Having visited the Museum of Modern Art for a little while last week, I promised that I would return to explore the rest of the gallery and return I did! My first stop was in the design section which was inspiring, containing a ton of amazing solutions to problems in our imperfect world. There was eyewriting software for those who have been paralyzed, warm sleeping solutions for the homeless, futuristic food gathering/processing equipment to help deal with overpolulation and much more. There were also space solutions, especially relevant here in New York, where space is at a premium.

Here is the Tuttuno living solution, containing relaxing, socialising, storage, sleeping and eating spaces all in one handy box. It was designed in 1969 and kinda looks like something you’d get in Ikea, eh?

On the other end of the spectrum, this work by Franz Erhard Walther, First Work Set and Work Drawings. The work is described as exploring the borders between sculpture, drawing and performance. It consists of fifty-eight fabric pieces that sit in storage until they are interacted with by human participant, plus a set of accompanying drawings. The artist wrote of the work that “the objects are not important but rather what one does with them, what is possible with and through them. We, the users, have to do the work”. The ideas here appeal to me but, in practice, well….

So, I’ve spoken before of my issues with hipsters, which doesn’t seem to be rare or surprising. I think even hipsters have issues with hipsters. Three of the haircuts on display in this group almost give me a physical reaction though, urgh. It just makes me feel so OLD, I want to tell them they have such pretty hair and ask why they want to ruin it. Why do you insist on reminding me I’m old, hipsters?! I spied Mr sleeveless tied tummy blue shirt later on in a different part of the gallery. He was wearing a large floppy sunhat which appeared to have been designed for a woman. I wouldn’t have really minded if it was actually sunny but, you know, we were inside. I just can’t with this. Again, urgh.

Anyway, our merry band of hipsters and not-so hipsters climbed into this piece, called With Direction. They lay there for a bit, then popped their haircuts out.

They then decided to sit up in unison, although failed to actually manage to do this.

Like I say, I appreciate the idea behind this but I couldn’t really find any heart, humour or food for thought in it. So, for me, it remained simply four haircuts and two youngsters lying on the floor in a big bag.

Upstairs, an exhibition called Century of the Child, which didn’t allow photographs. Although I did manage this one of a very cute wee boy in the entrance hall.

A few more photos I took…

Yeah, I see you checkin’ me out, man in the mirror… Oh, wait, you do that to everyone? Bum.

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At the weekend we went to meet some friends at Cafe Cortadito in the Lower East Side. It’s a Cuban restaurant and offers a little more variety than my usual fair… Which is probably a blessing to those of you starting to tire of photos of eggs n’ bacon. Here you can see Lobster Benedict, Pinar Del Rio (eggs with fried plantain and chicken croquettes) and Holgin (poached eggs and seared ham on a croissant with creole sauce). Mr and I shamefully went for the same thing, without even consulting each other, we’re THAT in tune. Sadly, turns out we both made the wrong choice. Our poached eggs with creole sauce over white rice and black beans was by far the weakest of all the dishes. The non stop pitchers of white sangria cheered us up though.

The next day Mr and I headed for a solo brunch at The Smith on 2nd avenue, just around the corner from our place in midtown. To the uninitiated, it might look like we have the same thing, but we’re tricking you. I have chicken sausage on spicy corn bread with gravy, he has rib eye steak with hollandaise sauce. We do both have poached eggs and home fries though. Natch.

After my post about Accomplice New York a couple of weeks ago, I’ve just discovered that they have published a couple of photographs of our little group. They were taken by a photographer who followed us around for some of the day. Other people in the group had noticed him, I didn’t, which is rather shameful given the fact that I am almost looking right at him here.

Here’s us just after the last surprise of the show. That’s the stage manager we’re clapping at.

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Much like my beloved Hayward Gallery in London does on occasion, the Metropolitan Museum of Art hosts a rooftop installation every summer. This year Tomás Saraceno has created a series of interconnected, mirrored modules called Cloud City.

The mirrors on the outside of the structure reflect amazing views of NYC, as well as the sky, meaning that it looks markedly different depending on when you visit. It’s held together with a series of bungee cords, which look like spider webs.

With timed tickets you can climb up into the structure and experience it from inside. Sadly, bags and cameras aren’t allowed so no photos of that. I probably wouldn’t have wanted to take any anyway, it’s remarkably disorientating. I felt a weird sickness in my lower belly the whole time I was inside and wanted both hands free to make sure I didn’t topple over in the confusion between what my feet felt and what my eyes saw. It’s pretty amazing though. I loves me an installation.

After Cloud City my companions and I headed to sample some of the rest of the museum, though the Metropolitan is enormous so we only saw a tiny sample of what’s on offer.

There are a huge amount of creepy Jesus statues on display. Sadly people didn’t seem to pay much attention to the proportions of babies 500 years ago… Or perhaps they thought baby Jesus was born a tiny, yet fully formed man.

Diana, originally commissioned for the top of a weather vane in Madison Square Garden.

After we’d reached our threshold of enjoyment we headed off to find some food. Happily we stumbled across the adorable Lexington Candy Shop on the Upper East Side, a proper old school diner which served the most delicious vanilla milkshake I’ve had for years.

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One of my friends here works for a magazine and invited me to join her as her +1 at an event at the swanky W hotel. Being a sucker for free food and booze (and for the company of my pal) of course I accepted the kind invitation. Upon arrival I had no idea what the event actually was, but the green (rather than red) carpet, oversized tennis rackets and stream of men in Chefs whites helped clue me in a little. The press pack my friend received promised a plethora of tennis stars and top New York chefs. I hadn't heard of a one of them, except Serena Williams, who I've heard of a lot… As we were still, frankly, a little confused about the convergence of chefs and tennis players at one handy event, we decided to camp out on the green carpet to see what we could see.

We saw this man. I thought I overheard the guy interviewing him call him Mardy Fish, who I have actually heard of, though only because his name is banging. Upon Googling on my return home, I discovered that this isn't Mardy at all. We did see Mr. Fish but I did not photograph him, this man is a bit easier on the eye anyway, so let's just pretend we know who he is (maybe you don't even have to pretend, in which case, yay you!).

I haven't the foggiest idea who this lady is, but she had radishes around her neck and chillies around her wrist so props for that I guess. She also described herself as the 'Queen of Green', which I think might be overselling the point a little but who knows, maybe she is massive in the vegetable world.

Here's Mirjana Lucic, who I believe to be fairly well known. Full disclosure, in case you hadn't worked it out… I know next to nothing about tennis, so this entire post is a bit ignorant. Sorry about that.

That's James Blake in the middle, who is going to be competing in the US Open tomorrow, he seemed very nice and his face is pretty so I've decided I want him to win. Go James go!

By this point we'd been squished in the throng of press for ages and were starting to get a little itchy to sample the food part of the event (much more my sort of thing). We'd really been waiting for a look at Serena Williams, but we decided she wasn't going to show and answered the calls of our bellies. I've since discovered she did actually turn up and we missed her, bugger.

Upstairs were a ton of different tables, manned by chefs from many of NYC's best restaurants, each serving a little sample of their wares. There were also tables serving delicious cocktails. This made us very happy.

I've tried in vain to find the name of the chef/restaurant who are responsible for this dish, but alas, no joy. It was porky and delicious though, with a little shot of Christmas spice on the side.

Gnocchi a la Parisienne with Truffle Pesto and Truffle Sauce by Romuald Jung at Bagatelle. Sorry it's a little fuzzy, I blame the cocktails.

Mini Burger with Caramelized Onions and Chedder and Truffle Aioli by Brian Ray at Stk Out.

Gluten Free Chocolate Soufflé Cupcakes and Green Tea Cupcakes withy Buttercream by Inky Park (competing with Mardy Fish for best name of the night) at Kyotofu.

Slow Smoked and Braised Berkshire Pork Belly with Fried Quail Egg, Stone Milled Organic Polenta and Poblano Emulsion by Peter Andino at Heartbeat.

At one point my (very beautiful) friend was accosted by a Mohammed Al-Fayed lookalike. It's possible it may actually have been him, he offered to take her on his yacht, buy her an apartment and kill her boyfriend. What a charmer, I saved her though, I'm tough like that. After that, plus eating all the above and many other dishes that went unphotographed, we decided we were done so decided on a vodka luge nightcap. I drank it very elegently, as you can see.

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Apologies that I've been posting less recently. I've been a little more domesticated in the last couple of weeks, lots of cooking, gymming and hanging in our lovely local area. I really love it here in Midtown, it's constantly buzzy and lively and we're so close to everything. We're heading to our new place in Brooklyn in just over a week though, so I'll be getting my fill of the museums around here before we move. I'm off to the Metropolitan Museum of Art tomorrow and am currently in possession of a friends Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) membership card, so will explore every corner. For anyone that doesn't know, MoMA is essentially the New York equivalent of the London Tate Modern… Except it's not free, costing a wince inducing $25 for adult entry. Happily my membership card means I get in for free. This is great for me, as I can really only do galleries for a couple of hours at a time, so expect more posts next week. I've only done the 2nd floor and garden so far!

Before we get to that though, looky! Plasticy David Beckham's have been springing up all over the city. Women everywhere are aflutter (not me though, he's not my bag at all).

A friend waxing lyrical at a speakers spot next to a huge bottle of ketchup… As you do.

Obama condoms. Erm, not who I'd want to think about but yay to doin' it safely!

As a tribute to the late French sculptor Niki de Saint Phalle, a selection of her work is currently on display on Park Avenue. These jolly ladies are my favourites.

In the garden at MoMA, which is kinda self explanatory. The little girl in the corner was running around and around it gleefully. Clearly a fan of the artists work.

Part of a collection called Beyonsense. Sadly, nothing to do with Beyonce, though that is how I am going to start describing any of her work which I consider less than I expect from her, “That new tune is such Beyonsense!”.

Me reflected in an Eva Rothschild sculpture, “Within You, Without You”. This is really it for the photos I got, as I mostly wandered with my camera in my bag. I also spent a lot of time in a Quay brothers exhibit, which didn't allow photos. I'd never heard of them before but their work is trippy, creepy and extensive covering a wide range of media. Their most famous work 'Street of Crocodiles' is worth a view if you've got a decent tolerance for creepy puppets.

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Our time in Midtown will come to an end in a couple of weeks, so I've been on a hunt this week for somewhere new to live. My search unearthed a very cheap cute little place in Brooklyn, so Mr and I headed over yesterday to check it out. While we were sat on the Q train, these nice young men took over our carriage with an impromptu show. Backflips on a moving train seems a little bit like asking for trouble, but they pulled it off, have a look-see.

We then headed back into Manhattan, specifically to the South Street Seaport, for our next adventure. Accomplice is best described as a tour/treasure hunt/interactive theatre experience. They have a show in London, one in Los Angeles and two in New York City (Downtown and Greenwich Village, we took the former). I saw the London version years ago and loved it, so have been wanting to sample one here for a while. I'm not going to spoil what happens but a couple of the pictures will provide some clues, so if you think you're ever likely to see it and want to go in cold, don't read on. I also plan to try the Greenwich Village show at some point, so once I've done that I'll let you know which I preferred.

We were given a meeting point by a boat on the pier. While we waited, we watched people practicing their trapeze skills.

Each show has up to ten 'audience' members though ours had just eight, Mr and I, our two friends, a lesbian couple from Maryland and a couple consisting of a girl who lives in Manhattan and a guy from Chicago. Calling them a couple is actually a slight misnomer, as they were on their first date! Having met at a wedding, he'd flown all the way here, just to see her. Needless to say, my female friend and I both squeed a lot at this epic cuteness.

One of my favourite things in the Accomplice shows is the inclusion of booze. Here we are at our first drinking point, working out a clue. Ghost hands!

Our search lead us to the tragically named 'People with A.I.D.S Plaza' which, while a nice sentiment, really sets my teeth on edge… what about people with HIV? Or those who've died from the illness? Or loved ones? So odd. In the plaza we met our next clue, who was, as are all the actors involved in the show, hilarious.

A long walk after this via various landmarks lead us to Chinatown, where we picked up this little fella.

Apparently PETA have been all over the organisers asses for including a live frog in the show, which seems rather like going after the wrong guys. The frog is picked up from, and returned to, a Chinese butcher within about 10 minutes. While it saddens me that live frogs are kept in such a place, I don't see how the involvement of Accomplice makes any difference either way. PETA do love to moan though, to incense them further, here's me and the wee little man.

At our next booze (and food! Hurrah!) stop we met this guy, who had a sneaky trick for not being spotted by the authorities (for our mission was not on the right side of the law). Camouflage yourself into the tablecloth. Very clever.

Normally when the show ends your group gets to observe the following groups finale. Sadly, we were the last show of the day, so no such luck for us. On the bright side, it meant we got to have drinks with some of the actors and hear tales of weirdos who'd seen the show previously…. Including the group before us who were described as 'dick cops' on a stag do, who managed to almost destroy the end of their show with their machismo posturing. I can't tell the story here as its spolierific but it made me even happier about our lovely little group. In short, if you're in London, LA or NYC, give Accomplice a shot, I think you'll like it. A lot.

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When my mum was 20, she hitchhiked across the USA with an American girl… Sadly they lost touch afterwards and didn’t speak again for years. Fortunately the power of the Internet got them back in touch again a little while ago and they now visit each other fairly regularly. The friend lives in The Bronx and she and her husband are great, so Mr and I were delighted to join them for an afternoon of dining and drinking. The venue was Bohemian Hall, a bar with the oldest beer garden in NYC (opened in 1910) which is located in Astoria, Queens. The bar is run and managed by the Bohemian Citizens’ Benevolent Society of Astoria, a organisation dedicated to education and preserving the Czech and Slovak communities in the area… Which means lots of tasty Czech/Slovak food and beer.

A couple of shots of the garden.

We were starving when we arrived so we started with a share plate of Klobasa, Bratwurst, Grilled Mushroom & Ribs served with Fresh Sauerkraut, Crunchy Pickles & Fries.

It was delicious and greasy so we continued the trend with some more grease.

After a wonderful night watching the Olympic opening ceremony at an Irish pub, where I met some properly lovely people, Mr and I decided to visit another for the closing. Once we’d found one, we ensconced ourself at the bar, up for a little banter to accompany the show. The place was pretty empty but we chatted a little to an older guy sat near us, who was from Manchester. The conversation petered out fairly quickly and we went back to talking amoungst ourselves and to another man at the bar. However, Manchester was still listening to, and occasionally interjecting in on, our conversation… And he didn’t seem to much like what was coming out of my mouth. Some things that got Manchesters goat –

*That I was looking forward to The Spice Girls. He didn’t seem to have much respect for any music released after 1975, and even then only if it was The Beatles or Eric Clapton (the Fifth Beatle, as he kept informing us).

*When I questioned why Blur weren’t playing live, when The Pet Shop Boys were, he seemed to think I thought that the PSBs WERE Blur. This lead to many snorts of derision, despite me explaining that wasn’t what I had said. What can someone who likes The Spice Girls possibly know about music, eh?

*I expressed delight that Elbow played One Day Like This, for I think it to be a beautiful song. Ooh, he didn’t like that at all. He snorted so much he may well have followed through, snot wise.

*As the National Anthem played I expressed my dislike of it, as I believe an anthem should celebrate a country and it’s people, rather than just their monarch. Manchester saad something like ‘I’ve been to countries all over the world and the British anthem is the best’. As I had no idea what criteria he was using to judge it ‘best’ and didn’t really care, I barely responded.

The final straw for Manchester though was, predictably, one of his beloved Beatles. A choir of children dressed in white sang/signed Imagine, which I thought terribly cheesy and weak. I wasn’t the only one expressing this opinion, but I was apparently the only one Manchester had a problem with. “Lennon is a legend and a Liverpudlian!” he yelped, for apparently I had somehow given the impression that I didn’t know where The Beatles were from. I explained that my issue was not with the song, but the staging. He did not care to listen, “Your girlfriend has been talking shit all night” he said to Mr. For some reason my initial response was to inform him that he was speaking to my husband, though with hindsight I fail to see how this was any of his business. Mr tried to defend my honor (he’s good like that) but I was incensed that Manchester had included him at all. It felt very much like he was implying that, as a woman, my partner should keep my mouth under control. I don’t do well with that kind of thing, I’d like to say I offered a witty and erudite response but sadly I could manage little more than a string of f-bombs. None of my previous attempts to reason with the drunken Mancunian had worked anyway, perhaps swears were the only response he deserved. The barman, who was clearly well versed in conflict management, stepped in at this point, so we all went back to our pints… Mr quietly steaming that he hadn’t defended me more vigorously and me assuring him that I can look after myself, though obviously it’s nice knowing your partner has your back.

The barman brought me a free pint, apologising for the altercation and we tried to ignore the Mancunians continued existence. A short while later there was a huge clatter and I looked around to see Manchester flat on his back on the floor, having fallen over in his chair. I did not help him get up. Vindication! Laughter! Schadenfreude! I’m a bad person sometimes. Hahaha.

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Central Park stretches 51 street blocks and 3 avenue blocks across NYC, making it a little much to explore on foot, so Mr and I hired a couple of bikes and set out to see what we could see. It actually transpired to be a less than ideal way to see everything on offer as you’re only allowed to cycle on limited paths. We’d also rejected the offer of locks due to paranoia about the bikes getting stolen. The weather was a bit muggy and overcast too, which doesn’t make for the most beauteous pictures but I tried my best!

Taken in the Upper East side of the park.

A wee stop by the Delacorte theatre (where Shakespeare in the Park occurs) happened us upon this nice lady singing pretty songs. I liked her and gave her money, Mr complained that she was a ‘wailing hippy’. I think the little boy agrees.

On the way home we stopped for a Bellini or two, I was clearly over the moon about this.

The next day was finally, FINALLY our time to see The Dark Knight Rises, after a failed attempt a couple of weeks ago. I absolutely loved it, where I’ve only liked the two before this. The films have impressed me, but I’ve never been moved and I like to be moved. This time I cried thrice, all because of damn Michael Caine, the official face of pathos. Sure there were plot holes large enough for me to cycle through but I think denying the skill and power of Christopher Nolans work, and the achievement he’s made with the trilogy are little more than contrary for the sake of it. One thing though, why was Bane’s voice seemingly based on Matt Berry in the IT Crowd?!*

*I worked with Matt Berry years ago. He’s a funny man.

What with NYC being one of the biggest, most densely populated cities in the world, there’s a *bit* of a pest problem here. I’ve seen a couple of cockroaches scuttling across my path, which made me squee and squee. The larger problem though, is rats, which are enormous and numerous. I stumbled across a show on tv called Rat Bastards t’other day, which documented strange Southern men in the Bayou who get paid $10-15 for each rat they shoot. The rats were insanely huge, like beavers in size and tooth, but without the cute flappy tails and building capabilities. I’m told NYC rats compete with these Southern swamp bad boys. I doubt the statue below is life sized but I thought I should take a stand for humanity by bearing my teeth at it anyway.

To round this post off, our dinner, mainly just to prove that I do eat healthily sometimes.

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On Friday night me and Mr headed down to Toad Hall on Grand Street in Soho. In a City populated by places calling themselves Irish/British bars, which betray their Americanness with hostesses and table service, this is a proper pub. Mr and I had both been in separately to one another, and both of us immediately fell for the place. It’s another recommendation, if you like that sort of thing, especially during the day when the huge, friendly bear owners are working. Here’s us getting tipsy at the bar.

We headed to Lucky Strike next door for some grub. I had Steak with Roquefort butter and fries. He was a little less piggy with French onion soup. Sorry for the darkness of the pic, it was artfully lit and I was too hungry to muck about with the camera settings.

The next day we tried out a sports bar called Redemption on 2nd Avenue, for Saturday brunch. It was distinctly average. I had eggs Benedict, he had a lime and shrimp salad.

Sunday brunch was the much more pleasing French Bistro, La Mangeoire, just over the road from Redemption. I had my usual, he had the same but with scrambled eggs. The meal was enhanced by delicious little complimentary pastry starters, but we’d munched them all up before I could get photo evidence.

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The gym I am a member of in NYC has a yacht, so it would have been rude not to make use of it during our time here. T-Pain sadly wasn’t available, so I was joined by Mr me and a friend. The boat set sail from 23rd Street and took us on a 3 hour journey around Manhattan and then back for a gander at the Statue of Liberty. Here follow some photos of things what we saw. One of my closest friends, who I haven’t seen since I was last in the UK nearly a year ago, requested more pictures of me. I have obliged, so sorry if you don’t much enjoy my silly face.

It was a bit windy.

The carousel in Dumbo, Brooklyn, which I have yet to visit but will soon. Promise.

The financial district, including the currently under construction 1 World Trade Center (the name now thankfully changed from the previous Freedom Tower). On the right, 2 World Trade Center, also under construction. I am planning a visit to the 9/11 memorial, but am not looking forward to it. Despite my rather flippant nature (which results in dirty looks from Americans on occasions when I say the wrong thing too loudly), the events of eleven years ago are still raw, and I feel deeply for New Yorkers who had to endure such pain in their City.

Skyline.

I’ve got a New York themed pashmina afghan!

Sunset. Obv.

The Statue of Liberty, bathed in sunset.

Gettin’ dark.

Dark!

After exiting the boat, we headed back to the dive bar of a few weeks ago, which I now know to be The Blarney Cove on East 14th Street. It was rather empty when we first arrived, except for a small crowd cheering at the Olympics, but it soon filled up with its usual friendly crowd of non-hipsters. The jukebox served its singsong purpose again and a fun night was had by all. If you’re a fan of dive bars and you’re in NYC, I can’t recommend the place highly enough. We ended the night drunkenly eating greasy pizza. Nom Nom Nom.

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