I cannot bear to spend birthdays that contain zeroes at home. I want to go somewhere so fabulous that the aging part is only the background excuse for why I’m spending a bunch of money far away from home in February. Bear with me…this is longer than my usual posts! Humor me, folks. You won’t be disappointed.
My favorite city in the world is New York, and my son had been begging to experience it as a real tourist. When I lived and spent an inordinate amount of time in Northern New Jersey, I inexcusably spent little time doing the things that have long lines in the boroughs. While that’s kind of my style anyway, I realized that it was a self-disservice not crossing the harbor in 15 degree 30 mph wind gusts to learn about the Statue of Liberty or sit in the original chairs that perhaps my grandparents sat in on Ellis Island.
We paid respects at the WTC memorial amidst mourners and other tourists. We were less solemn-seeming, as my son wasn’t born until 4 years after 9/11 and had lots of questions. Three hours in the museum felt like I attended a funeral for every single victim, and it took me days to digest it. Re-living every bit of it. One wallet on display wound up being a man from Douglasville, GA, and would’ve been a neighbor of mine (based on the address on his driver’s license and where I moved to.) Although I lived in Alabama back then. White flowers are placed on a person’s name on the monument on their birthday. Victims from all 4 terrorist acts are etched into the walls protecting the massive waterfalls in lower Manhattan.
On my big day, we had lunch at Rockefeller Center, ice skated in the famed rink (I achieved USFSA Freestyle 6 in my more agile days–my salchow jump is very rusty), and had a bucket list dinner at Le Benardin (Chef Eric Ripert’s place and BFF of the late Anthony Bourdain.) Thank goodness for my holiday bonus! Prixe Fixe menu.
I was supremely impressed by how my son took to the busiest streets in America like salmon swimming upstream. Hands in his pockets, head down, focused, and uttering, “This is lit,” about 20 times an hour. The man child was hooked from the moment we flew over the island. 
Our first day we gorged at Junior’s in Times Square where I introduced my son to the best matzoh ball soup I’ve ever eaten. And…if you know enough to ask…order the (wait for it!) side of PICKLES! Not only does a small bowl of the perfectly sliced and spiced half sours show up, but also a pickled cabbage slaw (no mayo) and pickled beets. An outstanding house-made Bloody Mary washed down my pastrami half sandwich perfectly. Once walking 50 New York City blocks wore off that food, we gorged again on supremely authentic Italian-American pasta and salad at Carmine’s in the theater district before treating ourselves to Hamilton! (I bought tickets months earlier on-line for a steal, not to mention it was a Wednesday in February.) My son knew every word of the show.
Pho in China Town, riding the subway everywhere, Upper West Side, Central Park, Imagine mosaic, Upper East Side, avoiding eye contact with every vendor in the Diamond District, St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Empire State Building, the Washington Arch in the West Village, Golden Wings at Ainsworth in the East Village (they really are coated in liquid gold, for $45 for 10), cheap slices of the best pizza, Grand Central Station, bagels and lox, Times Square, NY Public Library, the Lego Store, street hot dogs and pretzels, Katz’s Delicatessen for corned beef that started out tasting like feet but wound up being the best I’ve ever eaten (cured for a month) and a side of classic pickles. We even unknowingly sat at the table where the woman from When Harry Met Sally famously said “I’ll have what she’s having.” (Google it.) I also had my first egg cream. For you non-NYC-files, it contains neither eggs nor cream.
So if you need a travel itinerary for 5 days in New York City, copy and past the above. I recommend getting a CityPass. It’s far cheaper than ala carte attractions, and you skip lines. Did I mention that I hate lines? And before I get to the grand finale and last stop of my over-the-moon birthday excursion, I have to recommend trying VRBO for lodging. I have no need for a hotel in NYC. I’m there to experience everything outside of my lodging. I need a bathroom and a bed, not a maid. On 8th Avenue, butting up to the Marriott Marquis in Times Square, between 45th and 46th Streets, staring at Hell’s Kitchen, was a pure Manhattan experience for $79 a night. It was safe, and remember this was February. It’s not that cheap when it’s warmer. In a one bedroom plus a spare futon, we enjoyed not being able to control the radiator heat, hearing sounds all night long that you don’t hear living at the beach as we do, non-stop sirens, and walking on the building’s tiles from the turn of the last century. It was truly glorious. #Authentic.
Our very last stop in Manhattan involved crossing Delancey Street (Google Crossing Delancey) to Grand Street on the Lower East Side to what can best be described at a religious experience. The Pickle Guys. https://www.pickleguys.com
My son complained the entire time. Oh, it gets worse…stay tuned.
Throughout the first half or more of the 1900’s, people flocked to pickle shops each week as part of their regular shopping. Given the store’s very hip and colorful icons, mascot, and social media presence, I didn’t expect to learn that The Pickle Guys’ shop is over a hundred years old. What used to dot many a corner on the Lower East Side, these are the last chaps around. Their web site is worth perusing for a better history lesson, their continued Rabbinical Supervision, plus they now ship! Look at the pickle candy canes on the shelf. Yeah, they’re mine now.
These people will seriously pickle anything. Barrels of cherry tomatoes, pineapple, other fruit, peppers, carrots, cukes in so many different brines, soaked for different periods of time, kraut, olives, corn, fresh horseradish…I was wonderfully overwhelmed.
They offer generous taste testing and offered to package up my 3-digit purchases in military-grade layers of plastic wrap so that I could pack it in my luggage, which had to be checked because of the brine, to enjoy back at home.
Given all that we accumulated in a mere 5 days, the only option logistically was to pack the pickles in my son’s school backpack. Imagine being at LaGuardia Airport with luggage but asking Delta Airlines to ONLY check your black backpack in this day and age. We got more than security side-eyes. And a nice card inside it confirmed TSA did in fact take a tour through the bag. I explained to the gate agent that it was just pickles. She wasn’t taking any chances.
A bit of the brine apparently either leaked or left its essence in my pickle-hating son’s bag that only an entire bottle air freshener could solve. He tells me that he still has nightmares about it. I again question his DNA!
Thanks for taking a virtual tour of my brined birthday adventure with me in my favorite city! It made the new wrinkles and sore feet every bit worthwhile. I hope you’re making the best memories on your birthday!
Pickle Picker 