finest. A New York must.

8/50 NYC Adventures: High Tea at The Plaza Hotel

The Plaza.

Iconic. Epic. Faaaaaahncy. This hotel is so known, so featured throughout historical literature and film that it has become a character in its own right, almost a living, breathing entity. The Plaza is a cornerstone of all that was scandalous and glamorous in Fitzgerald's roaring twenties epic, The Great Gatsby. This hotel set the awkward dichotomy between regal and bumpkin as Bette Midler and Lily Tomlin cracked us up 'til we cried in Big Business. Every little girl was jealous of Eloise's spectacular living situation and every little boy wanted to be Kevin in Home Alone 2, sliding across the slick mosaic tiles in the lobby. This hotel has been impressed upon our memories even as children. It's a legend in it's own right, the epitome of classic perfection and a standard of American royalty.

// Walking in on a red carpet. Well sure. //

The Time I Took My Sister There. And Surprised Her.

I've told you about The Plaza before. I've visited so many times over the past year, because DUH it's pretty and fancy and there are always gigantic arrangements of fresh flowers in the lobby that looks like they were flown straight in from Eden itself. And I like the chandeliers. Each time I walk through the lobby (usually touring around guests), I long to sit in that gorgeous central restaurant, the renowned Palm Court. It's probably just where people meet for important business lunches, but in my mind (that of a 12-year old little girl who loves tea time and china and playing dress up), I think it's the pinnacle of all fanciful fun in this city. Yes, so silly. But I knew that there was someone who would probably love a tea time experience here even more than me: my little sister.

The Company.

I say little. But she's not. She towers over me at 5'8 and whenever strangers meet us, they immediately think she's the older sis. It's probably because of my cheeks. I have some wicked chipmunk cheeks. Even though I look like I'm storing away some nuts for the winter, these days I've accepted them as a semi-endearing feature... while Rachel's cheeks are high and contoured and chiseled like an America's Next Top Model. But I don't tell her that too much. Cuz I don't want to lose all her goodness to the realm of modeling. She's got brains, too. Aaaannnywho, my little sister is a total doll and I just knew that she would die if I took her to The Plaza for high tea. And who doesn't want to see their baby sister freak out in the middle of a quiet, refined hotel? Too bad she's so composed. Drat her meticulously polite upbringing. Where did that come from??

This is fun. She thought I was just taking a picture of her:

Rachel at the Plaza from Kristen Hale on Vimeo.

The Menu.

We were seated. We tried not to giggle too much. We were presented with gold-tipped menus. I tried not to talk to the waiter in a fake British accent. It was hard. We ordered one of each of the tea services and awaited our porcelain beverage china to arrive. We tried to talk about the weather and mother and daddy and where "everyone should summer" (much like Phoebe from Friends at 2:06). Then our drinks actually arrived and instead we dove into real conversation about life, dreams, boys (eek!), babies (double eek!!) and our dissimilar yet spectacular journeys. My sister is a fountain of sweetness. We had such a dear, wonderful time together.

The Service.

Should you be surprised? The service was astounding. Our waiter was precious, noting my pregnant belly and artfully explaining to me what I should and shouldn't eat and drink. He brought delicious substitutions for all the soft cheeses and uncured meats in the meal and left us to sit and talk for hours. There was no rush. So of COURSE we sat there for hours, sneaking pictures when I hoped others weren't looking. I didn't have the heart to whip out my giant SLR (you can't help but feel a sense of decorum in that place) so all the photos are brought to you by my handy dandy iPhone. One of the best parts? Well, one of the tea sandwiches was so delicious, I might have ordered a second helping. Which he gladly brought out and didn't charge me for, stating, "the baby must have what it wants!" Seriously. So precious. Although that rosy memory has faded slightly since I had a weigh-in at the doctor yesterday... perhaps a few too many tea sandwiches. Perhaps.

The Experience. 

Overall, this experience was just THE BOMB. The Plaza holds its standard. I mean, that place could have some mad ego because it's so dazzling and spectacular, and yet, the air is crystal clear of any vanity or pretension. It's just so, swell. There was nothing unpleasant about our high tea experience, even the bathrooms were stunning. Coming to New York? I would more than highly recommend a reservation at the Palm Court for the high tea service. You would absolutely be wooed by the opulent romance and epic, lavish charm. And if that doesn't get ya, the tea sandwiches will.

7/50 NYC Adventures: Rockefeller Center & Top of the Rock

Rockefeller Center.

The Rockefeller Center is a stout 22-acre complex in the thumping heart of NYC. A tiny little part of me always scans the complex's crowds, hoping to catch a glimpse of a scurried Liz Lemon wolfing down a hot dog and spazzing out about something Tracy-related. Of course, that never happens. But a girl can wish, right? The Rockefeller Center is a broadly-spread out plaza where you can wander around, check out the art-deco statues, eat and shop. In the winter you can catch the lighting of the famous tree, see people skating in the ice rink, and perhaps catch the Rockettes just around the corner at Radio City Music Hall. I'm going to be honest with you - visiting this area at Christmastime is just not worth it. Too many tourists. I guarantee you that true New Yorkers never go near this place in the winter - it's just swarming with human beings from other countries, whipping out their cameras left and right to photograph what you probably already have in your own home, a Christmas tree. But again, that's just my opinion. We visited several times this past Christmas when we had multiple guests in town, and each time I just felt a little disappointed by the experience. It's just too much. However, in the spring/summer/fall, this is a great area to traipse about and explore. You can check out the Channel Gardens, shop at my favorite Anthropologie, and take an NBC studio tour. It's the little things. But. I haven't told you the most obvious and BEST part about the Rockefeller Center: taking the elevator up to the Top of the Rock.

The Top of the Rock.

I've been to the Top of the Rock Observation Deck a few times because it is my absolute favorite skyscraper view of the city. It doesn't matter whether you go during the day, at sunset, or late at night, each view is just killer. Better than the Empire State Building, yes, and I'll tell you why. From the Top of the Rock, you can see all the way south to the water, past the mess of Times Square hoopla and downtown's skyscrapers. You turn East and see the length of the East River and all the bridges to Brooklyn. Turn West and focus on the ever-increasing lights beyond the Hudson River, with New Jersey all lit up. It's breathtaking and shocking. How did this island evolve into such a crazed, exciting network of eternally-tall buildings? It's just a wonder.

Now so far, you could see everything I've described from the Empire State Building, as well. But all that changes as you look North. From the Top of the Rock, you have a principle view of Central Park in its entirety. Gazing upon the Upper East and Upper West Sides, I can't help but marvel at their perfect parallel lines and the obedient grids these neighborhoods so kindly occupy. The stretch between these two mini-villages are colorfully filled in by the park lakes, ponds, vast lawns and meadows and trees... it's just incredible. Because of the height and position of 30 Rock, it completely blocks this view from the Empire State Building, and since Central Park is my favorite part of NYC, I much prefer this uninterrupted view. Also a bonus? Getting to actually SEE the Empire State Building. It's a beautiful view from up so high.

Begin Again.

We visited 30 Rock again recently with our buds Elliot & Lena. This was where he got down on one knee and proposed to her years ago, and in honor of that memory, they wanted to visit again. With a new chapter of their life unfolding, they wanted to document this sweet changing of the seasons with a fresh photo announcement. The best kind of announcement, in my opinion :)

// Awww isn't this just EPIC?! //

// Perfect time for our camera to die, eh? iPhone to the rescue! //

You Should Just Visit.

30 Rock is a New York City icon. Yes, it's touristy and expensive and all that, but it's more than worth your while. I don't need to recommend you to visit or tour because it recommends itself. For the best views in NYC, there is no better place.