Certain places, exist to me, to fill a balloon of nostalgia. Like cheap champagne from the gas station on the corner in college, Gold Street remains sacred to me. The first evening, or rather, early morning that I settled in New York- I ate a grilled cheese w/ tomato and drank vodka-crans at Gold Street.
The tall buildings in close quarters coupled with the suction of air,creates a sound-sphere comparable to listening to the ocean, from a seashell. Dogs bounce around the sidewalks. A few rats with trollop across the street. You must sit outside, and maintain diner expectations, to appreciate Gold Street. There is a strangely disproportionate number of European tourists, to locals, sitting at the tables, sipping wine and beer. This evening I sipped on a Rose Grenache from France.