I took a look around me and felt proud I could blend in with the locals, after which of course I hopped into the car with Tito Ago to start off my day as a proper tourist. Equipped with a camera and a map in hand, I felt ready to take on one of the world's most urban, urban jungles. The safari began at Wall Street, where people regress to the animalistic cries and acts of brutality of their ancestors, after the ringing of the bell. Not only were the pin-suits probably at arms, but the tourists in front of the famous Brass Bull in Wall Street made the place feel like a war zone. Everyone was desperate to take a picture in front of the bull. So much so that people were yelling curses in a variety of languages, pushing and pulling and making very rude-looking gestures. I seriously do not understand why people bother that much for this:
We then drove past the South Sea Port and Fulton Street Market as well as Brooklyn Bridge to our next stop, The Soup Man shop at 190 Bleecker Street. What makes a soup take-away shop so see-worthy? Well the Soup Man has built its fame on the infamous way the Soup Man deals with his customers. The Soup Man is a top chef who makes gourmet soups - think the likes of lobster and other luxury ingredients - and is, like most New Yorkers, a little on the neurotic side. He has a desired method of queuing and insists that all his customers abide by his method, otherwise… no soup. Yep, that's right. You could queue for 2 hours in the cold just to be turned away for not stepping to the left immediately after ordering or being 1 cent short and having to look through your wallet for it. Now who in their right mind would queue up for such self-humiliation? Well come on, let's face it… We as people love making our poor selves go through an unbearable amount of crap, which is why we deal with things like Twilight, or Kristen Cavallari. So we deal with the Soup Man.
Desiring a more filling lunch, we decided to have a hearty meal at a Thai restaurant across the road before heading out to Chelsea to look at art galleries. If any of you are into art… Chelsea is the perfect place to go. There are about 4 major streets filled with galleries. I spent about 3 hours exhausting all the galleries in just one of those streets, starting with an 8-story building with nothing but galleries - an endless buffet of sculptures, portraits, modern art and photography. Afterwards, to cool down, we headed to Emack & Bolio's on Amsterdam Ave between 78th and 79th street, which is rumoured to have the best ice-cream in the city - and only a whopping $4 for a scoop. That equates to the total value of two Manhattan hotdogs man. I'm not much of a sweet-tooth, but since Tito Ago insisted and I thought 'well who knows when I'll ever get the opportunity again', I decided to try one of these $4 scoops, and wawaweewah that was some guhoood ice cream. Sure it doesn't beat any of the gelaterias in Venizia but it was close. Very close. Sitting in the corner, pigging out on my ice-cream I overheard a guy mentioning to his lady friend that he loved Emack & Bolio's so much that he was placed on their Wall of Fame for ordering an 'Emack Attack' - a monstrosity of an ice-cream, containing 24 scoops for around $60. Wow, talk about dedication. We then sat down and chatted with one of Tito Ago's friends, who worked at Emack & Borrio's who referred us to H&H bagels if we wanted to try a 'real' New York bagel, so that's obviously where we went next. After buying several bagels for my Aunt Mona and I to feast on for breakfast the next day, Tito Ago and I separated our ways. He and my Aunt Mona made their journey back to Jersey City, whilst I made my way downtown to Fulton Street to meet an old friend for a 'New York dinner'.
Not knowing what to expect, I was shocked when I saw where - no sorry, what we were dining in. It was an American pub (if that's what you'd call it), which goes by the name of Jeremy's Old Ale Bar. Bras were dangling from the ceiling with autographed pictures of topless chicks plastered around the walls. Now this is what you call class. Just to top off the evening I had an NY bacon cheeseburger and an American ale with chips on the side. Deliciously unhealthy. It may have been a heart attack on a plate, but that would've probably been an ok way to go.
Filled to the brim with grease and ale I managed to haul my now oversized behind back to Jersey City for some America's Got Talent time with my Aunt Mona. Bring on tomorrow New York.
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