Five Things I Wish I Had Known Before Moving to NYC

1. If you say “please” and look pathetic enough, you can persuade anyone into letting you use their bathroom.

While walking home from a friend’s 21st birthday outing, I ran into a just-about-to-close Food Emporium and asked a janitor if I could use their private restroom (there wasn’t one for customers at this particular establishment). On most occasions, you couldn’t pay me to go in a grocery store bathroom, but this was an emergency. The gentleman looked at me inquisitively then asked his boss for permission. The manager turned to me and warned, “You know, we’re not allowed to do this.” I promised I would go quickly, after which I was led through the storage room to a freight elevator and down to the staff locker room. I was 99 percent positive that had the man chosen to murder me down there, no one would ever know. Thankfully, he did not. A week earlier, I found myself asking for a similar favor from a Walgreen’s employee, and he too took pity on poor ol’ me. Moral of the story: Utilize that Midwestern niceness, and you’ll be one less New Yorker peeing on the sidewalk.

2. New Yorkers water their cement. 

The lack of green space was, for me, one of the biggest drawbacks of NYC, only made more obvious when shop owners and landlords rinsed the cement outside their respective establishments every morning. It was like a scene out of a 1950s Utopian novel: Instead of neighbors greeting each other as they water their lawns, they say “hello” (or, more likely, they say nothing) as they water their concrete. Putting aside the notion that cleaning a New York City sidewalk is as fruitful an activity as teaching a dog to speak Mandarin, this is a handy practice to be aware of when it comes to choosing footwear. My morning jaunt to work was made unsettling when the puddled water (which likely contained more urine than I’m willing to grapple with) from the morning’s rinses splashed up onto my calves with each slapping of my flip flops. My advice to you is simple: flats. Or rainboots. Or the bus.

3. You can get everywhere on foot. 

I suppose this depends on your willingness to walk, but if you are as eager to do so as I was, don’t bother with the monthly Metro pass. Each morning, I walked two miles down Third Avenue to work, then went the opposite direction on my way home. My friend lived in the Village, so when I had the time I would walk downtown from my Upper East Side apartment to meet up with her. My evenings also consisted of a lot of late-night walks because looking at buildings is a lot cheaper than going inside them. Besides, the views are pretty spectacular (see pictures below). Sure, to some this may seem crazy, but when you hate exercising and are looking to explore a city, walking everywhere is an easy (and affordable) way to satisfy your needs.

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4. Every New Yorker stereotype comes true in Whole Foods. 

People know the stereotypes without ever interacting with New Yorkers. They’re rude. They’re loud. They’re arrogant. They’re impatient. Blah, blah, blah… For the most part, these stereotypes are false. Sucky people are everywhere. Awesome people are everywhere. The same goes for New York City. Having said that, the above stereotypes hold true in one very specific location: Whole Foods. No, it’s not on the Subway one finds multitudes of cranky, swearing New Yorkers: It’s in the vitamins and probiotics aisle.

Having received multiple gift cards to the store upon moving to the Big Apple, it was my go-to for all things healthy and over priced. While navigating through the self-important patrons was difficult, waiting in line is when the crowd turned most volatile. Impatience at its finest, I had to bite my tongue to avoid shouting, “Life is too short! This is Whole Foods, not the Pentagon. On your death bed, you will realize all you accomplished in life was purchasing your quinoa a little faster!” That I have not, in fact, screamed this at Sperry-wearing yuppies proves I have developed into the mature, restrained person my mother always hoped I would be.

5. New Yorkers dress well, but most of the time they’re just in fancy athletic gear. 

New York is a beautiful city filled with beautiful people. Come nightfall, the dresses of my dreams are seen on scores of women off to tiny portioned, inevitably expensive meals. Still, more often than not, the brands you’ll find them wearing are LuLu Lemon and Nike. While style choices of the evening make me jealous, the latter just make me inadequate: I don’t know how many lunges one must do to make their butt look like that in yoga pants, but I’m clearly not doing enough.

Forced to say goodbye to NY

For those who haven’t heard, my adventure in New York City is coming to a rather abrupt end this week due to confusion regarding my lease: The women I sublet from thought our lease ended August 31 when, in fact, it ends July 31. People who know me well can imagine my reaction to this news. For those of you who cannot, let’s just say I was a wee bit peeved.

So what now? The change of plans has forced me to end my internship early, and this Saturday I’ll be leaving on a jet plane headed to Chicago. Realistically, having to resign, pack up and move are the smallest inconveniences resulting from my housing debacle. I’ve always been quick on my feet, so this was nothing a few brown boxes and an ad on Craigslist couldn’t solve.

What upsets me more is how quickly I have to say goodbye to New York. I’m quick on my feet, but slow in the noggin, at least when it comes to major life changes. I take time to digest news like this. The whole of my senior year was spent reflecting on my college journey and doing things unique to Madison, things I expected to never be so accessible again. Sure, my two months in New York are no where near as significant as my four years in Wisconsin, but there is still some reflecting and last-minute exploring to do.

That’s what this week is for. Outings I pushed off for a later date: They’re happening this week. Meals I assumed could take place in August: They’ll be consumed in the next 96 hours. Views I thought I had a month left to see: They shall be seen by Saturday. This hurried pace is not ideal, especially considering I still have work and packing to schedule in, but New York is a great city, and an early end date won’t stop me from experiencing it.

If you have any suggestions of things I need to do, places I need to see, meals I need to eat, etc., let me know in the comment section!

 

Potlikker: Simply delekktable

A month into my New York move and I have become quite the penny pincher. Between the monthly Subway passes, frequent trips to the dry cleaners and joys of paying New York rent, I find myself having to say” no” to purchases previously innocuous or irresistible.

What I am willing to spend my money on, however, is food. It’s surprising New Yorkers are as thin as they are, because there is no lack of to-die-for food in this city. I’ve barely been able to keep my hands off a fork and knife.

Potlikker (Photo Courtesy Katie Sokoler/Gothamist)

Over the weekend, I traveled to Williamsburg with friends new and old to try Potlikker, the latest offering from New York restaurateur Liza Queen. An intimate dining venue, the waitstaff managed to find room for our party of eight. It was an unbearably hot and sticky Saturday in the Big Apple, and the restaurant’s exposed kitchen marred any chance our overheated selves had at finding sweet relief (many a joke was cracked about butt sweat – ha!). Luckily, Potlikker more than made up for its balmy atmosphere with exciting and tasty cuisine.

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Nick’s Pizza: Come for the pies. Stay for the salad.

Well, I caved. It took a month, but this Chicagoan has finally given New York pizza a chance. How did it go? Hmm… Well, I don’t like salad, but I enjoyed it more than the pizza. Does that paint a clear enough picture?

OK, I’m being a little (read: very) harsh. Let’s rewind: On Tuesday I dined at Nick’s Pizza, located on the Upper East Side at 94th Street and Second Avenue. I let the person I was with order, because he insisted he knew what was good there. As such, we got the house salad and a large pepperoni pizza. Unfortunately for Nick’s, I am more of a veggie pizza than a meat pizza kind of girl, so my date had made my expectations even less attainable. Oops.

I got the house wine, which stood at a whopping $4 a glass. Considering the price, the taste was plenty agreeable. I had no complaints.

Then came the house salad. Like I said, I am not the girl who goes to lunch and orders a salad. I wish I was, but I’m not. Having said that, this salad was arguably one of the best I’ve ever had in my life. I was on a date, but I had three servings. That’s how good it was: I did not care about looking like a pig. The ingredients were simple enough. Greens with sun dried tomatoes and something yellow I couldn’t identify. It was the dressing, which had the perfect amount of sweetness, that really made the dish sing. If you go to Nick’s, get the house salad. I rarely recommend lettuce, but this is an exception.

The pizza was next, and I had mixed feelings about it. First off, the pepperoni was too small in circumference. The heat of the oven had made the edges curl inward, turning each slice into a tiny bowl of oil. Seeing as I was once the girl who blotted her pizza with a napkin (I’m proud to say I’ve outgrown this stage of my life), this was not terribly appetizing. I had three slices, but by the third the pepperoni was getting picked off. The overall taste was good enough. In my opinion, a pizza is as good as its crust, and this one stood its ground: thin but chewy. It wasn’t the buttery deliciousness of my beloved Lou’s, but it worked.

In short, the place affirmed my devotion to Chicago pies without making me entirely cynical about the New York pizza experience. It was good, not great, but I’d be more than willing to go back if I could do my own ordering.

If you have any recommendations for New York City pizza joints you think will convert this Chicago loyalist, leave a comment!

Going to my happy place: Colbert, old ladies and Barack Obama

I’ve been in New York all of a month, and already I’ve crossed two things off my bucket list: attend tapings of “The Colbert Report” and “The Daily Show.” I tend to watch Jon Stewart more regularly than I do Colbert, because, well, I’m getting old, and staying up past 11:30 p.m. is proving more and more challenging. Having said that, I admire Colbert as much as I can a complete stranger. Although both shows inform their audiences in a hilarious way, it takes a special kind of intelligence to execute satire in a consistently clever and provocative manner. Colbert clearly possesses that intelligence, and I left the taping of his show feeling as though I had just been in the presence of a genius.

In the episode I saw taped, Colbert discussed the money presidential candidate Mitt Romney would be raking in thanks in part to Citizens United. It was a funny yet frustrating bit, only made more frustrating by the couple I encountered on my walk home.

I was stopped somewhere around 60th Street and Third Avenue along with what must have been at least 100 other people. President Barack Obama’s motorcade was about to drive by, and the appropriate security measures were being taken. I was anxious to get home after a long day, but I figured if I was going to have to wait on a smelly New York sidewalk, this was a legitimate, kind of cool reason. Shortly after stopping, an older couple tried to push past me. I apologized, saying there was nowhere for me to move, that we were all waiting for the president’s motorcade to drive by.

You would have thought I told this woman the Naked Clown Parade was about to pass by from the look of utter disgust on her face. She quickly started ranting to who I assume was her husband about how much campaign money Obama was raising. She was right: He was. According to “The Colbert Report” taping I had just attended, both candidates were. This is exactly what her husband told her. “You have no idea how much money these rich Texans have,” he said.

She responded with, “Sure I do. My brother’s a dentist in Tulsa!”

I had to manually close my jaw. It’s a lot harder to take anyone’s political stances, regardless of what they are, seriously when they lack a basic grasp on American geography. A more jarring comment followed, however, when she shouted, “Why doesn’t he just get out of the car so I can shoot him?”

Although I managed not to voice it, I was horrified. I was in supposedly liberal New York. Was this actually happening?  I never expected to miss my blue bubble of Madison when I moved east, but this had me crying for Lake Mendota. And regardless of the politics at hand, had this woman just made a threat on the president’s life? It was evident this was merely her pathetic attempt at a joke, but you didn’t have to look at her to closely to know she had been alive for the JFK assassination and attempts made on Ronald Reagan’s life. How could she possibly have thought this was an even remotely OK thing to say?

Obviously, this killed my Colbert high. I called a friend to rant about what I’d just witnessed, fell onto my bed as soon as I walked through the door and retreated to a memory I often visit in moments like these: November 4, 2008, the day Barack Obama was elected president, when everything seemed just a little bit simpler through my 18-year-old eyes.

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