It took me about twenty minutes in the budget hotel room to realize that this woman does not do well just sitting around. Especially in the city that never sleeps. I just had to get out. But I was warned by the cab driver that the particular streets in Flushing I was about to explore may not be safe to walk alone, particularly in the evening. My stubborn nature did not want to listen to him, even though his words kept popping into my head. I was disappointed that I wouldn’t make it back to Manhattan by cab. I was really aching for some authentic Italian food and great wine but Mulberry Street wasn’t in the cards this trip.
Ignoring the cab driver and the young woman in the lobby, I left the hotel in search of an adventure. About a block away were hundreds of Asian stores and markets. I was in a fascinating new world. Strolling down the street it was difficult not to stop every few blocks and take in the sounds and smells of a completely different culture. I stopped at several small Asian restaurants and couldn’t read the menu. It was a bustling Friday night and I was clearly out of place still in my pumps and skirt. I’d changed into a comfortable cool tank that was proper fashion for an evening in NYC. Problem was…as I walked a few more blocks the vibe of the streets became a bit more precarious. There were clusters of young Asian and Hispanic woman dressed similar in high heels, tank tops and skirts as well. It dawned on me quickly that these were professional woman…yet not a legal profession.
“Holy Crap,” I thought. I better get out of here quickly. Not wanting to make a scene, I gently turned around and headed back toward the hotel. By now, I had to be at least a mile away. I turned on my hotel snob confidence, looked straight ahead and walked briskly. I could see the building about a block away so my breath quickly came back. At the next corner I spotted what appeared to be a small Italian café. It was almost as if God had placed it mysteriously there just for me. Yes… and I was ready for a glass of wine. As I walked through the large glass doors there were six small tables draped in beautiful white linen. Each had a small vase with flowers and a lit candle. A large mahogany bar sat there so lonely, so I decided to give it some company as I pondered the dinner menu.
A sharply dressed elderly Italian man slowly strolled behind the bar and gave me a grin. He had to be nearly eighty years old. I imagined that he was either the father or grandfather of the owner. “Beverage for the lady?” he asked in broken English. I smiled at him kindly and asked for a glass of Pinot Grigio. He opened a new bottle and filled the very large glass nearly to the rim. The first sip of wine was fantastic. I could finally relax after my long day. There were only a few couples in the restaurant as I sat by myself at the bar and watched the people pass by on the busy street.
The glass of wine hit me like a ton of bricks, so I decided it was time to eat. I must have pursued the menu for a half an hour as there were so many Italian delicacies to choose from. I hadn’t realized that Grandpa poured me another glass of wine while I was studying my dinner choices. I peaked at the glass and then looked at the man. He winked at me and I giggled out loud. I settled on a Frise Salad and sweet sausage fettuccine Bolognese. Far too much food, but I decided even a few bites of each would be well worth the price. And it was…homemade pasta that nearly melts in your mouth. What more can I say?
Throughout my meal, four generations of Italian men sneaked out of the kitchen to catch a glimpse of how I was enjoying my food. The cook was an amazingly beautiful piece of Italian Eye Candy, yet he was so busy with his creations that he only stepped out a few times. After several slow bites of the amazing meal, I was completely stuffed. The second generation Italian popped out of the kitchen and looked at my plate. “Too much?” he asked. “Yes, too much,” I giggled. “But thank you…it was wonderful,” I told him with a big smile. As he cleared my plate, Grandpa came back to me and asked, “Can I buy lady another glass of wine?” “No thank you. Next time,” I replied.
The men were in no hurry to provide me the bill. All four came out of the kitchen and nodded at me. I smiled at the kind men. Grandpa escorted the Eye Candy out of the kitchen to greet me. The two men poured three shots of homemade Limon cello. They lifted their glasses to me and the three of us downed the sweet drink. “Grazie,” I said.
Another wonderful adventure in NYC. I can’t wait until next time.
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