Breakfast In Brooklyn

Let's face it, I'm not a big city kind of guy. Big cities breed disorder, noise and social indifference. I saw a black woman hauling a suitcase and two resentful children, the older one loaded with an armful of blankets. I wondered where they spent the night and if they have a plan for the next night. I can't stand these places, cesspools of human indifference. But they have nice museums, I'm told.

I was last in New York on May 14th 1981 buying a brand new Vespa at King Cycles which is still in business, but no longer a Vespa dealer. Cheyenne takes things as she finds them and she like Brooklyn. Why wouldn't she?

This place is a trash hound's idea of heaven. Walking her was hard work considering how little humans here care about their environment.

But in the midst of chaos one sometimes comes across something good. The tamale vendor was just setting up when Cheyenne decided she needed a rest.

I don't usually carry money when I'm out walking Cheyenne and this was the moment I came to regret that decision. It was 7:30 and the young vendor made his first sale.

His t-shirt read Mexico till death! Referring to the World Cup.

They came up and engaged with him. It was a touch of small town in a big city.

He sat back for a little while and watched the girls totter by. Not a bad gig I suppose.

And nailed another sale.

Cheyenne and I ambled off passing a "proper" breakfast place under the haut cuisine tricolor of the French Republic.

And a group of workmen breaking their fasts on the steps eating God know what. Cheyenne thought it smelled good.

I parked Cheyenne in the air conditioning in our La Quinta room, waking the mound under the bed clothes. "I passed a hot tamale vendor" I said, rather incautiously. "Did you bring some for breakfast?" The mound said. The long and the short of it was I has to trudge back five blocks with money and no dog (let sleeping dogs lie) to say hi! to Fernando. It was lucky I wasted no time as his vast spacious cooler was almost empty one hour after his first sale.

His mom makes the tamales in three flavors, mild medium and very hot at his parents' restaurant. He says business gets slow in July when it's hot and people are on vacation. I ordered one of each, at a buck fifty each -deal!- and I also took a large rice milk. I'm used to cold horchata but this was warm and delicious and also cost $1:50. More food than you need and a delicious large drink, breakfast for two for six bucks all in.

I gave Fernando hell for Mexico's loss but he just shrugged and figured Argentina was the next best choice to win, the last Latinos standing in a contest that saw Brazil thrashed to humiliation by Germany. After he sells out he goes back to the restaurant and takes over. That's his day. The son of those immigrants Americans love to hate.

And they were delicious by the way, hot was very hot, mild was creamy and delicious. Medium was full of tomato and chicken. What a start to the day.

Fueled to survive and thrive in Gotham City.

 

 

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Brooklyn By Cheyenne

Thursday morning dawned beautiful. Out of bed before seven to blue skies, crisp air and bright sunshine. Central New York, aka Upstate, at its best.

Steve and Stacey live in an astonishing neighborhood, a wild mixture of home styles, mansions under vast spreading trees...

...take a look.

 

And I never have seen Berkshire Hathaway as a store front name so that's a first. Stacey made us some French toast as a goodbye meal and that was a great start to the day which promised a tough driving day ahead. New York City was on the horizon. And on the way we saw texting stops. Huh? We also saw signs advising that you lose your drivers license after three texting violations. Better take this stuff seriously I guess. Lucky I don't text and drive.

Oh and they gave more gas choices than normal, at prices higher than normal. I guess mid grade is plus and extra is super. Price and pump don't agree on the names!

And this doofus parked his Range Rover cross wise so the ambulance couldn't get to the diesel pump. New York living down to its reputation, which was making he anxious about approaching the city. Michael in Brooklyn better worth this!

This sign indicates the one way shute to hell. I was thinking Secaucus might be a decent destination, suddenly.

The toll for this sodding tunnel to New York was thirteen bucks. Once the toll takers stopped chatting in the roadway. Must have been important gossip to risk getting run over...the second tunnel to Brooklyn was seven and a half dollars, as an aside. Every time I cross the seven mile bridge for free from now on I will think of this and be grateful.

Oh, and you're subject to search for using this delight?!

Lo and behold: Manhattan. We passed the twin towers monument under construction. It went by in a flash of orange cones and we were diving into the second tunnel. What a crazy place.

And then we came out under a rusty old bridge. In Florida the state gets annoyed when they see rust. Around here they drive their cars on top of and underneath the rust. My wife was following her phone and barking directions. Cheyenne was snoring. All I had to do was drive. I think I got honked at once (honking was going on everywhere like a a Third World capital) and some local dude felt bad for me and let me in. The honking went on anyway but I was in a state of transcendental meditation. It was all going to be okay.

It worked. We found the hotel, thanks to my wife's GPS skills, the clerk was a regular nice guy, we got the last empty FREE hotel parking spot and when our room air conditioner died we got a new room and Alex humped our fridge downstairs for us. La Quinta is cool.

Cheyenne took charge of Brooklyn and walked her little legs off. She loved the sidewalk smells and bustled around like she was at home. New Yorkers called out from their front steps but she ignored them and their dogs. She had places to go. It was 89 degrees and hot...

...so a stereotypical broken hydrant had one guy rinsing his car and Cheyenne got a drink of fresh cool water. She had New York down like a native. Oh and when we got back to the room there was our car, the one with the sunroof, in its own FREE parking spot. Cool huh? The lady in the red Altima looking for a spot thought so.

Late at night the place looked as dusty and scrubby as ever. Cheyenne liked it.

As soon as Layne finishes her business we are out of here. Maybe one day we'll be back for the theater and museums and all that. One day.

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Syracuse And The Finger Lakes

Waking early in Syracuse I was dragged by Cheyenne to the car and clearly we had to go downtown to let my imperious Labradir explore. And let's face it, I know nothing of Syracuse so it's time to see what we can find. A Jewish temple converted into a hotel. No shit. Syracuse Hotels | The Skyler Hotel in Syracuse, New York.

Then there was this monument on a hill, something to do with the university I think. Cheyenne had other ideas and we promptly got lost in the loading docks at the back of the hospital nearby. New Yorkers prefer not yo majesty eye contact so I make it my mission to give each and everyone a cheery Key West "Good Morning!" That makes their day I think. It sure makes mine to watch them twitch in horror at being addressed.

They've got this right, whatever it is:

Syracuse is boosting itself. Downtown? Not sure where that is but Cheyenne was happy.

I am never sure how I feel about these huge brick monoliths that dot the northeast. It seems like they are symbolic of the solidity that was the industrial base of this country a hundred and fifty years ago. Today the industry has been scaled back almost out of sight. People look at me as though I'm crazy when I suggest it would be better to build stuff here rather than in India, Thailand or China. I look at these monuments to 19th century American enterprise and wonder why offshoring work makes sense to anyone.

Sun

We got going around eleven am to taste wines of the Finger Lakes region, an hour west of Syracuse. It was raining of course, but I was a passenger in the back seat so I was feeling fine.

The sun came out as it does in these parts eventually I'm told, and we found our way through fabulous fields of shiny green corn, lovely copses of trees in full leaf and rolling countryside. This isn't hill country but it's beautiful.

Cheyenne liked the back area of the Subaru station wagon.

She developed a taste for looking out the back. On the rear seat of our Ford she lies down and never bothers to even try to look out. Good dog.

The others went inside, Cheyenne and I went looking for things to smell.

At some point one has to get human again and the wine tasting was the right place for that. It was at this stage that I discovered they make some pretty good wine in this part of New York.

We'd brought a picnic lunch and we had it in this astounding barn. It was now that Steve mentioned he doesn't much care for wine. Dude! He went above and beyond on this trip...driving us around to taste wine.

Nice place this one, Miles, but it was packed knee deep with tasters attracted apparently by a mention in National Geographic.

Nice lake view the magazine said.

Tastes good, Cheyenne said.

The wine? Nah, too crowded. Steve has lived in Stracuse 35 years teaching law at the University. He's retired and wants to live full time in Key West. Stacey his wife doesn't. So they spend summers in Syracuse and winters in the Southernmost City. Which is okay I suppose but I'd miss swimming in the Keys in the hot months.

Some of these places are really laid back, which makes tasting fun. Even for Cheyenne:

I got to visit a part of this astonishing state I'd never hoped I'd get to see. I cannot imagine how boring wine tasting must be to someone who only enjoys mixed drinks! Stacey knows her local history and I enjoyed hearing about the past that infuses this area.

It was good to get home and watch the gradual descent into night, that slow dusk that I miss back home in Key West. I do miss 80 degree water though! And constant sunshine!

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