Thanksgiving Weekend
Wednesday evening
7:22 pm
77th street between Columbus and Central Park West
A giant Smurf sat before me. Puffy in its belly, the bright blue contrasted well with the burnt ember sky of a Manhattan evening. We had gathered, along with thousands of others, to witness the inflation of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade balloons.
There were the Macy’s stars, a perennial favorite dating back half a century. Pikachu, one of Jake’s favorites, hobbled on his side waiting for his chance to burst forth from his sleep and have his 2 1/2 miles of fame. The Energizer Bunny was listless and had ceased to go and go and go. It too would have its chance to fly and shine for two minutes the next day as it crossed Herald Square and faced the army of television cameras waiting for it and the other dozen or so as-big-as-skyscraper balloons.
It was impressive to see them up close, their size diminishing mine. This year, Jake and I had traveled with my friend Leslie and her 8-year-old son Jason. Jake and Jason were typical third graders, running as fast as possible to see the balloons…and then, just as quickly, moving on to the next.
We reached the end of the block and had a choice to make: Continue through the throngs of sightseers, or to head home having filled our balloon quota for the year. Jake and Jason were tired and slightly bored (ingrates), and short of an exploding balloon or one the size of the Empire State Building they were done
being impressed. We stepped below street level to travel the underground caverns back home, but not before one more glimpse of the Giants of the Parade desperately waiting for showtime a mere 13 hours in the future.
Thursday Morning 9:49 A.M.
35th Street and 6th avenue, 21st floor
The breakfast feast was impressive. A cake the shape of a turkey…cookies and brownies…dozens of bagels and spreads in every flavor. But this all paled in comparison to the view. That delightful gift to the eyes is why we were here, an outpost 200 feet above Manhattan’s floor with a window directly overlooking Herald Square.
My good friend and great person Brian Golding was the gracious host of this amazing parade-viewing party. It was surreal to watch the parade on TV and simultaneously see it outside the window. The Smurf we had seen last evening was barreling down Broadway hoisted by dozens of little blue creatures determined not to let him fly away.
The best part was we were warm. No crowds to swim through, triple layers not needed. Perhaps the most famous parade in the world and we had box seats. Another guest at the party regaled about the time when, as a cub scout, he had marched in the parade. It was cold and the parade route interminable. By the time his little legs had reached Herald Square he was exhausted…and nauseous. For a moment, I felt a twinge of empathy for those now marching…but a broad smile flashed across his face. It was a good memory.
Walking back to the subway down an empty 6th Avenue was hypnotic. The street was
blocked off to all but local traffic, barricades holding back the masses. A
block away, tens of thousands had gathered for a huge show and here it was
quiet…a moment of solitude in Metropolis.
Friday afternoon, 3:16 P.M.
17 Mott Street, Chinatown
After 45 minutes we had finally gotten a table. The sizzle of frying beef and smell of noodles permeated the air of this tiny bodega-of-a-restaurant. I was introduced to Wo Hop by my brother, and have been hooked ever since. Before long, heaps of sesame chicken, beef chow fun and mushroom fried rice rained down from the Chinese food gods.
Wo Hop is below street level, and the line often extends past the stairs onto the street. We waited on the stairs…a tired, hungry Jakob protesting the queue. The night before, our good friends Denise and Adam had hosted us for Thanksgiving, a wonderful, traditional meal of turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes and cranberries. But we were turkeyed out, and good Chinese is always a fine alternative.
Earlier that day, Jake and I had ventured to the Lower East Side to visit the Tenement Museum, a restored building depicting immigrant life at the turn of the 20th century. The building had closed to tenants in 1935, and the museum’s founders came upon it in the 1980s and decided to restore it. Two hundred fifty-square-foot apartments served as homes for up to nine people at a time. I was enthralled as every detail had been given thought to recreate apartments from the 1880s, 1910s and 1930s. Jake got a little bored but he was especially fascinated with the bathrooms (outhouses in the backyard).
After our delicious Chinese extravaganza, we ventured to the South Street Seaport, a mall built on a pier thrust into the East River between lower Manhattan and Brooklyn. It was one of my favorite places as a kid and still is…despite the plans to build a bigger open space along with a 45-story luxury hotel/condo and other high-end developments. At least a few blocks with 19th century buildings and cobblestone streets are forever preserved. Change is the only constant in a big city.
Saturday evening, 5:31 P.M.
Greenport, Long Island
The last tentacles of light were far in the western sky. This sleepy village on Long Island’s north fork was preparing to buckle down for a late autumn/early winter evening. All but a few stores were closing for the evening. We had come here, 90 miles due east of the Big Apple, to find an ice skating rink we had chanced upon two years earlier. The rink sits in a grassy field on the beautiful harbor with lights twinkling across the bay. This year, the rink was not yet up. A disappointed Jakob made his feelings known.
We had begun the day at Calverton Links, a sprawling golf course near where Long Island splits in two. It was chilly, and the driving range was not heated. But it was wide open rolling grass, a pleasure to eyes that had been fixated on the urban jungle for the last few days. We lasted about 13 holes on mini golf before we succumbed to the cold.
We ate lunch at one of our favorite restaurants, The Cooperage Inn. Jaime is always excited for the opportunity to eat at this classic American-style restaurant. The French onion soup was outstanding, and fresh, hot bread greeted us. We wolfed down penne a la vodka and a hamburger. A perfect meal before an afternoon of wine tasting.
We were heading to Lenz Winery when Jaime spotted an interesting sign with hints of modernism. We stopped at Bedell Cellars, a beautiful winery with a heavy emphasis on Merlot. The tasting room was warm and cozy and had three levels in a modern-style barnlike room. There were fireplaces and couches and it resembled a living room. I discovered I do not like Merlot very much, though I could see their wines were made with quality and care. Lenz winery had a more traditional tasting room with an impressive entrance. The wines there were excellent and the old vines cabernet was particularly tasty.
We ended up at Greenport and discovered the ice rink had not been built yet. Sunday would be filled with relaxing and a friend’s dinner. But this night, we watched the descending sun and walked among the boutiques of the town and felt as if we were on vacation. Jaime remarked that none of the ice cream stores were open, so when we came upon one later in the evening we had to stop. Ice cream for dinner is always acceptable.