Disclaimer: The cityscape pictures are primarily of Manhattan, but are cataloged here as the primary focus is on New York as a whole.  

Until today, I’ve never really talked about my travels. A few drafts were scratched together over the years but stopped each time, due to some notion of it being too much about me. My blogging ethos has tended towards impartiality or “my professional writing life.” But there was an author, whom I will not name, that once said that confessing to being a professional writer scarcely impresses people.

And he was, and is, right. So today, I digress.

Last Friday we took the train to New York. In terms of raw value, it’s hard to beat a plane because the price is similar and it’s often a couple of hours faster. Still whatever time saved flying is lost going through security, baggage claims and then traveling to the city itself (airports tend to be arm’s distance from any metropolis), while the train deposits you near where you need to be. If the difference is an hour in comfort, then so be it.

The essence of luxury is waste.

Not to mention a plane’s turbulence can be quite jarring; my trip to Miami last year left me one shaken martini. But we smoothly glided into Penn Station shortly after I finished my book (Steel Victory by J.L. Gribble). From there we took the subway heading east, to Franklin Avenue.

One should never judge a city’s public transit, good or ill, based on a weekend experience with its subway. But the service then was good, especially compared to the faded glory of Washington D.C.’s metro system. Tickets were a flat fee of either $2.75 if you purchased a reusable one, or $3 for a single use. The trains’ range was expansive, a web connecting Queens, Brooklyn and the Bronx with Manhattan as the primary center point. Despite what Google Maps suggests, it is quite possible to change trains while remaining inside the system (saving you the cost of another ticket).

Fulton Street, the strip nearest our Airbnb, was an eclectic mix of fast food joints, stores and pharmacy chains mingled with local businesses who satisfied any other needs corporations generally do not. We passed street-side vendors trying to sell scarves and pass out literature regarding Islamic faith.

From there we walked west, and I tried to make rhyme or reason of the various city blocks. While the streets took advantage of the grid system, there was little obvious central planning when it came to the various restaurants and businesses. Sometimes we’d pass roads packed with townhouses, sometimes we’d come across a few restaurants and bars at the foot of apartment buildings. As I grew hungrier, it became difficult to try and decide on a place with some meaningful New York appeal.

It was then we came across Ogliastro Pizza Bar on Washington Avenue. The insides were ritzy and attractive. The Brussels sprout salad was flavorful although I would have appreciated the sprouts slightly charred to impart some bitterness. But we were quite impressed with Coppa pizza: tomato sauce with fior di latte (a type of mozzarella), artichokes that were more mild, red onion slices that were lightly cooked to maintain their pungent aroma. The crowning discovery of capocollo, an improved twist on prosciutto that did not dry out in the oven.

From there, we briefly toured the northern part of Prospect Park before venturing north to handle a little shopping. We toured various shops where I found myself amused by the displays of Hannukah cards, an uncommon novelty in D.C. We sought gifts for a newborn niece in Australia. We sampled delectable chocolates at Cocoa Bar before heading in the direction of our dinner reservation.

With an hour to kill, we stopped by Soda Bar in Brooklyn, and I felt more of the spirit of D.C.’s night life there. There was a whiff of claustrophobia, chalk board signs, holiday decorations… the familiarity was palpable. If I ever found myself a resident of Brooklyn, it would be my watering hole.

As we walked to dinner, I found myself appreciating some Neoyorquinos’ philosophies on life, starting with their preparations for the winter. Being seated near the door was seldom an inconvenience thanks to glass patios installed before most entrances, thus sheltering those by the exit from windows and chill. And, aside from Soda Bar, the city’s peculiar spaciousness, certainly wider than D.C. at times. It was as though the city had tried living in a sardine can decades ago and finally had enough to do something about it.

Dinner was at Olmsted, a few doors down from the bar. The inside was elegant and we found ourselves seated at the bar. ordered the lamb porchetta and scallops. From our dishes, I gathered that the restaurant’s culinary philosophy revolved around trying to bring out the flavors of individual ingredients to concoct a fulfilling meal. There are those who would love it; the lamb was certainly fresh and the scallops flavorful with umami. I have personally always preferred a more heterogeneous approach to foods, a desire for ingredient combinations to provide a balance.

But that is a topic of conversation to for the second part, during our time in Manhattan on Saturday… when we toured the city’s Christmas decorations.