New York: At Night

When your high school buddy/college roommate is planning to get married, an epic pre-wedding bash must go down. I was lucky enough to be a bridesmaid in my friend Whitney's wedding (it was amazing by the way, but more on the Ruidoso weekend in the next blog post). Being a party-throwing specialist, the duty of arranging a legendary bachelorette weekend rested upon me. After a flurry of e-mails with fellow bridesmaids and a rigorous debate about the desired location, we all agreed on New York City.

There’s a vibe in NYC that keeps you electrified. A buzz, a current, a momentum you can’t feel anywhere else. I used to think that was bullshit, but a couple nights in the city for the bachelorette shin-dig changed my mind. I’m still not a Big Apple convert; my favorite cities remain to be London (Big Ben), Toronto (Big Tower), and Paris (Big Museum)…no big apples in sight. But I’ve warmed up to the city that never sleeps…it might be lukewarm, but that’s still better than ice cold.

Last time I hit the streets of NYC was the summer of 2007, so it was due time I returned to get my decent pizza fix. On Friday we all swarmed the city at various times from various directions. A delayed flight in Minneapolis due to a broken plane (yikes!)* got me in around 6 p.m. so I headed straight for the taxi line. I chose to fly into LGA on account of the cheap $230 flight I booked via Expedia.com and its proximity to our hotel. One $25 cab ride later and I found myself at the Eastgate Tower Hotel.

*props to Delta, who not only gave each person a $100 voucher due to the inconvenience, but also provided us with free wine once we finally made it to 32,000 feet.

A small lobby and an old-fashioned interior had me worried at first, but then I laid eyes on our two-bedroom suite booked for around $340 per night: a kitchen, large living room with full dining table, two bedrooms, and two bathrooms. For eight girls, we had just enough bed space to be comfortable. And the best part? Location, location, location! We were a brief walk away from Grand Central Station and had we all worn sensible shoes, we probably could have walked to Times Square.

After a quick post-plane make-up check, we hopped on the subway for $1.25 one way. If you plan on using the subway throughout your stay, invest in a multi-trip metro card for the duration. But also keep in mind that taxis? Not that expensive. Really…they’re not. Especially if you’re on the subway, realize you’re going in the wrong direction, and need to use up another one-way ride. Mistakes like that can add up, whereas taxis know where they’re going (usually).

Times Square screams consumerism. There’s glitz and glamour and a whole lot of electricity pumping through the veins of the heart of NY, and it’s all worth it for the utterly stupefying scene. Once the sun sets, wander around in awe among the throngs of people. You can spot the tourists straight away—they’re the ones with their mouths open and heads up, staring at the modern age in all its ridiculous glory. Stop in to the Times Square Visitor’s Center and catch a glimpse of the not-so-massive-in-real-life New Year’s Eve ball.

Tickets to a Broadway show were close to sold out, so we spent $30 on an improv comedy act at HA! LMAO (163 W 46th Street)—well, somehow I got in for free, but don’t count on sneaking in with a gaggle of girls who already pre-paid. There are tons of criers along Times Square shouting at you to attend (here’s a hint to shut them up: say you already went the night before and it was hilarious). It was surprisingly funny, albeit brief, but the best part was the $10 long island iced teas with at least $20 worth of booze inside. We appreciated the improv guys calling on our bachelorette to join them on stage, but due to the family-friendly atmosphere, the content was fairly tame. If you want to rock a riskier comedy club, I recommend a late-night show that isn’t afraid to drop an F-bomb when necessary.

Per the advice of one of the stand-up comics, we hit up Bourbon Street (346 West 46th Street) a few blocks off Times Square. The joke was on us because this wannabe-trendy bar looked like a hyped up TGI-Friday’s with louder music and a restaurant vibe. We did an about-face and wandered a bit aimlessly through the streets of NYC (during which we encountered delicious pretzels, nice old ladies, and plenty of amused stare-downs considering Whit was in her bachelorette veil).

Just when we thought our meandering was fruitless, we stumbled upon the coolest place to be in New York City; a new, hip bar? No. A crazy dance club? Nope. A fusion of the two? No way. It was the FDNY at 51st Street and 3rd Avenue. We only wanted directions and ended up staying an hour; what a sight to see: a massive group of dolled-up gals in heels chatting with real life NYC firefighters. Passersby were taking pictures of us, as we snapped pictures of one another sliding down the pole and posing on the truck. One of the guys even walked us over to a nightclub and got us in past the huge line. Now that’s service.

The night led us to Bar 515 (515 3^rd Avenue), a crowded bar with decent Cape Cods and a forgettable atmosphere. The most memorable part about this place was the bouncer—a guy who grew up 10 miles from my hometown and played basketball with my brother. It’s amazing what you can discover with a little chit-chat while checking ID’s.

Joshua Tree (513 3rd Avenue) next door was far more raucous, with a rockin’ 80’s theme and plenty of sing-along dancing to go around. It was that perfect balance of bar and club, in that I didn’t mind being there and the bouncy girls that joined me seemed to hit their dance quota for the night.

We got a late start the next day, had our caffeine fix at a Starbucks up the street, and then headed to the MET. Here’s a tip: it’s free to get in, but there is a $10 suggested donation for students; and in cases such as these, I’m always a student. Funnily enough, I saw the same exhibit the last and only time I was at the MET, and that was the Egyptian mummies in 1995. But it’s always a pleasure to wander through the MET.

After receiving some cultural points, we hurried over to the event of the day: the Sex and the City Tour. It had everything you would expect: a long line of trendy girls, a peppy tour guide, and stops around NYC that were featured in the TV series and films. It included a free cupcake and there were discounted cosmos at “Scout,” a bar seen in the show. If you’re a die-hard fan, I’d recommend it. If you’ve only caught a glimpse of SatC, skip it and save your $40 for a cute pair of shoes (Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte, and Samantha would all approve).

Back to NYC nightlife. The main event ended up being the most disappointing; we had 10 p.m. reservations at Lucky Chengs (24 1st Avenue), a drag-cabaret-dinner show. Oh yes…all three, wrapped into one. There were hoards of people up front and we weren’t seated until 10:30. Being there were ten of us, we were forced to select from a family-style menu of mediocre, heart-burn-inducing food. The “show” itself consisted of a screeching transvestite reiterating expletives and lacking any wit. They primarily relied on audience participation and awkward lap dances ensued. Lucky Cheng’s is not for the faint of heart. It’s also not for a boozed-up bachelorette party, apparently. An exorbitant bill confirmed suspicions that this place is a huge rip-off and should be avoided like the diseases one might find in their lackluster bathroom.

Surviving Cheng’s called for a major change in atmosphere, and we got one at Ella (9 Avenue A) in the East Village. A long, narrow bar up top and a small, crowded dance room below brought about an interesting mix of people. Up the street, we came across One and One (12 1st Avenue), another bar/club combo that could appeal to all tastes within our party. While there, I met up with Alana and John, two friends I grew up with in Morris, NY. It has become somewhat of a tradition to rendezvous in the city, and I appreciate their effort to find the random bar I happened to be in.

Only in NYC can you meet friends at 2 a.m. and proceed to bar-hop into the morning hours. There are two sister bars on 1st Avenue that are worth checking out; one is called Karma, the other is Sutra. We tried the latter and discovered it was also a hookah bar, allowing for a quieter, more relaxed ambiance.

But truly the best experience came in the form of late-night NY-style pizza. There’s nothing else like it the world over; I wake up in the middle of the night craving the cheesy, crusty, carb-loaded stuff topped with pepperoni that overflows with pools of grease. If you’re the type to dab your slice with a napkin to soak up the extra oil, don’t waste your time on NY pizza. If you like to load your pie down with buckets of toppings, rendering it more like a glorified stir-fry, skip NY pizza. If you find Domino’s and Pizza Hut pay homage to truly authentic Italian cuisine, NY pizza is not for you. Any of the aforementioned faux pas are insults to New Yorkers.

By 4:30 a.m. the streets grew a bit quiet, but there was still a palpable buzz. People roamed the roads and occupied taxis flew by in a whir. We hailed a cab and jumped in; my outdated logic of carrying around stockpiles of cash was debunked thanks to the handy credit card swipe machine in the backseat. Oh, technology. You rock.

As I made my way into the dark hotel room, I crawled into bed and stared up at the ceiling. I was jazzed. Electrified. Completely and utterly enamored. Had I just fallen in love with New York City? No…it’s not possible, is it? I’m an upstater through and through. We don’t like the island to the south, it’s not our thing.

But I knew I was in trouble when I even enjoyed my time at La Guardia airport. That just borders on insanity, but it was true. The lines were organized, the crowds tame. The workers even smiled in my general direction from time to time. Reading the New York Times at an airport Chili’s never felt so relaxing—not a word commonly used in conjunction with NYC airports.

The whole two-day trip was a bit of a blur, and that’s probably why I enjoyed it so much. I didn’t have time to notice all the things I typically hate about NYC. The key to a successful trip? Keep it short. One day too long can ruin a good city; I’d rather not have enough time and crave more than have too much time and never want to return.

But no matter what your opinion is on NYC…that buzz? Can’t be denied.

Santa Fe: The Jewel of New Mexico?

Santa Fe is just dripping with history and culture. With an overpriced art gallery on every corner and adobe homes that date back older than America itself, this Southwest city is a place many artists call home and many tourists call heaven.

Driving to Santa Fe provides a view like no other. Endless turquoise skies meet varied desert landscapes—and it’s not all cacti and tumbleweeds; spots of green can be seen for miles and blue-tinted mountains stretch across the background. Crossing from American soil to Indian reservation land is seamless, but a discreet sign will let you know when you’re passing through Indian territory (that and a not-so-discreet casino or two). The scenery could easily be that from a movie set—one is just waiting for the cowboys and Indians to come galloping around the corner. And depending on which exit you take upon your arrival, the magical aura presented by Santa Fe will stay in tact. But more on the disillusion later.

It all comes together at the plaza—the heart of Santa Fe and arguably the heart of New Mexico. The plaza is where state politics and traditional art converge, where spicy street food meets authentic mariachi music, and where genuine Indian jewelry collides with roaming tourists.

The Roundhouse—the official hub for New Mexico politics, Governor Bill Richardson, and my brother Mark—is a graceful building that is just modest enough to be an appropriate venue for this state. Legislators and senators roam the halls undisturbed, as the hustle and bustle pace seen in Washington DC politics isn’t quite the same here in the land of mañana.

The oldest church in America sits along a side street, often paling in comparison to the cathedral and the church with the winding staircase. All three are worth an exterior photo-op, but not all are worth going inside. The Loretto Chapel charges a $5 entry fee and in the words of my friend Caitlyn, I don’t pay to see houses of worship.

Restaurants serving up local fare in this area are typically overpriced and on the snooty side of things, but don’t despair! Affordable delectability is within reach. Santa Fe is a culinary mecca, ranging from the über expensive to the more reasonably priced grub, there’s a fit for every craving and wallet size. Here are some of my favorites—all for under $20.

Del Charro at the Inn of the Governor (101 West Alameda Street) is one of my all-time favorite spots worldwide. You’ve got to stop in for a legendary margarita ($6.50) and ignore dietary restraints for a flavorful bite of the nachos ($7). Whether you reside fireside in the cozy interior, or enjoy the enclosed porch with heaters blazing in the winter, you’re bound to enjoy a meal at this charming stop.

Craving Indian? I’ve been going to the Indian Palace (227 Don Gaspar Avenue) for as long as I can remember—even way back when I detested Indian food (oh, what a misguided child I was). It didn’t take long for me to fall in love with Indian cuisine—the papadums and mango lassies helped charm me into a food-induced trance that has yet to end. A friendly owner, atmospheric interior dining room, and spacious patio setting will get you to stay, but the food stirred, simmered and cooked to perfection will get you to go back for more.

There’s a fair share of decent pubs throughout SF, from the Marble Tap Room (60 East San Francisco Street) brewing the best of Marble beer overlooking the plaza, to the Second Street Brewing Company (1814 Second Street) on the railroad tracks, you can get a hoppy buzz all over town. My favorite watering hole is The Blue Corn Café & Brewery, with a combination of excellent beer on tap and killer food and all at a very un-Santa Fe price, this is the five-star brew pub in my book. But beware! Don’t go to the dark and moody downtown version, instead make the trek to the southside and visit 4056 Cerrillos Road for your Blue Corn experience.

New Mexico is the only state with an official question, so be prepared to answer “red or green” when you hit these must-have Mexican restaurants: Tia Sophia’s (210 West San Francisco Street), The Zia Diner (326 South Guadalupe Street), and best of all, Tecolote (1203 Cerrillos Road). And if you have time to head off the beaten track, visit Harry’s Roadhouse (96 Old Las Vegas Highway) for some decent diner food with a Mexican twist that was featured on Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives (and is allegedly Gene Hackman’s favorite local haunt)!

Art fans will enjoy the Georgia O’Keefe museum (217 Johnson Street) walking distance from the plaza. You’ll discover the intimate details of O’Keefe’s life and inspirations, along with the majority of her personal work. But if you can’t spare $15 a pop, check out the Lifetime movie.

St. John’s College provides spectacular views and a cozy college feel. I toured this place while in high school, but was instantly turned off when they described that not only would we dissect a cat for the scientific value, but we’d also discuss the philosophical implications of the death of that cat. Um, no thanks. St. John’s tends to produce a lot of overly-educated, philosophically-inclined, about-to-be-unemployed existentialists with rich parents. And even their graduates will tell you that.

There’s certainly an allure to Santa Fe, but to truly understand it, you need to think outside the box; in this case, the box is the plaza. Sure, it’s magical and all that nonsense, but it’s also slightly sketch. Explore the Wal-Mart and you’ll see what I’m talking about. There’s a not-so-shiny side to the jewel of New Mexico, but I don’t recommend you look too deeply into it. I don’t want to burst your allusion of this artist’s haven in the middle of the desert. So go…explore the plaza, eat the food, enjoy the atmosphere. But between you and me? It’s overrated.

Super Sunny Spring Fling: Sarasota, Florida

Florida may be home to oranges, hanging chads, and retirees, but it is also home to my friend Caitlyn from grad school. I’ve been threatening her with a visit to her hometown of Sarasota for months, so with Yankee spring training scheduled and a weekend get-away on my must-do list, I booked my flight for March.

My limited—yet vivid—memories of Florida are likely akin to yours: riding the Dumbo ride at Disney, wandering around Epcot, swimming at the beach, meeting Minnie Mouse (she knocked my mom’s sunglasses off her head mid-hug). So I was eager for my first trip to Florida as an adult, where I’d achieve unique memories from a non-Disney perspective.

And boy howdy, was that first perspective an incredible one—landing in Tampa, the sun glistened off the water and it looked as if we were headed straight for it. Driving over the Sunshine Skyway has a nice ring to it and the uninterrupted view of the bays and Gulf of Mexico are picture-perfect.

Entering Sarasota, a city of about 50,000 people ranging from students to oldster Northeastern transplants, I was impressed with the surroundings. There wasn’t a hint of touristy gimmicks and the water surrounded us, boats bobbing up and down in the harbor and an 80-foot statue of a sailor kissing his gal…ok, so there may have been some signs of gimmicks.

If you’re craving a dose of tourism, then there are plenty of keys lined with shops, bars, and restaurants to visit. St. Almond Key (ok, so it’s really called St. Armond but whatever) is crawling with tourists and locals alike, and it’s just a hop and a skip—not even a jump—away from the beach. Or check out the many other keys in Sarasota, from Otter Key to Coon Key, Bird Key to Siesta Key.

Caitlyn and I relived our grad school days and did a mini British pub crawl, hitting up Shakespeare’s and the Cock and Bull (they certainly had the names down). It was at Shakespeare’s where my dreams of finding British alcohol in America came true—they had Strongbow Cider…on tap. Glory! Then a couple stouts ‘round the open-pit fire at the Cock and Bull capped off the evening.

Steinbrenner Field in Tampa is home to Yankee spring training, where the boys in pinstripes get together for a month of scrimmage games and warm-up practices. Coming off a World Series win in early November, these guys have been enjoying the off-season since and spring training is the time to shake off the cleats and wave hello to the fans. Seating about 11,000 fans, Saturday’s game was packed to the brim and we scored upper deck seats along the left field line. Playing the Blue Jays, my prediction of pure Yankee domination failed to come true as they lost 9 to 1. Pretty pathetic, guys.

Luckily, my studly Yanks didn't let me down post-game as we waited above the locker room exit, like the girly stalkers we truly are. We were privy to several players making their way to the parking lot, with a few even stopping to sign balls. The best sighting of the day was catching a glimpse of the one-and-only Jorge Posada. He gave a wave as the crowd greeted him with a "hip-hip-Jorge” and we saw him get into his Porsche 911 Turbo and zoom off, predictably to the stately residential community he shares with the likes of Derek Jeter.

Saturday night out in Sarasota has apparently been revolutionized by the transformed downtown scene. Once a place to be avoided, now it’s tough to even snag a parking spot as the city’s youth flocks to this central spot. With lots of options to choose from, we ended up at Ceviche, a trendy Tapas bar with four floors of fun—a dining room, a Flemenco room, a bar, and a rooftop bar equipped with heaters and a view. Here’s a travel money-saving tip: don’t open a tab at the bar and take a sip of delicious white sangria if you want to save money. Oh well, it was entirely worth it.

What is noticeably lacking from my Florida vaca was seafood…and it remained that way intentionally. The only thing I detest more than sushi is seafood. Lobster? Should have stayed a talking friend to the Little Mermaid. Crabs? Keep chillin’ under the ocean, guys. Oysters? Blurgh. Yup… so gross I made up a word for it. So with that in mind, Caitlyn was kind enough to avoid all seafood eateries and instead took me to a seaside eatery.

The Old Salty Dog is off the beaten path, yet it was packed full of patrons salivating for some grub. We beat the crowd and secured “the best seat in the house,” out of the sun and looking out onto the water. From fish sandwiches to appeal to the seafood-loving crowd (again, blurgh) to deep-friend hot dogs to appeal to the, well…I’m not quite sure who that appeals to other than Adam from Man v. Food. I opted for the traditional burger, and damn was it top-notch.



Overall, my Florida rendezvous with Caitlyn was a success. No signs of Disney and just enough beach to satiate my craving for sea and surf. Sarasota seems to be a great get-away for those seeking sun in Florida, but want to avoid fighting throngs of tourists. I can’t guarantee you’ll run into any hanging chads, but to have the true FL experience, be sure to have a pint of OJ (or sangria).

I'll Remember the Titans: Tennessee

What do Elvis, barbeque, and Pringles have in common (besides an evident tastiness that can’t be denied)? They all hail from Tennessee.

I never thought I’d step foot on Titan soil—not due to lack of desire, but simply due to lack of opportunity. I mean really, who goes to Tennessee? As I came to find out, music-loving, barbeque-eating, Jack Daniels-downing young folks who are looking for a good time.

Desire met with opportunity when my friend Alicia’s brother Aaron moved out there to work for Proctor & Gamble. P&G does it all, from paper towels to dog food to the aforementioned Pringles. Chances are, if you’re eating a Pringle in North America, it was made in Jackson, Tennessee (thanks for the factoid, Aaron).

Landing in Memphis at 10 p.m. didn’t allow for much window-gazing, but I suspect it’d be on the greener side of things. The size of the airport rivals your typical gas station, so don’t expect to quench your Starbucks craving here. Once we hit the road for the journey to Jackson, the view didn’t improve much, but we’ll blame that on the darkness that time of night brings.

Jackson is a practical town on the verge of qualifying as a city (Wikipedia might call it a city, but I’m not quite willing since it’s a bit smaller than my hometown of Las Cruces). Similar to a Western US town, it’s spread out with a typical mall, cluster of restaurants, and pleasant residential areas.

The suburban architecture is charming and everything you’d want in a neighborhood. We were situated by a large park and wooded area, ideal for all the running, jumping, throwing, sword-fighting*, frisbeeing you could want. *yes, we witnessed mock sword-fights practically in the backyard. Awesome.

It took a Google search and a text to my historian brother to determine if Tennessee fought for the North or South during the Civil War (my US history teachers would not be impressed by my lack of memory on the subject). I was dismayed to learn it was indeed a Confederate state, confirming we were truly visiting the South. As if the humidity and accents didn’t give it away.

Take note that our trip took place during Thanksgiving, so there was a lot of down time spent drinking, eating, and lounging. Pretty much everything you want Thanksgiving to be. Props to Sam, Aaron’s girlfriend, for preparing a fantastic traditional meal. The turkey was brined to perfection at 5 a.m., the potatoes were mashed to the smoothest consistency imaginable, and the stuffing was stuffed to the stuffiest stuffing you could ever stuff.

If you ever find yourself in Jackson, Tennessee (hey, you never know) hit the Green Frog Coffee Company just off the main square and devour a scrumptious fried pie. Chilled or warmed up, you can’t go wrong with this empanada-style morsel that oozes fruity delight.

Ever wonder how the South does wine? Look no further than the Old Medina Winery, a rustic winery in the backwoods of Jackson. It doesn’t take the most refined palette to realize that it’s the Southern sweet tea version of wine—most samples taste like a Splenda-spiked rosé, but it was refreshing and unusual. Beyond the two shared bottles and free tasting, what really made the evening soar was the live music. Kick back on the enclosed porch and get blown away by some local blues.

Over in downtown Memphis, you’ll find the Gibson Guitar Museum and Memphis Grizzlies basketball stadium. There are tons of music shops lining the streets, so pop into one and take advantage of signed memorabilia in a state brimming with famous acts that have come and gone. And if you’re willing to drop $30+, visit the home of the most famous act to ever cross through Tennessee: Elvis Presley's Graceland.

There’s a great selection of food and fun in Memphis, including a place with a 7-lb. burger challenge even a gaggle of football players would have trouble finishing (Adam from Man v. Food lost that challenge, too). But we opted for another restaurant made famous by a food-themed TV show. You’ve heard of a heart-attack special before, but Dyer’s on Beale Street takes it to a whole new level. Featured on The Travel Channel’s Deep Fried Paradise, the world-famous Dyer’s is an unassuming burger joint with one major thing going for it—90-year-old oil.

Seriously.

Back in 1912, the cafe opened and the grease was strained daily and it's still used to this day. When the restaurant moved to historic Beale Street, an armored truck escorted the oil across town. Don’t believe me? Why read in suspicion when you can watch in awe. Good thing I didn’t see this clip before we went, otherwise the guilt would have ruined the taste:

Tennessee might boast legendary football and ribs, but the most outstanding thing borne from this area is the music. From Nashville to Memphis, the music scene is rich in history and talent. The strumming of an electric guitar is almost haunting as the sound echoes down Beale Street, and with an Elvis statue perched at the end of the road, it’s almost as if he’s watching over the budding talent on the streets. Based on what I heard, I think he’d approve.