“Be like the bluebird who never is blue, for he knows from his upbringing what singing can do.” Be Like the Bluebird- Cole Porter
After my previous day of fun and games, I felt a bit dispirited Sunday morning—like the day after Christmas. The lack of sun outdoors did not help; it encouraged the gloom within.
Once I was out in the fresh air and had taken my morning tea, I felt better and was determined to make the most of the day, clouds hovering or not. I walked for most of the morning with no particular plan. I visited a deserted Bryant Park which shimmered from the early morning rain.
I liked it better without wall to wall people. I liked it best when I was there in the fall—the skaters gliding across the ice, tourists, students, and those leaving work late, all sharing this special place in the heart of midtown. I imagine there are a lot of people who prefer it in spring and summer when it is hopping with activity, but I think fall is better.
I went to Rockefeller Center, a place I passed numerous times when I was staying a few blocks away but hadn’t been by so far this time. The ice rink was replaced by tables and chairs and umbrellas the colors of citruses. Outside there were a few tourists trying to capture it on film, but most of the activity was inside as people waited for retailers to open their doors.
Eventually I headed to the Theater District, thinking a play would be the best use of my afternoon. The line for Tikts was wrapped around the hotel where it has been temporarily relocated. It was the kind of line that you know will take at least an hour to get through; I decided I’d rather spend that hour going directly to a few theaters and see what was available.
“Sunday in the Park . . .” was sold out, “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof” had one ticket left and it was over a hundred dollars, “Spring Awakening” only offered rush tickets to students . . . It went on like this, and when I walked back to the Tikts line it was still as long, and I’m pretty sure there were some of the same people in it.
“Food will solve this problem,” I told myself. I walked through Shubert Alley and discovered something new: Junior’s. There’s a Junior’s in Times Square now! Anyone who hasn’t heard of Junior’s will be someone who only has a passing interest in cheesecake; theirs is, by most accounts, the best.
At one time a couple of restaurants were also in the running, but Junior’s got an Austrian baker who blew the competition out of the water. If you get the chance, try it, and stick with the classic cheesecake, the variations are generally too sweet or too rich.
I walked in and saw a huge crowd despite it barely being noon; I grabbed one of two open seats at the counter. I perused the rather large menu and got completely confused; too many choices. After a few minutes I settled on a Reuben and sipped water while I waited.
A few minutes later, an older couple and their granddaughter spied a couple of newly vacated seats and joined me at the counter. I moved over one seat in order to make this possible, which led to them offering to buy me an egg cream or a cocktail for my willingness to “scooch down.” We chatted about theater and food—they told me which shows not to miss and which places have blintzes and knishes that aren’t heavy as lead.
“Katz doesn’t know from knishes,” it seems. The Reuben was quite good (although the ratio of sauerkraut could have been higher) and my lunch companions were highly entertaining and informative. I bid them goodbye, promising to avoid bad blintzes, and headed out into the rain.
I had given up on the theater and the rain was a mere sprinkle, so I walked back to Bryant Park, found a table and chair that appealed to me, and scribbled in a journal. I wrote for hours and didn’t even realize it until it began to get a little dark.
Nothing I wrote will ever be seen by anyone other than me, but I enjoyed it while I was doing it. It seems fairly daft to pay a small fortune to be on the other side of the country so you can sit in a wet chair and write nonsense, but maybe that’s the best reason to do just that.
Afterwards, I walked in the general direction of my neighborhood and on the way saw Spanky’s BBQ. Having no pressing engagements, I went in. I indulged in a gin sling, pulled pork, grits and collard greens. The pork was better than on my previous visit—the ratio of crusty outside to tender inside was perfect, the grits were not as good, and the collard greens were out of this world.
I got a wedge of pecan pie to go and walked back to my apartment, read everything I had written, and followed that with a long nap. That evening I walked as far west as one can and just strolled along the river, watching boats and people and birds, and thinking that sometimes it is good to waste an entire day walking and eating and writing drivel.
