Rumour had it that its entirely staffed by wannabe models, well, if true, what a treat laid in wait for them, 2 horribly tired pasty English boys who were still a little drunk from the night before, reeking of booze and cigs.
Well the rumours were correct, its packed full of lovely ladies, not the brightest bunch though. We met Trent, Ana and Carlota there for brekkie. I was the cause of great amusement by mysteriously asking for milk with my coffee, no idea what the simpleton's problem was and as for Trent's pain au chocolat, that proved so baffling (even once simplified to chocolate croissant) that it never turned up. I ordered eggs benedict, pretty poor in truth but the home fries they came with were sensational. Fletcher had some bacon cooked to a crisp in syrup, bad choice my friend, bad choice. Carlota showed us oldies how to do it by wolfing back a big stack of pancakes.
Tommy came and joined us as we minced around the food market at Union Sq, the 3 of us prayed that the cold would distract our hurting bodies and that we might recover. It was really working, even spying Lucy Liu did little, so we decided to push the recovery button fully and jumped on the Staten Island ferry and raced up to the top deck.
On a summer's day I imagine this is beautiful, especially on the return leg as you approach Manhatten. In October it's a beautiful hangover cure but it is a do or die, if you're too weak the cold wind and spray will break you, I've no doubt. After that it was obviously lunch time, perhaps as much as 2 hours had elapsed since brekkie!
Well I say it was lunchtime, it was actually G o'clock in a spot in Soho, I can't quite recall the name, on a corner, black outside, orange sign, maybe something like Fratelli. It is bloody busy and run by shrill angry women who shout, a lot. They bark at those waiting for tables, we got into all sorts of bother for asking for a table for 6 but only 3 of us being present (the others were wondering around the shops), 2 or 3 times we didn't have the full complement, not the done thing. We also got into bother when 2 people left their seats at the bar, the banshee bar maid screamed that they had a table for 2, none of the waiting tourists wanted to get that close to the female megaphone and declined to take the seats, we booed, again not the done thing. The bar maid yelled to one of the waitresses that she was being heckled (oops).
Eventually we got a table for 6, well there were 6 for us, at some restaurants it would have been a table for 2. Concerned that my meat intake was down after eggs benedict I manned up for a bison burger. That was my bison debut, to be honest though I think a normal juicy burger is the way forward but I'd give it another shot.
Lunch done, the others went off in search of culture; Tom, Fletch and I decided to take a stroll around the city but in the best possible way - a pub crawl. Kicking around University Place, we had a beer in the Red Lion, a beer in The Reservoir (where we witnessed an obese couple playing a sort of safari hunting game, they were left wheezing by the number of video game animals they slaughtered, I found the game deeply worrying) and then ten pin bowling, obviously with beers. I'm shite but managed to win a game, so did Tom, unlucky Fletcher.
We returned to the flat, rather than a quick power nap we tried Tom's homemade espresso martinis, hopeless but then again the coffee and vodka was a welcome boost. We then headed off to meet the Pfau in a Mexican place.
I think the Bison had settled now as I wasn't that hungry, a real shame as the Mexican fare was damn tasty - not many places fire up a Guacamole tasting menu with fresh tortilla chips - we also took on a selection of ceviche and some tacos. In truth I haven't eaten much Mexican but every time I do I like it. I guess it's a bit like discovering Thai food for the first time, a whole array of new flavours and each time it is a treat.
A quick point on one of the few downsides of New York, toilets. There are hardly any, and often they are pretty shoddy, why do the yanks like ones which have a short door at the top and bottom with gaping holes in the sides? Anyway, this Mexican had one (albeit it was a rare beauty) for both sexes, I was busting for a piss and had to literally jump up and down whilst I waited for 2 other people.
Throughout the meal Tom had been banging on at Sarah to phone the hot dog place, he carries the nickname, 'Guilbelly' (amongst others, e.g. Gaypride) but surely his tubby alter ego wasn't lining up a desert of hot dogs? Anyway, off we hopped to Criff Dogs. Fletcher, very oddly in my opinion, fooking loves a hot dog and was like a pig in shit when Tom asked him whether he wanted one. Bemused I looked to my left to see Sarah in a telephone box and knew something more interesting awaited us, either that or they had ordered the world's largest hot dog and were calling for it to be winched in.
And interesting it was, a door opened to the side of the telephone box and we entered an old prohibition bar, very fucking cool. We ended up on a table by the toilet, this was both good and bad (n.b. there were 2 of excellent quality, as I said we were in a cool place).
BAD
- Some dickhead Aussie girl came and sat next to us, she was a right fucking pain and couldn't fuck off because she was waiting to use the toilet.
- We had people coming and going every few moments.
- More dickhead Aussies came and sat, bringing their shit banter.
I'd like to point out that I like Aussies, even if like rats you are only ever a few metres away from one, no matter where in the world you are. I found the root of this infestation, back on street level (we were underground) there was an Aussie pie shop with a flag flying - like an unofficial embassy.
GOOD
- Nobody could work out that the door was a sliding affair which meant that we got to bellow "it's a slider" in a hysterical drunken fashion to virtually every patron of the 'john'.
- Fletcher and I started to tell people that we were charging them $2 to use the toilet, that they were free to use it for as long as they liked but could they prepare 2 bucks on exiting the facilities. Hilarious you can imagine but it turned out not to be a money spinner.
- Somebody actually got stuck in the toilet, they forgot they had slid the door open and were now thrashing around like a cat in a box. Cue more yelling of "it's a slider" and manical laughing. This riled the bruiser inside as he thought we were playing a trick on him. Luckily he worked out we were being helpful before he ripped down the door but not before he had pathetically texted his wife to come and help rescue him.
Fletcher was beginning to rock under the weight of tiredness, all day boozing and now bourbon. He decided to try and exact some revenge for all the bitch slaps I gave him the night before by giving me dead inner knees, as you do. Having let him knobble one knee I pulled the other out of the way and he floored my freshly poured double amaretto and ice (I say ice, it was one singular massive cube, apparently somewhat of a signature for this place), tit.
After a replacement was drained we staggered off into the streets of New York, poor old Fletch thought we were bed bound but the poor little sod didn't know I had one more bar in me (Summit). To make it worse I needed to get the address from Tom's flat, so he even tasted safety before I dragged him back out. This though turned out to be a flawed plan, not long after we got out of the taxi and I was enjoying the first sips of an ice cold beer did I catch Fletch starting to drift off (obviously standing up). Actually I've just remembered, I knew it was a flawed plan as I walked down the street and Fletcher staggered behind repeatedly yelling at me to slap him to wake him up, "You were happy to slap me last night, why won't you slap me now? Slap me". I still resisted a bitch slap and tried to reason that all he had to do was wait until my beer was finished.
The barman cranked up the music, Fletcher began to sway from side to side, muttering that he just needed to find a beat to stay awake. Christ, I better drink this beer quickly I thought but actually the collapse came quicker than anticipated. Fletcher grabbed my shoulder, "we need to knock this on the head" he said, I looked at him and realised it was indeed home time and really only a matter of minutes having got out of a cab we were back in one.
We got home, had more drunken fun and games with the lock and then finally fell through the door. Fletcher avoided making the luggage his bed and passed out fully clothed, he didn't even have time to remove his jacket, he literally saw the sofa and let his body collapse - see the pic below and his hungover grinning face showing off his unique sleeping style.
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