My first night in New York City, I had a bagel sandwich for dinner at a bagel place. It was probably the perfect chewy New York bagel. Delicious. But not quite enough food. Later that night, after dark, I got hungry again, so I risked my life to venture out to D'Agostino's for some bread and peanut butter. I came home, thanked Providence that I hadn't been mugged on the street, passed through the security guards at the front of my building, took the elevator upstairs, locked my bedroom door, locked my cell phone and my money in my closet (so if someone broke into my room, they could kill me but my money would be safe, I suppose!) and tucked into my snack before tucking myself into bed.
This pencil cup is a gift my mom found for me in a museum shop after I told her about a New York Times article I'd read about the decline of the real thing. The article - this very article - made me seek out these Greek-themed cups at little delis that also served coffee.
For the rest of that summer, I ate out or bought my food at various groceries. I went to Zabar's, in the Upper West Side, on the recommendation of my favorite biology prof. I bought some delicious brioche and raisin bread there, which I ate for breakfast with cheese and marmalade. I didn't go to Zabar's often, since it was far away and expensive. More often, I shopped close to the Y. If I was in a hurry, I turned right exiting the 92nd St. Y and went to a tiny little place. If I had more time, I'd turn left and go to D'Agostino's. I also went to the Food Emporium, mentioned in Julie Powell's blog, on my way home from Rockefeller.
I remember buying Kefir and Greek yogurt for the first time and feeling so lucky to be in a place where one could buy such interesting things. Now when people bring those items to the register at Whole Foods, where I work, I often think, "Oh, remember when Kefir was new and wonderful and exotic. I miss that." Don't get me wrong: I think it's wonderful that we have everything from everywhere at Whole Foods. But I also think it's more fun to buy things in little corner stores and feel like what you're buying is a find. At Whole Foods, nothing is a find. At Whole Foods, one should expect to find everything.
Sometimes, I think of that summer in New York as the good old days, when I was young and energetic. It's not really true that I'm old and lazy now, but how reasonable are one's memories of "the good old days," anyway? That summer, I woke up EARLY, went for a 3ish-mile run in Central Park, came back, showered, dressed, ate my brioche for breakfast, then headed out for my morning coffee and New York Times at Juliano's across the street, then walked to work, dressed in style. Of course, I was sweaty upon arrival. Thank goodness labs are usually cold!
Now I wake up in my house and make coffee and make breakfast and do what my ever-changing schedule dictates. I still get my exercise, but not early in the morning. Thursday through Sunday, I get the Boston Globe delivered to my doorstep and may or may not read it over my morning coffee. I still walk to work, but through residential streets, not city blocks. I still get sweaty in the summer, and my workplace, now a grocery store, not a lab, is still cold.
The 92nd St. Y was in the middle of the city businesses in the wealthy Upper East Side. Now I live in a residential area of Somerville, in a house. The streets around me are lined with two-family, gambrel-rooved houses, yards planted with amazing rose gardens and tomatoes in pots.
In Somerville, on the buses, one sees everyone, but common riders are elderly people and non-white people pushing strollers and navigating the bus stairs. Less common to see are dressed-up business people. In New York, I saw more dressed-up business people. When I saw a Latino or black person pushing a stroller near the 92nd Street Y, the chances were that the rider in the stroller was a white child most likely left in the care of a nanny. That's life in the Upper East Side.
In New York, I played right into that Upper East Side lifestyle. I had consciously decided to spend my childhood savings in order to enjoy New York, and that's what I did. I didn't have a well-stocked fridge, by any means. Rather, I ate out most of the time and so was out and about quite often. It's in my search for food "out" that I discovered the interesting markets I remember so fondly.
Those exist in Somerville, too, but I'm not looking for them now. Here in Somerville, I do eat out every week or two, but not every day. Out of thrift, I try to do at home what, in New York, I would have done on the town.
That summer, I saw "Swan Lake" at the Metropolitan Opera House. This year, I watched the library's "Swan Lake" DVD in my living room at home. There I was trying to spend and enjoy my savings. Here, I'm trying to generate savings. All those things make make my life in Boston feel less citified than it did in New York.
One thing that makes me feel like I do live in a city now is taking ballet classes. I take the T to Central Square, walk past the homeless people, the business people, everyone, to the Dance Complex and climb the stairs to the second floor. I pay my 12 dollars, get dressed, then head upstairs ("up the winding staircase...") to Roseann Ridings' ballet class. The giant studio is packed with people of all ages. Roseann gives a hard class but doesn't expect perfection and teases us along the whole time. There's a piano accompanist, Bob, who plays for us with energy and passion. When we dance from the corner, it takes about 10 minutes for everyone to have their chance to do the combination, and Bob plays flashy music that just makes me feel like a cool ballerina in a city.
No comments:
Post a Comment