~An untimely reflection on Easter Sunday~
Well, right on schedule my morning cry session commenced… Barely 10:15am I am just awake enough to be realize how far I am from my favorite brunch spot. A spot where I’m comfortable enough to eat alone at the bar where the bartender knows me by name and order. A spot where I feel at home amidst the syrup drizzle, aroma of freshly brewed coffee, and maybe a celebrity spotting. This is my spot to spot.
It’s Easter Sunday, I’m alone in a city that’s constantly kicking my ass, and all I want (NEED) is something that makes me feel other than defeated — these particular somethings are the world (New York Cirty) famous pancakes from Bubby’s in TriBeca. The fluffiest, most wholesome, picture-perfect breakfast cakes you’ve ever laid eyes on. But on this day of days, instead of being conveniently located just around the block from where I’m usually squatting (my boyfriend’s parent’s house), I’m stranded in the upper west side (aka Harlem offset by two blocks) in my one-room, fits-nothing closet-like bedroom. The more tragic thing about this particular breakdown is that this area is actually really great. I just haven’t spent enough time up here to know where is great.The only place I know is the bodega on the corner where the two brothers who own the shop slip some candy into your thank you come again grocery bag, which really is a great comfort to me because I only go there for one of three things: Mac and Cheese, Perrier, or Ben and Jerrys (most of the time all three at once). I think its clear why I always get some extra candy.
So back to the tragedy that is my ever growing and growling appetite. I’m in tears because at best the trek to get to the magic pancakes is a 40 minute subway ride, at worst over an hour (theres always construction on the weekend). I’ve also already used up my allotted uber/gett/lyft rides for the week so I’m really out of options for any sort of immediate satisfaction, which I’d really grown up accustomed to. In Colorado literally anything I could want is about a 10 minute drive away. DRIVE. IN MY OWN CAR. I really miss those days… Now my life is usually in the hands of reckless taxi drivers, and claustrophobic communal subway trains. You could say this day was starting off horribly, horribly wrong.
It’s now 3pm (time flies when you’re netflix&cryin) and I’ve decided to put on my big girl shoes (aka my adidas that are actually from the children’s collection because the pink color is only available in kid sizing) to avenge the tears I have lost over my morning theatrics of unfortunate circumstance. Long story short(ened) I end up in the Lower East Side at Russ & Daughters so I wouldn’t be late for work. And in that moment, I realized this was exactly where I was meant to be on this Holy Day. A pure, wholesome, Irish Catholic girl brunching at the most delicious Jewish delicatessen in Manhattan.
I had finally arrived.
CRYING OVER SPILLED MILK 