24 Hours of Eating in NYC

Day 5: been to hell and back again

The sunlight piercing through the crack in the curtains signalled a bright and clear day, so I leapt out of bed and tore them open. It was so sunny out there that the light battled with the tallest skyscrapers; dappled on this concrete forest floor. Spring was in the air and I needed to breathe it all in.

We took a little walk over to Grand Central Terminal, the streets markedly busier on this Saturday morning. The people, couples hand-in-hand, business men on their day off struggling to settle the pace for the day, whizzed by as we strolled. We got to Pershing Square just across from the terminal - a few of my followers on Instagram had recommended it. It’s a really pretty bistro - from the theatre-style lightbulbs outside, to the gentle lamplight and booth seating within. I don’t know if it the air was still full of dizzying sweetness from our wedding, or whether this dimly-lit eatery was providing the feelings, but it was certainly romantic.

Even more romantic, I ordered corned beef hash. Now, I know that may seem like the opposite of romance - greasy brown meat; although, that has got a sexy ring to it… - but Paul and I always have corned beef hash on a special occasion. It’s his favourite dish of his mothers, and I once made him corned beef and brown sauce sandwiches to take to work, which he loved. So corned beef is the official mascot and symbol of our unity.

It was a really good hash - the meat wasn’t from a can but was proper salt beef and the eggs were perfectly cooked. Paul’s mum’s is better (though, that’s more of a stew than a hash, but I’ll not battle with the in-laws!).

We also shared a plate of challah French toast, which was a little disappointing. in my opinion, the key thing with a good French toast is not to be scared of letting the bread soak for a decent amount of time. This had seemingly been introduced to the custard, but had fled urgently at the first touch (I had a boyfriend like that once). As a result, the inside was dry where it should have been custardy and squidgey. This was American toast trying to do a French accent but sounding more Russian. The flavour was lovely - but it’s challah, egg and maple syrup, how can it not be?

To assuage the disappointment, we ordered a round of blueberry pancakes and they blinded us to whatever it was we moaning about. They were cloud-light and slightly frilly around the edges, but still spongey and toothsome as an American style pancake should be: up there with the best.

After the decadence of brunch, we decided to walk the two miles up to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, but not before I dragged Paul into Tiffany’s on the way. We said we weren't going to buy new rings for the wedding - I used a silver band we bought in Egypt for about £5 on one of our first holidays together, and Paul a ring we had made that was cast from a twig in our garden. But the capitalist lure of generation-weaving branding and shiny things pulled this magpie off the streets. Inside we were instructed to take the elevator to the third floor, where a lovely lass showed us the selection of wedding bands. We tried some on and, high on maple syrup, refined carbohydrates and the ecru decor that perfectly matched my outfit, I flicked my “fuck-it” switch and treated us to the rings. I’m not a flashy fella, and really hate hype, but there was something intoxicating about being at the Tiffany’s flagship store, a day or two after the happiest day of my life.

Hand-in hand, we ambled up to the museum, which was so busy we couldn’t face it. We’ll have to see the Monets midweek instead.

We carried on walking until I could no longer feel my fat cells swelling at an abnormal rate, and craving some roughage again we found our way back to the Sweetgreen we had eaten in on Wednesday, where we had the same wolfdownable salads.

After a quick gym session and protein shake, I slipped into my pleather trousers and cropped sweater vest (it’s a New York only outfit - were I to wear it in Wigan I’d probably leave without my teeth) and we headed to the bright lights of Time Square. We’ve been listening to the Hadestown soundtrack since pantomime, when Sarah (Cinderella) told me it was her favourite musical. I’ve never been able to listen to a score without having first seen the show, but Hadestown is a different beast. Written by folk artist, Anaïs Mitchell (who has collaborated with one of my favourite bands, Big Red Machine) you can follow the spin on this Ancient Greek myth while revelling in the brass-tones of the New Orleans-style music.

The artists on the original Broadway cast recording are remarkable, so I was worried the new cast wouldn’t compare. But I was wrong. Sat within touching-distance from these gods walking Earth, I was spellbound. I’ve never felt as moved during a performance as I did last night. My eyes couldn’t leave the stage as they filled with tears seemingly on the minute every minute. The heart-wrenching tales of Persephone and Hades, Orpheus and Eurydice, are packed with nuances of hierarchy, toxic masculinity, human frailty, the crippling effect of doubt and lack of self-belief, all within this unstoppable jazzy spectacle. I’d watch it again, and again, and again. In fact, the show is coming to the West End this year, so the first thing I’ll be doing when I get back to England is to book tickets (and working out what I gotta do to be in it!).

We left the theatre covered in goosebumps and walked over to Hell’s Kitchen reminding each other about specific moments and people in the show that we loved. The entire cast was perfect - not a note out of tune or emotion out of place. It was transcendent theatre. Brava, Anaïs Mitchell.

Ravenous after just a measly handful of all-black M&Ms from the M&Ms store (cute!), more bright lights lured us into Mom’s Kitchen & Bar. This bar-diner-disco was pumping out the tunes - dangle a burger and Madonna’s Lucky Star in front of this hungry queen and you got yourself a DEAL - so we had a late-night dinner of steak and eggs as youngsters at the tables around us drank and cheered and danced in their seats as they clutched onto their dripping burgers. It was a decent dinner to end a perfect day in Manhattan. We walked home, eating the last couple of M&Ms, smiling as the bright lights of the bars sparkled in our shiny new wedding bands.