Back from the gym. To my relief, I have actually lost a kilo in New York. I thought I would have gained at least a little weight, with all this food on display (and we would oblige).
I have never been to a city where so much and so diverse food is on offer throughout the city. The ubiquitous chains (plus some more local ones), delis, soup places, cafes, diners, restaurants, bistrots, fried chicken joints, pizza places, chinese places, trattorias, brazilian churruscarias, hot dog carts, gyros carts, doner carts, knish carts, pretzel carts, bagel carts… you get the picture. And they are everywhere (well, many of them). Most of the food on offer is fried, but it only takes walking 2 or 3 blocks before you find something suitable (or suitably fried, for that matter). If you would rather make something yourself (we couldn’t) the place is full of grocery shops with shiny apples and luscious mangoes on display.
Walking in the streets, you can always glance at places selling food: they are rarely empty. People also eat on the go. Actually, queuing up for immigration (“step down! step down please!”) in JFK airport, an overpowering smell of fried garlic filled the place. It was like someone was fixing themselves a snack in the Homeland Security officers kitchenette…
As for martinis (I know you have been waiting for this), there is bad news and there is good news.
The bad news is that I now realise how pointless it is to order martinis (or any other straight-up cocktails, which New Yorkers happily collectively also call ‘martinis’) in most places in the world, with exceptions including this place and that one.
The good news: after trying martinis up and down Manhattan, I realised I make them pretty well, myself. Not bad at all.