Yesterday evening, I faced the endurance test of the Holland Tunnel: another reason that Jersey doesn't get my vote.
A name, from the not too distant past, popped into my phone: So Dak Joe. In town for a handful of days, (in the spirit of the Yankees) we toyed with the idea of meeting up, for a night cap.
The Holland Tunnel debacle teamed up with the rental car to and fro/return mission and the scariest/fastest cab ride home nixed my inspiration to meet up for a night cap, or four. The spirit was rekindled this morning after I rose early to walk young Pilgrim.
We met in the Lower East Side for a bloody mary and some Jack Daniels with Gingerale. Soon after our first cocktail emptied at Schillers, a cab dropped off his father and sister. My first time meeting them- they were in a sort of: first-time-in-NYC- I'm-from-South-Dakota-culture-shock. We partook in a meal of grilled turkey sandwiches w/ frites & mayo for dipping, seared Ahi w/ greens and salmon. A diner feel- with fresher, slightly more complex ingredients. Presentation was on par with a Belgian Cafe.
Just inside the doors, magazines climb to the ceiling in racks. They offer patrons to stay awhile, as does the curly-haired, olive-skinned bartender, "I'm from Manhattan. I was raised here. That's unusual. I've heard of South Dakota, but I've never met anyone from there."
After our meal, we hopped on a F-Train to 42nd- as there was interest in seeing Times Square and the Bryant Park hot spots where the Sex in the City movie was filmed.
A lovely day in the heat. Summer. Good Things.
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