Sushi Shocker

Photo of Sushi Takahashi from EverywhereMag.com


I was amazed to find out the other day that Kristen never knew about conveyor belt sushi joints until she stumbled across one in San Francisco. There are NONE in New York -- how can the epicenter of international cuisine and food gimmicks not be home to at least one of these?? Not being a huge fan of sushi, I only went to my first one last summer with a former co-worker, where I got a kick out of picking only the cheapest color-coded plates, which also happened to me my favorite Japanese restaurant staples: edamame and gyoza. There are so many of these places in Portland I can't even begin to name them all (what's your favorite?). Jeez, there's even one in our newly remodeled Hawthorne Fred Meyer! Which I admit made me laugh out loud since it's looks so randomly out-of-place in the middle of a grocery store deli. (Side note: Entertaining to read the Twitters about the remodel, and it appears I'm not the only one who was surprised by the sushi boats.)

Anyway, this whole shocking turn of events got me thinking about the unique little features of Portland and New York that the two cities don't share. This blog is loosely about trying to figure out how exactly to define the common energies of the two places. But since I'm trying to choose between them, maybe I should examine what each offers that the other can't. Starting with conveyor belt sushi. Stay tuned for an ongoing old-school Excel spreadsheet to examine this further.

Split Personality

Here I am, the last day of February, back in Portland. It feels good to be surrounded by my stuff (even though I desperately need to purge) and cuddle with my cat. I am dying to see my friends and catch-up. There are three concerts I would love to go to in the next week, new restaurants that opened in the past two weeks, and no sales tax. It's good!

I wanted to go to Bunk Sandwiches for lunch today. Maybe because the last time I went, I was reminded of New York thanks to the Woody Allen shrine by the cash register and the stray copies of the Times to read while waiting for hoagies with hot peppers:





Too bad it was closed by the time I got my act together to head outside. My last couple days in New York were all about finding delicious and cheap lunch. Porchetta was my first stop on Wednesday. With just a tiny counter and a few bar seats in the window, the East Village spot reminded me of Bunk or Pine State, tiny and relatively new Portland outposts of one kind of food (sandwiches and biscuits, respectively) done really well. Porchetta, if you don't speak Italian, does pork. And nothing but pork.



You can get the delicious stuff in a sandwich (just bread and meat) or on a plate with beans and greens. Simple, tasty, and wow, filling – I think I could only now eat more pork after wolfing down that sandwich three days ago.



I think the bacon/ham/pork trend is reaching its saturation point in the foodie world (though it probably has at least six more months to hit backlash in Portland), but I will always be a fan. It is just soooo good!

The rest of Wednesday: My first time in Queens to visit my friend Emily's place. I only saw two blocks, seemed like any other borough at night. I made Emily try an Oregon Pinot noir even though she hates red – I didn't convert her, but she didn't gag either! – and we ate pizza and watched American Idol. He's kind of a hack, but I love the holographic-shirt-and-sweatband-wearing "Norman Gentle," aka Nick Mitchell, for not taking the ridiculous show so seriously – he's wacky and campy and spazzy, oh my! Last stop: Stanton Public to meet Kristen at her co-worker Matt's going away party. He's moving to Boston to take a "creative breather," he told me. Another one of his friends lit up when I said I was from Portland: "I want to move there!" Kristen is planning to move to San Francisco. Am I nuts for wanting to move to New York?

I love how in the largest city in the country, you still find yourself orbiting the same small worlds. I was in SoHo nearly every day of my trip, always for completely different, random reasons. I must have walked by the corner of Prince and Elizabeth Streets close to ten times, always curious about the diner-looking Cafe Habana. A fan of Cuban food ever since I discovered the sorely-missed (in my opinion) Canita (sister of Pambiche), I knew I must have been drawn there for a reason and went back with a purpose on Thursday. Yum! The mole burrito was good enough, but the roasted corn on the cob – ahhhh-mazing! Probably because it was coated in butter and queso fresco. I could eat it every day – and I just might if I keep ending up in SoHo.

Another afternoon of working in my "office" (aka, the library), and then happy hour with Kristen and her work friends at Valhalla. I love that word; vikings or whatever nonsense, I just love the way it sounds. Tons of craft beers, kind of reminded me of all the taps at Bailey's Taproom. I chose hard cider. Such a girl. Kim and Robin and I later headed to the College Humor Live show at the Upright Citizens Brigade. So many barely 21-ers there! I felt old. The guys were funny, the guest comedians – including SNL writer John Mulaney – wunderkinds with so much talent. I'm no stand-up, but it made me want to put more creativity out there.

My last day consisted of lots of wandering, maybe just trying to soak it all up and bring some back to Portland with me. Lunch was a classic street vendor hot dog – my favorite NYC hangover cure from years past. I'll probably never outgrow that. I had come to feel like I really was living there, had settled in to a bit of a routine. My friends kept forgetting I was leaving. I didn't feel like I was really leaving until the plane finally took off. With a non-stop flight, I was back in Portland so quickly, plopped back into my life. But it feels different, I feel different.

I miss New York. I don't want to sound like an inconsistent ninny who doesn't know what she wants, when I was just rambling two weeks ago about how much I missed Portland... but maybe I am. Or maybe it's impossible to ever definitively choose between the two. On my last day in New York, walking through a brown and gray Central Park, my mom left a voicemail and told me to have a good flight back to Portland, which she said she wouldn't call my "home" anymore since I should start thinking of New York as home. And that's partly true – reinvigorated to make the move despite any fear, I'm beginning the process of mentally "moving" as well. But Portland will always feel like home. New York is part of a journey that I know will lead me back here, a quest to find myself in new and challenging surroundings, to prove I can make my life whatever I dream it to be. (Thanks, Thoreau: "Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you you have imagined.") But considering how proud I felt every time I told someone, "I'm from Portland," I'm pretty sure I'll be leaving my heart right here in the west.

They Always Go There on Cash Cab

That would be McSorley's, which I finally made it to tonight. Supposedly New York's oldest Irish tavern, dating to 1854 – and a prime spot to mingle with suits, Euro tourists, and packs of dudes. Many cabs pulled up while Mari and I sat by the window, proving that it's quite the destination, but none with Ben Bailey or passengers waving newly-won cash. I swear, I have to move to New York just to satisfy by burning desire to get on Cash Cab.

Mari and I first got dinner at MAX, a spot chosen to satisfy my pasta craving and to put us in the McSorley's vicinity (I've been getting daily texts from my friend Tyler telling me to go or I'd be disowned). Turns out the tiny space, oil-cloth tablecloths, and two-seater bar reminded me of my favorite Portland spot, The Italian Joint. Sad, because that restaurant – where you could get bread, salad (with the BEST raspberry vinaigrette) and a pasta fit for two for under $10, plus a giant carafe of house red for $11 – is closed, so yesterday's rumors go. Fucking economy. This was, of course, not so cheap, but the smoked mozzarella and asparagus ravioli was delicious. I'll eat anything smoked or pickled – those carcinogens are just too tasty to resist!

I arrived at 7:40 for dinner, and we were the only ones in the place; by the time we left an hour later, it was packed. I noticed the same timeline at Union Hall last week – at 7:15, I had my pick of most every seat, but by 8:30, I was crowded around by big groups – and told Kristen about how those big "happy hour" groups start convening as early as 5 and reach their peak around 6 in Portland. She was shocked. No one leaves work that early in New York. The later schedule works with my nocturnal tendencies, but still, I want happy hour at the usual time! Now that I think about it, I haven't noticed a single happy hour menu this entire time – uh oh.

Beers are cheap at McSorley's, though – $4.50 for two, albeit half pints. Saunter up the bar and choose between light and dark ales, that's all they got. We double-fisted it and found a prime table in the window, surrounded by old photos and memorabilia, none of which has been removed since 1910. I'm a sucker for history like that. One beer in, we noticed this mug on the table:



Root beer float? That was my first thought, but no. We decided it was the discarded foam from all the beers – not poured with the greatest care, at least a third of the mug was foam, so people must dump it off to get the goods stuff faster, we figured. Silly girls. Turns out it was spicy-ass mustard, to be used on the famous McSorley's Cheese Plate: saltines, white American cheese, and raw onions.



A generous pair of gentlemen not only informed us what exactly what is in that mug, but shared the gourmet treat with us. We each tried one. That was enough. Then we pondered why Mari thinks people in New York are nicer than people in San Francisco – maybe the more traditional East coast manners? And I wondered if the fact that Mari and I are both not the girliest girls has something to do with us growing up in California – not wanting to be considered ditzy valley girls, we avoided overly feminine stuff the older we got. These seemed like very poignant observations at the time, but maybe that ale was just really strong. All I know is that I want to go out on a limb and wear a skirt tomorrow.

Everyday New York City Rain

Another lazy day for Liz. But only because I was up nearly all night "working," so had to get my zzzzz's during the day today. After some email catchup and more lunch/happy hour scheduling, I finally headed out of the apartment around six – and wouldn't you know it, the rain finally found me! I had been so spoiled by the near constant sun over the past week that I forgot I even packed my galoshes. But after WAY too much time indoors over the past 36 hours, I was on a mission to explore the neighborhood and find myself a wifi coffee shop to do some more "work" – even if I was going to walk a mile in those $6 booties (I know, I can't get over the price either!). But that Brooklyn Industries puff coat....seriously, it's like walking around in your own dry and toasty cloud, completely sheltered from the elements. I am starting a savings fund for my very own. Ask your nearest bank how you can contribute to the Liz-Has-No-Body-Fat-So-Needs-A-Huge-Puff-Coat-To-Survive Foundation.

Anywhooo, comfortable bundled up, I walked by Grand Army Plaza, picture-perfect brownstones on Union Street, bike shops, yoga studios, and the packed Park Slope Food Coop. I realized that I hadn't seen a single Subaru since I've been in New York, and then on the very next block spotted two of them. They were from out of state, though (New Hampshire and New Mexico), so I still remained convinced that Subarus are decidedly part of only the Portland end of the PONY spectrum.

Kristen's recommended coffee shop, Tea Lounge, was overrun by the time I got there, so I ended up at Union Hall for a glass of wine with my laptop. I immediately declared it a new favorite, with vintage chairs and couches (think Kennedy School's movie theater), built-in bookshelves lining the walls, and indoor bocce ball. I also hear they host pretty good bands in the basement. Considering all that and it's in Park Slope, I was pleasantly surprised at the very low percentage of barf-y hipsters. I got lucky on this one!

More walking toward Smith Street in Cobble Hill followed, and a yummy dinner of Provencal beef stew with Kristen at Bar Tabac, a cooler, dimmer, cozier version of Portland's old Brasserie Montmartre. I've never been to Paris, but it felt so authentic to me I wanted a cigarette afterwards, and I haven't thought about one in weeks!

One stop at a newsstand for my daily Twix fix (instead of that smoke), one train ride during which I couldn't make out the titles of any of the books being read (bummer), and we were home to watch Top Chef and (hopefully!) go to bed at a decent hour.

Tomorrow's a busy one and I can't wait. First thing, I'm meeting with the admissions coordinator for NYU's Applied Psychology graduate program. What's that? I've never told you about my secret identity as an aspiring child psychologist? It's been brewing in me a long time, from my days working with kids at camps to the one psych class I took at the end of college, which made me want to learn so much more. With no clear path in front of me, I'm trying to explore every possibility and listen to where my gut leads me. And I tell ya, I haven't been so excited about something as I am to take this real step toward a move I have pondered quietly for years. A visit to Columbia to learn about their Developmental Psychology program is also on the books.

After that, I'm treating myself to Shake Shack. We'll see how it compares to In 'n Out. Then my first visit to the New York Public Library, which I hope will inspire some truly genius work. Ha! I'll end my "work" day with a free pilates/yoga class (thanks, Melissa!) and dinner/drinks with my new friend Eli, the soon-to-be former Executive Director of MoveOn.org, who I randomly met in L.A. with Becky right before New Year's. He's promised to show me what he deems to be cooler sections of Brooklyn than Park Slope – i.e. his neighborhood of Fort Greene. Kristen says the place he picked, No. 7, is delicious, and coming from my favorite foodie, I think that means he's off to a good start!

Moving, Moving Forward

Today was a transportation clusterfuck. From Brooklyn to Midtown to the Upper East Side, then down to SoHo, over to the East Village, up to Union Square and back to Brooklyn. Phew! And where, oh where has my sense of direction gone? I got off a stop too early on 5th Ave and 59th, which meant I had to walk over three avenue blocks (the loooong ones) to catch the right train to my interview, with time running short. But at least I got to walk by The Plaza and Bloomingdale's. In search of the crosstown bus post-interview (I'll get to that in a bit), I couldn't for the life of me find either that or the subway. I turned in circles in the triangle between 6th Ave and Canal Street before spotting that controversial bike lane and getting wine at a cigar bar that charges $7 for edamame. Seriously??



And the longest trek of all, I dragged Melissa from Washington Square Park to the East Village to get cheap and yummy Indian food at one of the many spots that 6th Street is known for (we chose Taj because it was the first we saw and we were starving – plus, they had a sitar player perched in the window and we got soup, samosa, entree, rice and naan for ten bucks). In subway no man's land, I decided we'd walk up to Union Square, where I lived during the ASME summer. Now there's a Trader Joe's on the bottom of University Hall, and walking in there made me really feel like I was back in Portland, but instead of the impossible-to-find-a-spot parking lot there was an insane line snaking through the back of the store. We didn't want to wait. (Luckily, for winos like myself, there's a separate wine shop to stock up on Two Buck Chuck).

I'm not sure I've ever traveled to such far flung locales in one single day in Manhattan. Walking all those blocks and climbing all those subway stairs, I feel like I had a hardcore workout. The mental concentration and planning it took to navigate the subways, I feel like I had a stressful day at work (and boy, is that satisfying for an unemployed chick). Along the way, I enjoyed a world of music, quite literally – bongos accompanying "The Girl from Ipanema," an Appalachian fiddler, a cappella gospel, bagpipes, and steel drums. Plus, one diminutive woman dressed like Kermit, in all lime green from shoes to gloves, including streaks in her hair. Wha???

And how, you ask, was the interview? It was good. First, it turns out Fetch is across the street from Brother Jimmy's Bait Shack, where I first sang karaoke and used to dance on the bar with Kristen during many debaucherous nights.



The difference between those memories and today's reality made me feel a bit old, but at least wiser.

The meeting itself was less an interview than a conversation about the how the site (PawLinks, for pet owners to connect, learn from experts, organize care, etc) is being developed and what I could bring to the table. He felt the sample content plan and writer's guidelines I submitted as a sort of "edit test" were exactly what they were looking for, and for once, I felt my confidence in myself return. Because this is a startup, there is no real defined job description, and it sounds like the next steps are for me to develop a proposal about how I would launch the content, how long it would take me, and how much I would charge. I could create a plan that keeps me busy full-time, and he plans for the position to become staff down the line. It feels both amazing and incredibly daunting to craft not only the voice and editorial on the site, but my role itself, from scratch. What am I capable of? What am I worth?

These are the questions I won't be thinking about until Tuesday. It's time to get out and have some fun. After all, it's a holiday weekend! I'm sure my loyal reader or two would like to hear about some crazy nights on the town. I'll see what I can do.

Oh, and want to see my sample blogs for Glamour? Letting it all hang out over on...Broke-Ass.