Tailor Made

I've been wanting to get a bespoke suit made for a number of years now, and I've finally decided to engage the skills of a good tailor.

I went to get measured the other day which was a somewhat bizarre experience. The little Italian man was barely tall enough to reach my shoulders, and as he buzzed around he converted from inches to centimetres by turning his tape measure over and over.

He also had a special secondary tape measure for my inside leg. It had a stiffened end so that he could post it towards the top of my leg without having to actually get his hand too close.

Didn't stop him from touching my bottom, though.

Guitar Man

Some of you may have detected a distinct "air guitar" theme in our lives.

We went to the national finals in the UK last year, and to the regional finals in New York back in June. This month it was time for the American national finals.

The setup was the same: one minute performing to music of your choice, acerbic judging, the top 5 contestants going through to a final round performing free-style to music they hadn't heard before. There was an enthusiastic crowd and a high density of groupies.

An interesting twist this time round was that one of the judges was non other than Malcolm Gladwell. Whilst he's not particularly famous as a proponent of the genre, he certainly seemed to judge fairly and attentively.

I found myself firmly rooting for the New York finalist, William Ocean, who put in a sterling performance. I'm very pleased to say that he won the whole contest and will proceed to represent the nation at the world championships in Finland in September.

You can't make this stuff up.

I do face a minor dilemma, however. Do I support the US or the UK in the finals?

Ain't Going To Goa

We went for a curry last night. The restaurant is a single block from our apartment and we've walked past it many times, but never gone in.

As we sat down I noticed a higher than normal density of English accents amongst the patrons.

It's funny how some people revert to type when they're travelling.

Oh, and the food was pretty good.

Stuck With You

Once you start to notice them, they're everywhere.

The streets of New York are covered in literally millions of small black marks where people have discarded chewing gum that no longer has any flavour. The density of the spots is particularly unnerving in the subway stations. Just how long does this stuff last?

I've seen little men valiantly attempting to clean up the debris using high pressure hoses. Their machine seems to be reasonably effective, but the sickly sweet smell that it unleashes is equally frightening. Presumably the gum that is prised off the pavement is sent to some god-forsaken landfill to while away eternity next to a myriad plastic bags and nappies.

Given the longevity of the little skid marks, I hate to think what happens if you accidentally swallow some gum.

Deeper Underground

New York is a city that is never quite "finished", it's always undergoing repairs of one sort or another. I spotted an open manhole cover the other day, and nearby was a van from the local electricity supply firm. A very large, round man was waddling around in company overalls and looked intent on getting in the hole. There was clearly no way he was going to fit.

This isn't the first time this has happened. Last year I was walking by Macy's with my parents when we saw pretty much the same situation unfolding. Again, the man was never going to get through the hole. Or at least wasn't going to get back above ground if he did manage to squeeze through.

Unfortunately I haven't quite been in the right place at the right time to see how the endgames of these scenarios play out - but it does seem like a hazardous occupation for a gentleman of a larger than average girth.

Walk This Way

I am fortunate enough that I can walk to work. I manage to do this about 90% of the time, with the odd subway ride mandated by inclement weather, or simply by being late.

On my 25 minute walk I see a bunch of familiar faces, and sometimes some very odd behaviour. This blog entry begins an occasional series chronicling the things I see.

This evening on the way home I saw a delivery man on a bicycle. He was ringing his bell rather aggressively at a small group of people who were crossing the road in front of him when the pedestrian crossing was clearly indicating that they should wait.

Good man, I thought, until he turned the wrong way into a one-way street and was nearly squashed by a truck.

So much for the rules of the road.

Steam

Some of you may have read about an explosion that happened in midtown a couple of weeks ago. First indications were that a generator had blown up, but it later emerged that the loud bang was actually due to the rupturing of a steam pipe under the city. The explosion erupted with such force that a nearby building lost 16 floors of windows to the blast.

New York runs on steam. Apparently it's an efficient way both to heat and to cool high rise buildings. There are seven steam manufacturing plants in the city pumping some 30 billion pounds of the stuff through a system of old, rickety pipes. (Can you tell that I've been reading wikipedia again?)

In the wake of the explosion, the local power supply company is now checking the steam supply to our building, and this might cause interruptions to the hot water, heating and air conditioning services next week. Oh, joy.

Who'd have thought steam could be so disruptive?

Connected

We lost our Internet and telephone service for 48 hours last week. It's very weird how dependent I seem to have become on the electronic world. How was I going to find out what was happening back in the UK? How was I going to find out what was on at the cinema? How was I going to find a suitable restaurant to eat in that evening?

I spent a good few hours angling my laptop in various positions around the apartment and out the window to try and hijack a neighbour's signal - a feat I managed for about 5 minutes at a time.

The nice man from the cable company came as promised on the Friday afternoon, unplugged the modem and plugged it back in again, and we were back in business.

How embarrassing. I probably should give up the day job.

Pump It Up

On my way to work the other morning I saw something that made me shudder.

We live in an apartment block that has a 24 hour McDonald's on the ground floor. As I walked past I noticed a truck with a hose running out the back to a connector on the wall of the "restaurant". I looked a little closer and noticed that the truck was delivering cooking oil. A lot of cooking oil.

Rationalisation is easy. McDonald's fries a lot of food, they're going to need a lot of oil. I just think that seeing it all in one place conjures up a rather unpleasant image.

Hot In The City

Preserving the theme that an Englishman can always talk about the weather, I am pleased to report that it's hot. Damned hot.

Forget all this "dry heat", "humid heat" nonsense: it's just ridiculously hot. Temperatures are well into the 30s, and show no sign of respite.

It still seems odd to me that, due to the air conditioning that is absolutely imperative in these conditions, my electricity bill is higher in the summer than the winter.

I'm melting.

Fireworks

The 4th of July seems to be quite a big deal in the United States. I was just looking forward to the day off work, but ended up being impressed by how "into it" people seemed to be.

Flags were fluttering on every possible pole and building, the local news showed various barbecues and parades, and I read somewhere that America would be spending $2 billion on food for the occasion. Mostly burgers and hotdogs apparently.

At 9:20pm Macy's sponsors the country's biggest fireworks display. 40,000 rockets were fired upwards from four barges in the East River over a period of about 25 minutes. Not even the rain could dampen that show.

The odd part is that fireworks are illegal in New York State (along with a reasonable number of the other states, too). Maybe that goes some way towards explaining why 3 million people turned up to view the spectacle last night.

London Calling

We had dinner at Gordon Ramsay's first New York venture, a restaurant called Maze at the London Hotel. Large fluttering Union Jack flags welcomed us as we stepped into the elegant hotel space. We were dining in the bar (rather than the full restaurant), and this gave us opportunity to sample more of the smaller plates that are offered in this area.

The food was really good. Rich flavours and well sourced ingredients gave each small plate a real lift. Highlights included a verdant asparagus risotto, perfectly fried sea bass, and the "essences" of a BLT served in a martini glass. This may have been Ramsay-by-numbers, but that's not necessarily a bad thing.

The price was right and the service mostly spot-on, yet the place was surprisingly quiet. Maybe it's the location in an anonymous part of midtown, maybe it's the fact that Ramsay's reputation in the states is based only on the US version of his foul-mouthed and abusive Hell's Kitchen, rather than his cooking. Either way, I can't see the restaurant lasting a long time in its current incarnation unless a few more guests show up.

If you're in town soon, snag a table.

Sell, Sell, Sell

New York City has a remarkable number of opportunistic salespeople. I often see clusters of men selling surprisingly realistic fake handbags and sunglasses out of cardboard boxes around the World Trade Center site, and whenever it rains people pop up at the entrances to many subway stops selling super cheap umbrellas.

I saw an innovative salesman last weekend. It was pretty hot in NY, and downtown was busy with open top tour buses. This gentleman had fabricated a stick with a collection of small buckets at the end, and was waving bottles of ice-cold water under the noses of the folk on the top of the bus, asking only a single dollar for instant refreshment.

I didn't hang around to witness a transaction, but I would imagine that the dollar bill was placed into the same receptacle that the water bottle came from. Genius.

America. Land of opportunity.

Weather Report

The weather in New York appears to be remarkably predictable. When the man in the radio tells me that it will rain in the early afternoon, lo and behold the skies open up at 2:30pm. When he says that the temperature will reach 73 Fahrenheit, it rises to within a degree or two.

This is in stark contrast to my experiences of London's weathermen who seem to wave their hands about a bit and say that it might rain a bit sometime later in the week (maybe), and the temperature could be "seasonal". Perhaps.

Apparently it's to do with the fact that New York's weather is mainly driven by the American land mass, whereas the UK's is at the mercy of the vagary of the surrounding waters.

I now have a Pavlovian reaction to the word "rain" in the weather forecast and pack an umbrella: I know I'm going to need it.

Move Over Darling

I took a domestic flight this weekend from New York to Portland. The thing that amazed me most about the procedure was the length of time it takes to get from one side of this country to the other: a good six hours.

Thanks to the power of modern technology I was able to check in online, and also select my seat with the help of that marvellous website seatguru. This site suggests which seats on a particular carrier's aircraft are better or worse than average. I snapped up 5E for the extra legroom it provided (forgoing a clear view of the movie screen).

They called the passengers to board from the back of the plane first, and by the time the last five rows were beckoned forward the plane was pretty full. As I made my way on board my heart sank.

The lady in 5D was enormous.

She was so big that she literally oozed into half of my seat. SeatGuru had already warned me that the middle seat in row five was a little narrower than normal, but that was a small price to pay for the extra legroom provided by the shift in configuration from steerage to business class at that point of the plane. It was going to be a long flight.

I eased myself into the seat, wedged myself under a large part of her torso, and tried to focus on pleasant thoughts. I think I managed to snooze for a while, and she periodically shifted around just enough to give me some breathing space.

The real moment of truth came at about hour number four. "Am I squashing you?". At this point any flag waving American would have felt obliged to let rip. Not the Englishman. "Oh no, it's quite alright". What was I thinking?

This place clearly isn't home, yet.

Anyone Can Play Guitar

Having enjoyed the UK Air Guitar Championships in London last year, it didn't take much encouragement for me to think about attending the New York regional competition.

The event was held at the Bowery Ballroom, and was hosted by serial air guitar failure Bjorn Turok. It took a little while for the things to get going, but once they did the usual mix of hair metal and mayhem was unleashed on an unforgiving audience.

Highlights of the evening included a 65 year old who should really have known better, a man in a complete cow costume, an air-violin interloper and lots of very tight spandex. The stage names were also pretty inspired: Shreddy Mercury was a personal favourite, and Bobba Frets (including full helmet) gave a damned good workout.

The overall quality of the competition didn't seem to be up the same standard as the UK event, but I'm holding out hope for the national finals in August.

For those about to rock, we salute you.

Credit to the Nation

It looks like I've finally managed to secure a credit card in the United States.

I applied shortly after I got here, and because, to a large extent, I didn't exist, I couldn't get one. I recently received another invitation to apply and this time it looks like I was successful. I haven't actually been sent the plastic as yet, but my online account now shows a linked credit card.

The mildly amusing thing about this application is that my credit limit is almost exactly 2.5% of the amount I have in the UK. I understand the reasons for this, but it does all seem a little pointless.

Soul Man

I took a couple of pairs of shoes to the local cobbler this week. I'm a big fan of owning a good shoe, and having it repaired as appropriate.

I was very pleasantly surprised by both the level of workmanship, and the price. I asked for a small rip to be repaired, and they not only fixed that hole, but relined and strengthened all three other sides of the pair of shoes at the same time. And they were shined to within an inch of their lives, too.

When I went to collect my shoes I had to wait a good ten minutes as the little man hunted through his collection of finished work. Each bag of shoes had a numbered ticket attached, but for some reason they were not sorted in any logical order. He inspected the ticket on each bag until he found the right one.

An interesting approach, but room for some improvement.

Food Glorious Food

Last Saturday we went to a street fair just outside the apartment. $40 bought us a ticket to the Taste Of Tribeca festival where 60 neighbourhood restaurants set up stalls to allow us punters to sample their food.

The proceeds from the entrance ticket went to local schools, and gave us the opportunity to have six "tastes" from whichever stands we chose. In between the light spring showers we wended our way from stall to stall to see what we liked the look of.

The more famous restaurants had long lines, so we deliberately picked the smaller venues. I had a fantastic pulled pork bun with barbecue sauce, smoked salmon, a country terrine, a wonderful lamb kebab, a ricotta cheesecake, and two empanadas from our local Argentian restaurant. Yum!

It was a busy event and as we negotiated the crowds we were entertained by live bands. My favourite was The Dueling Elvis's (who played alternate Presley and Costello covers). Another highlight of the event occurred when we went up to our local sushi restaurant's stand. We said hello, we were given heaps of food, and they refused to stamp our ticket.

Proof positive that you can inhabit a friendly neighbourhood in New York.

White Room

I went to a book tour event tonight promoting Marco Pierre White's new biography. White was late and whilst we waited for his car to arrive we were entertained by none other than Mario Batali and Anthony Bourdain. They merrily swapped stories of White and their various experiences with him, and generally clowned around for the assembled crowd.

Bourdain and Batali were a hoot, and clearly enjoyed playing up to the audience. I've read a lot about both chefs and it was great to see them in the flesh.

When he finally arrived, White was something of a disappointment. He spoke quietly, looked at the floor, and seemed to be none too proud of his antics in the 80s. He kept reiterating that he regretted pursuing the Michelin stars so fervently, when he should really have been doing something that was more "worthwhile". He wouldn't even be drawn on the Ramsay reservation-book scandal.

As I stood by a shelf containing a "Highway to Heaven" box set, I wondered quite why he had bothered to turn up. At least he came out in favour of the freedom to eat foie gras, I suppose.