Where do you go to my lovely ... (New York version)

OK, it's Peter Sarstedt from 1969, but it was playing in Lafayette while we were having lunch.

As I said in the last post, my dedicated reader, we thought a day of (comparative) rest in order after the last few days on the go.  There were a few things we wanted to do in the local area.  The Lower East Side has some siginificant landmarks, not the least of which is the building that features on Led Zepplin's killer album Physical Graffiti.  Sorry, no pictures of this iconic building ediface today; the sun was shining right down the camera lens in the morning and on the way home, some goose had parked his truck right in front of the building.  I will return, as Macarthur once said.

The rest day began with an attempted sleep in.  Too funny.  The usual night noises interrupted sleep; my favourite at 3:20am: two people discussing a friend and with whom she is sleeping while they nailed a couple of ciggies.  As an ex-smoker I still miss it, but I wouldn't miss these mindless morons gossiping should they decide to kick the habit. But, hey, that's life in an apartment fronting onto the street.

After drifting in and out of sleep, I finally dragged myself out of bed and made a cup of tea and finished yesterday's post.  The text was done last night but I needed to play with the photos.  That done it was time to walk down the block to drop off the washing and pick up the jeans I put in for alteration.  You know what it's like buying jeans, you just can't get the right length off the rack - I hate having jeans lengthened :)  Shock, horror, my jeans weren't ready.  Fortunately the weather forecasters got it wrong again and the cloudy, cold day they had predicted was sunny and warm - shorts weather.

Now, wearing shorts here marks me as a tourist, aside from the ubiquitous backpack and me holding Jayne's hand as we walk around.  No-one here wears shorts unless they are jogging, or they are from out of town.  New Yorkers seem to dress in the expectation that a cold snap will hit even on a mild day - overcoats, puffy jackets, scarves are the order of the day in the morning rush hour.  Guess you can always take it off but you can't put it on if you haven't got it with you in the first place.

Random facts:

1. Tights are not clothing, not in Sydney and not here.  Get some trousers girls.

2. A child's tantrum sounds like a child's tantrum regardless of ethnic background.

3. The bike relics chained to posts remind me so much of home #Redfernstation.

4. Parking is at a premium, all of the time.  Quite often we marvel at how a car will ever get of the tight spot it is in.  I believe it is worse than Paris.  But something they have over here that I haven't seen in Paris are bumper protectors.  The one for the back of the car is quite hefty, like a rubber  mat attached to the boot that covers most of the rear bumper. The front is often just a rubber protrusion around the number plate. Quite ingenious and essential.

One brand is called 'bumper bully'

Random statue ona building somewhere

Sorry, dear reader, I was distracted.  So, we set out, eventually, for the famous Katz Deli and on the way were thwarted in our attempts to photgraph the Physical Graffiti building.  On the way we crossed paths with a couple of walking tours.  Arriving at Katz at 12:30pm was probably not the smartest thing to do, but we had thoughts of having one their legendary pastrami sandwiches for lunch.  My suspicions were immediately raised by the numbers of people milling around outside on the pavement.  

Inside was a horror show.  You had to queue to get in, queue to get your food and then queue to pay to get out. You were issued a ticket upon entry and without that ticket you could not get out.  What the ...  We looked at the people occupying the tables; no-one seemed to be enjoying themselves too much, but with the noise in there I couldn't be sure.  I looked at Jayne, I looked at the people milling around everywhere trying to discern if there was a method to getting served, I looked back at Jayne - how good would a sandwich here have to be too make me stay?  It would have to be orgasmic. "I'm out," and we made for the door, traded our tickets for freedom and were ejected onto the footpath.  Hmmm.  I will not be beaten, I will be back for that pastrami sandwich (or whatever) that Sally had, and others wished they were having, (When Sally Met Harry) just not during the lunch time rush.  Should be able to swing it given the deli trading hours most days are from 8 am till 2:45 am and on Saturdays they are open 24 hours!!!

Next stop Lafayette Cafe.  We continued our own walking tour.  I had seen Lafayette on our drive in from the airport and it looked like our kind of place - French.  It looked the goods even after I had Googled it. Despite the lovely autumn weather, we opted for a table inside and then had to wrestle with the menu. It seems the more we walk, the less we eat and the more our appetite diminishes.  This place has it all, French breads, (I bought a baguette for dinner, which sits uneaten, still not hungry at 8pm), pastries - croissants, pains-au-chocolat, eclairs, macarons - if it is French, they have it.  It is also a restaurant with a full menu catering for the entire day from breakfast through to dinner.  Too much choice; we needed a glass of champagne while we considered the culinary delights before us.

Black macaroni with shrimp, spicy tomato

Pumpkin risotto

You would have gathered from the photos above that we were able to make a decision.  They also served homemade bread. It was delectable. Lunch was rounded off by a nice little Chablis from the Jura.  Dessert?  Why not.  We had tasting plates of Petit Choux and Cookies and Cannneles - good thing we were walking home. Additionally the lunch was a slightly moving experience since the restaurant is positioned on top of a subway station and the whole place rumbled intermittently as trains came and went underneath. And on the way home we discovered this glimpse of the ESB as we were crossing the street.  An unexpected surprise.

Of course, Halloween is coming; that peculiarly American tradition which, try as the marketing people may, they can't seem to establish a solid foothold in Australia.  Here, however, it is very serious.  There are pumpkins for sale on every street corner.  No seriously there are.  A size for everyone, from large down to small.  The shops are decorated with them - even in Lafayette today there was a giant sized pumpkin near the meet and greet desk.

And so, we are home again planning our next few days.  Tomorrow we are attempting the Guggenheim again and then Saturday we are returning to the Forte Green flea markets and in the afternoon we are doing a foodie walking tour of Brooklyn.  From then, well, who knows - we are still trying to get tickets to a couple of Broadway shows, but next week is less frenetic and less structured because we will have used up our CityPass tickets.

Until tomorrow.