On our way back from dinner tonight we spotted an enormous sweet shop a couple of blocks from our apartment (the photo only shows one corner, there is also a huge chocolate section along with ice cream and loads of other sweet goodies). It was open. At 10pm on a Sunday night. This is a revelation to me. Needless to say, we indulged in a couple of small bags in place of the dessert we’d decided against. The mother of this properly cute child had too. I’m loathe to judge other peoples parenting, but seriously, jacking your littl’un up on sugar so late at night seems a recipe for disaster. Rather her than me.

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New Yorkers have their own special toilet paper. For some reason I find this super impressive.

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I’ve drunk booze every day since arriving in NYC a week ago and I don’t really feel like stopping. I’m walking and gymming loads, so my liver’s gonna be just fine, right… right?! This mornings hangover was probably the worst of the lot, so Bloody Mary’s and delicious brunch was really the only option. We finally made it to Schiller’s Liquor Bar in the Lower East Side and it fixed me right up, though I can’t say the same for Mr me. The Mary’s were spicy, flavoursome and restorative and the food was deeeeelicious. I had poached eggs with potatoes, the crispiest bacon ever and tomatoes. Our friend had steak and eggs that looked 100x better than the one I had on Wednesday. Mr me had the heuvos rancheros that had been recommended to us, and he was the only one that wasn’t bowled over. I suspect it was a little too authentic for him, he hasn’t got a very cultured palate my Mr*. He’s also crap at reading this blog. Let’s see how long it takes before he spots this. I’m betting on weeks, possibly never!

As Mr me was underwhelmed by the taste and, more importantly considering his hungover state, size of his meal he ordered another. He’d been coveting my bacon and potatoes and so ordered some for himself along with some sausages because, well, why not. I then coveted those right back, they were proper tasty and I’ve been missing proper sausages. Despite what Canadians will tell you, their sausages have nothing on a proper cumberland, I haven’t had a decent one for months. First world problems, right there.

After finishing all that he was understandably rather stuffed and slunk off back home to sleep it off in the a/c, while I went for a wander with our buddy. On our travels we stumbled across this amazing statue of a swimmer in Petrosino Square in Soho.

We also noticed a weird trend of mannequins with ridiculously enormous boobs. When I first spotted it, I thought someone had stuffed balloons in there, but nope, they’re designed like that. I saw one in another shop and had a little fondle just to check.

*This is a lie. I’m just trying to get a rise out of him.

Yesterday I went to meet a friend Brooklyn. Due to errors made by him and my iPad (and I guess by me for not paying more attention to said errors. Dammit), I ended up in completely the wrong place with no way of contacting him. The meeting was only saved by a cafe with a wifi connection and the aforementioned Mac product. I really struggle to remember how we ever managed to meet up in the dark days before mobile phones.

We decided on a little stroll around the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens, as it was crazy hot and we’re both English and you know what they say about mad dogs, Englishmen and the midday sun. I took some photos which aren’t that great, but here they are anyway. Just for you!

I didn’t take this one, obviously, as this is me, standing in a weird branch thing. Hello!

My friend is staying in Park Slope, which I have heard of only by reading disparaging stories on Jezebel and Gawker. It’s the ultimate haven for smug middle classers, I’d say it even outdoes its North London equivalents of Stoke Newington and Crouch End. I highly recommend giving the article about a poor good Samaritan getting shot down for gender stereotyping a read, it’s pretty genius. Clearly some people in the area have waaaaay too much time on their hands.

The houses are stunning though, proper old brownstones. Sadly, it seems that some people don’t find the brown quite festive enough.

The day continued with a visit to the Randolph on Broome Street where many delicious cocktails were had and burgers were consumed. It ended in the best little dive bar in New York, which I cannot remember the name or location of, as I was rather drunk. Trust me though, it was epic.

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Mr me got the day off so we headed down to the East Village for some brunch. I saw this at a bar on the way there, and we decided to take their advice. Would have been rude not to really, no?

We were heading for Schiller’s liquor bar to try the huevos rancheros recommended by our lovely friend, but we got so hot and hungry we didn’t quite make it. Instead we ended up at 7A Cafe on Avenue A. I had steak and eggs, Mr me had huevos rancheros, so at least we’ll have something to compare with when we finally get to Schiller’s. The eagle eyed among you might spot the Bloody Mary’s we started the patriotic drinking with.

After brunch we wandered the streets before a stop for beers at a bar, which the Internet is telling me is The Greenwich Village Bistro, though I am sure that’s not what is was called. I *was* a little tipsy though, so who knows. As we were sitting watching the world go by, these ladies went past. Now that’s what I call patriotism.

Beers meant dinner was necessary, so we headed to the Cornelia Street cafe, where I had chicken and Mr me had black sesame crusted salmon. We washed it all down with a bottle of prosecco, ‘coz Italian wine is the best way to celebrate the USA.

After dinner we ended up in the, frankly rather odd, Jekyell and Hyde theme bar, which got a pass for its barman and patrons. We even met Sandy from Grease. Oh, New York City, you really do make me happy.

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Here are a couple of extra photographs I took in Bryant Park the other day. For some reason I forgot to add them to the last post, so here they are for your viewing enjoyment.

You cry every time you see the American flag or hear the National Anthem?! Wow. That must get awkward.

Eer indeed.

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I’ve taken exercise classes which included step before and I’ve enjoyed them. A couple of the moves flummoxed me, but I got there in the end. So, when I saw a step class on offer at my massive gym I thought that looked like a bit of me. It was not a bit of me, not even a little bit. When the 60+ woman in front of me started barking that it was simple, I just needed to face the right way, I should have probably just left. Sadly, I had made the mistake of introducing myself to the teacher at the start, so it wasn’t really an option. His little face looked so hopeful every time I managed to get the routine (“that’s it Stephanie, you’ve got it!”) which meant that when I effed it up again it stung that bit more. I probably won’t take another step class. I did stay on for the class afterwards though, which also involved a bit of step, but happily no kangaroos, backwards steps, around the worlds or any of the other moves that had shamed me. The teacher for this class kept looking at me and checking on me, which I thought was sweet, until he said my name (which I hadn’t told him) and I realised that he must have been told to keep an eye on me by the prevous teacher. I am an actual liability. Oh the shame, the shame. I will press on though, grin plastered across my sweaty face. It seems I thrive on embarrassment.

It’s the 4th July tomorrow, Independence day, yo. In Bryant park they have set up a load of boards that make up the American flag. On these boards are the little bits of text from people saying what the red, white and blue of the flag means to them. I’ve always been impressed/weirded out by how much people here love their country. In England our flag is often used as a symbol of racism and hate and I can’t imagine myself writing anything about being particularly proud to be English. I mean, I sort of am, but I am also ashamed of certain acts we’ve participated in. It just sort of bamboozles me the lack of critical thinking from some people, and the blind love of their great, but massively flawed country.

It seems that at least some of the text on the boards was sent via twitter and it was all posted as sent, no spell checking or, in some cases, basic sense checking. Below I have included some of my very favourites.

I’m proud to live in a country where I can spell badly and use unnecessary capitals!

Erm, I think you’re allowed rings in every counrty.

Are they referring to the exclamation mark as the true dot?! Just say no to full stops for they are unamerican!

Apparently before America existed there was no such thing as free will. God bless the USA. Oh and go Mitt! Woooooo!

This is actually quite sweet. Although I’m pretty sure you can ‘do’ fishing most everywhere with water and fish.

Apparently the servicepeople are fighting for the right of ordinary Americans to write like idiots.

While I was looking at the boards a man came up to me and asked to interview me on what the flag meant to me. Even when he realised I was British he still wanted my opinion. I was too shy and my thoughts about America were too conflicted at the time to agree. However, afterwards I stood behind this beautiful woman who was dancing as she read… And that’s why I love it here. You can dance around like a mental and people act like it’s the most normal thing in the world. God bless America indeed.

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Today I joined my NYC gym, which is massive and would eat my London and Montreal gyms with just one bite. After a couple of classes (yeah, you heard me right, a couple. The first one was ballet though, so I mainly just stood there and gawped while she said French things at me, it was just like being back in Montreal) I headed off for a stroll through Manhattan and here are some things I saw…

Spinach and ricotta pizza slice for luncheon, with bonus workman in a very fetching red helmet (also check out those trousers peeping in the side of the pic. It’s so damn STYLISH here). I think this might be the only city where pizza slices are tasty. In London they look days old, taste like greasy rubber and might just lead you into a close relationship with your toilet, yougetme?!

Basketball booooi. It was all a bit tense for some reason. I don’t remember it being like that in White Men Can’t Jump. Oh wait, Rosie Perez was all tense in that wasn’t she? Maybe basketball just brings out the worst in people. Damn that bouncy little ball.

So, there is some trend of naming streets, corners, and squares after random people and things. I guess this particular auxiliary police man did something especially special (I could probably look it up, but I’m going to leave that up to you, if you’re interested. I’m all about self motivated learning). It seems a bit self indulgent to me, I can’t imagine the British putting up with this kind of nonsense.

I just like these people and their summer wear, sitting on the art, it’s pretty dope, right?!

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Oh my eff. Oreo now make cakes?! I feel myself expanding as I type.

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There’s just something about brunch in New York. The eggs are tastier, the waitresses finer, the bacon crispier, the Bloody Mary’s spicier. I will be cultivating my wee little belly with many of these during our time here and here is the first, at Bistango at 29th and 3rd. Eggs florentine for me, and a (not very brunchey, but it was nearly 3pm) salmon steak for Mr me. All washed down with Mary’s spiciest.

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