Ted and I snuck off to New York last weekend for a belated 10th anniversary celebration. This is the first time ever that both of us have spent two consecutive nights away from Sam, so we were a little nervous. (And of course, he was completely content to be staying with Irma, his Nanny and her daughter Andrea.) But we were also a little giddy with the prospect of 48+ hours to do . . . well, to do whatever we could think of to do in Manhattan on an October weekend.
I am sure no one will be shocked to learn that much of the adventure was pivoted around food and food-based adventures. We weren't maniacal in our quest for NY edibles but I did have a couple of places on my wish list--and we happily managed to experience almost all of them.
On Friday evening we had a lovely autumn-inspired dinner at Hearth in the East Village. As the name implies it was confortable and warm and we enjoyed dining in an establishment that didn't have a dancing hot dog on the wall nor did it serve our meals in bright yellow plastic baskets (not that I'm knocking our old fave Huey's, but we all need a change of pace every now and then). I'd compare it to North Pond in its approach to featuring seasonal, local produce. We had pillowy home made gnocchi, a divine fennel, arugula and anchovy salad, Ted had tender lamb chops and I had robollita, a hearty white bean soup. We were very, very satisfied. The dessert really sealed the deal: warm apple cider doughnuts served with maple cream and applesauce. My doughnut fervor has been especially intense this fall (and I don't think it's just the pregnancy, but who knows?) and I was just so happy in that moment--we were in New York and cozy and relaxed and grateful---and grinning over a plate of crispy, sweet, warm doughnuts. Heck, if I am willing to drive all the way to the far south side of Chicago for a Dat or Old Fashioned doughnut, why not get on a plane and go to New York?
I didn't take many pictures over the weekend, which seems to be this new laziness that has set in of late. But I also like to think it's a healthy thing to be in the moment just enough that I don't keep reaching in my cluttered bag to get the camera and snap photo after photo.
After dinner we walked around the Village, ending up at the Strand Bookstore. That's a pretty darn lovely date for Ted and I--good conversation, excellent food and sniffing around an enormous but well-stocked bookstore looking for good reads.
The next day we really pulled off a healthy urban hike. First thing in the morning we went to the Greenmarket at Union Square, then we went down to SoHo where I scored some quiche and tea from the uber-popular and enormous Balthazar. We "shopped" around SoHo like teenagers--checking out cool shoes we couldn't afford, eyeballing trendoids, window shopping at silly fancy places, troving through the Pearl River Mart . . . and then we skipped over to Little Italy. I was determined to get us a chub of salami and some good cheese so we could have a decent snack for the plane ride the next day. We came across DiPalo's, an old neighborhood "dairy" and salumi shop, and wedged our bodies inside with all the other Saturday shoppers and took a number. It was a wait, but it was worth it.

Is it silly to wait 20 minutes to procure a small chub of Hunter's sausage and a quarter pound of imported aged provolone? I don't think so. And besides, a neighborhood market is a great way to get the feeling of a place. I realize that when travelling, either solo or with Ted, I always like to find the food markets first, because that makes me feel centered and connected. And New York can be so overwhelming, it's nice to find yourself in a tiny neighborhood grocery, waiting behind the little old lady who knows all the staff by name.
We continued hiking on for lunch. I did put us on a bit of a wild goose chase looking for a noodle spot called Momofuko that everyone is supposedly raving about. But our bellies were crying out, our feet (and my back) were aching and we were starting to get just a teentsy bit cranky with hunger, so we opted instead for plan B, another ramen shop called Rei Rei Ken. (Thanks, Rachel for the New York mag Cheap Eats issue--it saved us on this very day!) If you've ever seen the film Tampopo, this is the closest you can get to feeling like you're eating on the set. It's a tiny hole in the wall joint with about 10 stools. There were only four different types of ramen to choose from. The noodle guys are on a level slightly higher than you with these enormous pots billowing steam up behind them and they silently slide your enormous bowls over the worn wooden counter. We slurped rather quietly over our large bowls, getting what I always think of as a "soup facial." (A good thing, to be sure.) It wasn't fancy, it wasn't hip, it was actually bordering on cramped. But it did feel so good to be off our feet enjoying simple, tasty noodles and hot savory broth. (If anyone knows of a ramen joint in Chicago, let me know, I don't believe we have one, other than the food stalls at Mitsuwa.)
After our noodles, our bellies were warm and we were happy but beat. So we caught a cab back to the Upper East side, where were staying. We were looking for a toy store to buy a couple of items for a certain special somebody back in Chicago. As we were walking down Lexington looking for the toy shop, we came across Payard.
Payard! The ultimate in exquisite and precious French pastry. My sister Sylvia had urged us to go, if only to make us feel like we were in Paris. It was on my list but I hadn't even written down the address. It was fancy, it was filled with extremely well-dressed New Yorkers speaking a variety of languages and it gave off an air of exceptionally confident sophistication. (A combination that would normally have me go into shrinking violet mode.) But I was as tickled as a school girl. "Can we go in, please, can we?" And Ted said of course. So we first went and bought Sam a couple of toys and then backtracked to Payard.
There were rows and rows of pastries that looked like little gifts or sexy soft sculptures. It made deciding extremely difficult. I got that panicky "What if I don't choose the most perfect one?" feeling but then I just snapped out of it and went for what I know and love: a tart filled with creamy caramel, dried fruits and nuts and topped with a delightful dollop of chocolate mousse. Ted got a small bowl of chocolate mousse and a cappuccino. The two women next to us were speaking in both Russian and French, behind us Italians were drinking champagne and laughing, in the back of the restaurant people were taking in afternoon tea with those three-tiered platters on each table. Our waiter, in a jacket and tie, gave off an air of slight indifference to my girlish excitement. Another waiter chided me for taking a photo of the pastries. Everything was golded or chocolate colored. Yes, it was like we were in Paris, I suppose.
And every bite tasted just like I had hoped it would--insanely rich and buttery and crunchy and extravagant. And it truly felt like we were on vacation, indulging in something we normally wouldn't, which is exactly why we'd gone away. We went back to the apartment, loaded down with packages (salami, Chinese tchotkes, a Mr. Potato Head and a knock off leather bag . . .) and napped easily. Not a bad way to polish off an autumn afternoon in New York.