Best and Worst of NYC: Nine months down in the Big Apple

I apologize to my readers for my month-long hiatus. March is full of deadlines at work and my brain was consumed with things like "Article 78 proceedings," "third-party plaintiffs," and 1,500 page transcripts about zoning property in Queens in 1978. It was like watching "Law and Order: Paint Drying Unit. " I like my job, but as with most legal jobs, it is not glamorous. The picture painted by Law and Order of Jack McCoy and his courtroom drama is a farce for the most part. I once conducted a DUI trial where 5 out of the 6 jurors were clearly nodding off and the judge was clearly "googling" his next vacation destination on his computer. (Googling is becoming the next "Kleenex" or "Band-Aid." I guess it is better than Yahooing or Binging. That sounds too racy.) Who could blame them? I was required to question the police officer about his experience and education as it pertains to the Breathalyzer machine. That is like asking who ever invented grammar rules, "so, can you tell us how you formulated the concept of adverbial participles?" I would rather slam my fingers in the sliding door of a Ford Aerostar. Bankruptcy hearings? Forget about it. I once argued for thirty minutes in front of a federal judge about the interest rate charged on the pawned title of a 1993 Ford Taurus. I felt like I was fighting over the shovel in the sandbox when I was at Montessouri in 1986. Anyhow, my mind has drifted back where it belongs: sports, food, people watching, coffee, food, sports, sports statistics, food and Walking Dead/Duck Dynasty.

I have been in New York for nine months. That is long enough to get a good grasp on what I like and do not like about the city. There is no place like New York City, for this I can vouch. I have beaten these sidewalks to death with my size 12 Nikes in search of the best food, good times, hidden gems, and music/sports venues. One of my co-workers remarked, "you have experienced more in this city in nine months than I have in my entire life." I reckon I am doing something right....or I have ADD and cannot sit around for more than ten seconds. I usually scan the newspapers for "top ten lists" and work from there. This city has about 47 different newspapers, so I never run out of material. Heck, one of the Irish pubs on 35th Street near my office has copies of some Irish newspaper on their bar every day. Thank God, I cannot go a single day without knowing who won between Galway and County Killarney in minor league soccer last week. These papers are always doing "Top Ten Best ______ in New York." Many times, the places discussed are interchangeable and are just ranked higher or lower on each paper's list. In any event, I give you "the best and worst of New York" according to me. This is mainly for the use of my Southern brethren who ever decide to visit and have no clue where to go. This list is brought to you by Bagel Talk on Amsterdam Avenue, the Flatt & Scruggs song "Pearl Pearl Pearl" and the lint in my sweatpants, which is still more interesting than North Korea.

Best Pizza: Rigoletto Pizza on West 72nd Street. Get the large with extra mozzarella, prosciutto, and Italian sausage. I once destroyed an entire pizza and went into a food coma for 48 hours, but it was worth it. Imagine Waffle House hash browns mixed with pieces of your grandmaw's fried chicken. Yes, THAT good. New York pizza has no rival, I'm sorry.

Best Place to Watch a Concert: The Beacon Theater on Broadway at  West 74th Street. Maybe I am biased because I saw Lynyrd Skynyrd and the Allman Brothers at this venue (fulfilling a bucket list item for yours truly). What a night that was. The concert was exceptional, the band was on fire and played some amazing songs. They started with "Don't Want You No More" and proceeded to melt my face off for three hours. The pre-party was held at this old school bar called Malachy's. It is the kind of place where they sweep the teeth and sponge the blood off the floor at 4 AM before they close. The bartender was this gruff Irishman who pronounced "Bass" like "Boss" and probably has not smiled since 1992. They also do not care about marijuana use on the sidewalk out front because the old school Allman Brothers fans were blazing up like they were about to face a firing squad.

Best Cab Route to Get to the Lower East Side from Uptown: Just walk or take the 50 minute subway ride. The cab ride will cost you $40 and once you have arrived at your destination, you will run to the bathroom and vomit from motion sickness. New York cabbies only know two speeds: Warp Speed and Ludicrous Speed (+1 for Spaceballs reference). This goes for braking and turning as well. If you have had a couple of beers and the A/C is not working in the cab, then you will start feeling uneasy right around Second Avenue and 65th Street. The cab is whipping in and out of the lanes like you are being chased by the velociraptor pack from Jurassic Park. He slams on the brakes at least 37 times. This is all taking place at 87 MPH. Then your friends will grab you and say "are you OK?" as your face turns green. Suddenly, the rigatoni bolognese you were about to eat does not sound so tasty. Sweat trickles down your forehead, but it's 12 degrees outside. The cabbie suddenly whips over three lanes and exits off the FDR expressway like Tony Stewart trying to get the pole at Daytona. You taste yesterday's pastrami sandwich. Arriving at the destination, the cab brakes so hard that your internal organs shift and you suffer mild whiplash. You dart into the restaurant bathroom before you projectile vomit all over the maitre' d.  Take the train, y'all. 

Best Place to have a Sopranos Experience: Don Pepe's. This Italian gem is tucked away in the middle of nowhere in Queens in an area called Ozone Park. The area is mentioned frequently in Nicholas Pileggi's book "Wiseguy," which is the book that "Goodfellas" is based upon. One step in to Don Pepe's and you will know why. The owner of the restaurant was playing 5-Card Stud at one of the round tables with about five other guys who could have auditioned for the part of Sonny Corleone or Paulie Walnuts. In fact, the only people in the restaurant who were not out of central casting for a mob movie were Quinton and I. There's Quinton, a black man from Locust Grove, Georgia and me with my accent. The waiter asked me what part of Italy I came from. Luckily, I am a geography savant, so I said "Avellino."  After a few jokes, he served us some of the best food I have ever tasted. Baked clams, baked ziti with meat "gravy," as they say, and a bottle of red wine. Then came the cannoli. I was stuffed to the gills, but I am not one to turn down cannoli. Quinton asks me if I think anyone has been whacked here. I look around....Quinton and I are the only ones without a pinky ring and the only ones who did not go over and kiss the owner on both cheeks. "Probably not," I say, but I would not put money on it. I now understand why Clemenza said, "leave the gun, take the cannoli." This place will definitely be a repeat visit for yours truly.

Best Bagel: Zabar's on Broadway and 81st. Get the vegetable cream cheese. Oy vey!

Best Sports Experience: A sold out New York Yankees game. For a baseball history nut like me, there is no substitute for an afternoon in the Bronx. You have to be there, realize how many great things have happened on 161st Street, and it will consume you.

Best Record Store: Rebel Rebel Records on Bleecker Street in the West Village. This tiny store looks like a dusty attic stuffed full of old vinyl records. So what? It is phenomenal. You want to find a long lost album or CD? This is the best place I have ever seen. I found "Brain Salad Surgery" by Emerson, Lake & Palmer, "Three Feet High and Rising" by De La Soul and a mint condition vinyl of "One of These Nights" by The Eagles here. The owner remarked, "that is a random combination, my friend." You could literally find anything here.  In fact, I am not convinced that the Ark of the Covenant, Jimmy Hoffa and Christian Slater's acting career are not buried there somewhere. The owner is a musical encyclopedia, seriously. You could ask him, "what is the sixth track on the B side of Songs in the Key of Life?" and he would spout the answer before you could say, "Johnny Cash is overrated." (oops, did I say that?)

Best dive bar:  Broome Street Bar & Grill at West Broadway and Broome. Cheap drinks, a good crowd, and maybe the best internet jukebox ever. The bartenders all look like roadies for Southern rock bands from the 70's. In fact, last time I was in there, this foreign guy paid $10.00 to the jukebox and played an entire U2 album. After about three songs (all of which sound exactly the same), the bartender hands me a $10.00 and says, "go play something we like and drown out this f***** garbage before I kill myself." So, being the good Southerner I am, I played Allman Brothers, Marshall Tucker, Outlaws with a little Traffic mixed in for good measure. New Yorkers love Southern rock. This is a fact that has thoroughly shocked me but it has been a pleasant surprise. (Runner Up: Rudy's Bar & Grill in Hell's Kitchen. Free hot dogs, red leather, duct taped booths, and a big movie screen out back where they show 80's movies all night. You know a bar is good when it is referenced in a Steely Dan song.)

Best thing about winter time in New York: Nothing. Unless you enjoy looking like the Rebel forces at the beginning of "The Empire Strikes Back," then winter is not for you. I now own two boggans, one for cold days and the other for ridiculously cold days. I have to get to work fifteen minutes early just so I can remove the 27 layers of clothing I wear to keep the wind from cutting me in two. Times Square in the morning looks like a bunch of "Ralphies" from "A Christmas Story." If you pushed us all down, we would squirm around on the ground helplessly like turtles.

Worst Thing I Have Seen on the Subway: It's a tie. I saw a cross dressing old man in see through panty hose and high heels, which destroyed my appetite for the next twelve hours. The other would be the 27 rats I counted running around the tracks as I waited for the B train at 81st Street. New York rats are enormous and I am pretty sure they talk and have personalities. They were all attacking a discarded sandwich on the track, trying to get pieces of it before it was devoured. A writhing pile of hairy vermin crawling all over each other. It was like watching the Florida student section in Jacksonville fighting over the last pair of jean shorts.  I watched this scene in horror for a few seconds until one of them looked up at me and said "What's your problem?" Even the rats are abrasive in this city.

Worst Place to Eat if you are on a Diet: Great Burrito on Amsterdam Avenue. Not only are the burritos enormous and delicious, it is located next to Insomnia Cookies. This is an all-night cookie store (hence the name) that makes some of the best cookies I have ever tasted. They purposefully leave the door open so the smell right hooks you in the face as you walk by. They also have freezer where they keep one gallon of vanilla ice cream and one gallon of chocolate so they can make "cookiewiches," where they put a dip of ice cream between two giant cookies. Are you kidding me? One hour and 4,376 calories later and I am laying on the couch watching Sopranos reruns taking Pepto Bismol shots. Worth it!

Best Craft Beer spot: The Belgian Room on St. Mark's in the Lower East Side. Trappist monks in the Belgian hinterlands make the best beer. No contest.

Best Barbecue: Mighty Quinn's in the East Village. I will be brutally honest, NYC barbecue sucks for the most part. It is just not part of the lifestyle here and the health codes are so strict that using smokers are probably a violation of some obscure statute, which could get you shut down, whacked, or both. In any event, this place has it figured out. Get the brisket or the pulled pork with sweet potato casserole or baked beans. Take it to go and sit in Peter Cooper park while you stuff your face. You will think you are in North Carolina for a second, until somebody cuts off a cabbie taking a left onto 7th Street and he screams, "Getouttadaway, you %^%^$^$!"

Best Place not to hear the "F-word": Nowhere. New Yorkers say the "F-word" more than any other word.  It is a noun, an adjective, and a verb. You hear it on the train, in the cabs, at the gym, in the barber shop, at work, at bars, at sporting events, at bar mitzvahs, ordering coffee....it does not matter. Heck, at Easter Sunday service, the priest said, "peace be with you and have a great f'in day."  (not really, but I would not have batted an eye if he had) So, if you are easily offended by this word, turn up your Ipod to maximum volume and blare "Livin on a Prayer" in your ears until you want to smash your head through a plate glass window. By that point, you will be singing a new song......"Get Over It." 

I will do another list later on with more items like "best way to get stabbed by a skate at a hockey game" or "worst subway puddle." (Subway puddles may be the grossest entities on Earth. It's a collection of trash, liquid, and God knows what else that collects on the tracks of the busiest subway in the world. If I fell in one, I would just write my will on a napkin before I died of a combination of e.coli, AIDS, polio, scurvy, Spanish influenza and walking pneumonia.) Anyhow, I am glad to be able to write more and focus on things that are more fun than  "motions in limine" and the legislative history behind the New York Appellate Rule about timely filed briefs. Don't worry, I won't intentionally slam my fingers in the sliding door of an Aerostar, but I might go to Don Pepe's and say "nobody move, FBI!"