Smorgasburg virgins

For Trish's Last Supper (or in this case, Last Brunch) before getting Snatched, we decided to pop our Smorgasburg cherries and meet the Westfield, NJ contingent in über hip Williamsburg for a bacchanalian day of excess. Here's how the day progressed in pictures!

After a fairly painless subway ride, including a transfer to the dreaded L train, Trish and I emerged in NYC's hippest borough, Brooklyn. We strolled toward the waterfront, throwing death stares at the cute brownstones and chic apartment buildings reserved for goatee sporting, skinny-jean wearing, gluten-free, pretty people.

We arrived about 20 minutes before 11am - just enough time to cruise the vendors (many still setting up) and plan the day's caloric intake. The Guerrero-Cook crews were still stuck in cars somewhere in NY traffic, so we grabbed a bacon pretzel from the bitchy gal manning the Bronx Baking Co.'s tent and started our first round of munching. Since the pretzel was so delicious, we decided not to let that bitch's attitude dampen our enthusiasm or appetite.

Grilled maple bacon stick anyone? We made it about halfway around the ring of food tents before giving in to a gooey, sweet slab of pork belly from Landhaus. 

You can never have too much pork belly, right? (Someone needs to cross-stitch that on a pillow) Next stop, Bite Size Kitchen for crispy pork belly and braised duck leg buns. From behind, we overheard two pretentious, twenty-something gals straight out of Girls, snootily turn their noses up at these buns because, "Oh, we make those at home." From the look of their manicured hands and expensive-though-made-to-look-vintage clothing, there is no way those girls have made homemade anything, ever.

Having completed our initial exploratory loop, it was time to cleanse our palates with dessert. We ended up sharing a fluffy, yeast-raised, dulce de leche and almond doughnut from Dough. These little diabetes bombs give Doughnut Plant a run for their money. Heresy, I know.

An hour later and the Jersey crew still hadn't arrived.  So we grabbed a fried chicken and bacon biscuit (somewhat disappointing following all our decadent pork belly treats) and relaxed at a picnic table overlooking the Manhattan skyline. Up until now, we had been taunting our car-bound friends by texting them these pictures as we cruelly described each scrumptious bite.

I'm usually not one to shy away from excessive bitchiness, but even I started to feel guilty as the time passed and our companions continued to sit in food-free torment on the highway. So after this picture, we decided on a food porn moratorium until after their arrival.

Just passed our table, Trish spied a long line forming by one tent. Without even checking out the offerings, we got in line. Whatever is under that blue tent better be worth the wait or this bitch may just cut you.

With the line barely moving, Trish went on reconnaissance to make sure we weren't wasting our time. Ramen burgers! Score. But it was now close to noon and there was a noticeable increase in foot traffic. We decided to split up. Trish made a beeline for Might Quinn's where another long line was forming. She hooked us up with some pork BBQ and brisket sandwiches.

After about 20 minutes, I finally made it to the front of the line and purchased my $9 (!!) burger. Sadly, the product didn't live up to the hype. I mean, it's a burger wedged between two slabs of greasy ramen noodles. Didn't taste bad per se, but really nothing special. We ended up taking a few bites and tossing the rest. No use wasting precious stomach space.

The Philippines is representin' in Brooklyn. Though I'm sure they are delicious, we didn't try their lumpia because we were suspicious of the pretty plating and garnishing. We're used to seeing those little critters piled up haphazardly in a foil tray, ghetto style.

The Guerreros, Cooks and Nadeaus finally arrived and we spent the rest of the afternoon taking turns guarding our picnic table and hording food.

The End

Thanksgiving 2013 - Thankful for 24-hour Au Bon Pain

It’s not a Pineda holiday without some kind of drama. This year, my dad decided to scare the bejesus out of us by heading to the ICU over the Thanksgiving holiday. He’s been dealing with a long term illness for the past few months, but seemed to be making good progress...

...until the day before Thanksgiving.

We are a family known for its procrastinating tendencies, but within a few hours of Trish’s panicked phone call, Juan, Val and I were packed into the van and speeding through freezing rain and sleet on our way to Richmond. It was a wild few days, but dad is now out of the hospital and recuperating.

The last minute venue change didn't stop us from keeping the holiday spirit alive. We still managed to have our Thanksgiving turkey dinner with all the trimmings. But instead of a cozy sit-down at the family dinner table, we took turns noshing in the hospital cafeteria. Institutionally prepared, mass-produced turkey and stuffing never tasted so good. And we didn't have to wash any dishes. Thank you, lunch ladies!

Only two guests allowed in a patient's room at a time in the ICU. So we got cozy in the waiting room with our computers and plentiful snacks. Nothing like festive over-nighter in a sterile hospital lounge to bolster your holiday spirit.

Thankfully, dad was well enough to be moved to a regular floor after a couple of days. We spent the rest of the week in a spacious private hospital suite large enough to accommodate the whole Pineda clan, including a surprise visit from a very pregnant cousin Marion. And did I mention the 24-hour Au Bon Pain in the lobby? That's right, we had all night access to chocolate croissants and English toffee cookies.

Per usual, our unique brand of Pineda charm (persistent neediness to some) and good looks quickly won over the staff. It also didn't hurt that we plied the nurses with all sorts of goodies gathered from home from our Thanksgiving celebration that never was. Amazing how free cake can cement a relationship - and get you extra ice cream.

Dad's final day at the hospital coincided with mom and dad's wedding anniversary (as well as Trish's birthday!). As a wonderful final gesture, the whole nursing staff stopped by for a cheerful bon voyage complete with anniversary cupcakes for the happy couple.

Our intrepid nursing staff, technicians and food service professionals all stopped by on dad's final day to say "good-bye" and ...

...to present the anniversary couple with celebratory cupcakes!

I wish all the doctors, nurses and staff at MCV a hearty "thank you" for contributing to a memorable Thanksgiving 2013. And here's hoping for some boring, non-eventful holidays to come.

First World Food Problems - To Take-Out or Not To Take-Out

NYC-ers don't cook in their kitchens.

As a typical New Yorker, I'm used to ordering out for every meal.  My stove is basically a fancy metal closet for my non-seasonal clothing.  But no more.  Since I've been Snatched-ing it's seen more action  than Pamela Anderson's vagina.

If I'm not cooking up a batch of brown rice for the week, then I'm likely roasting some veggies or hard boiling eggs.  Unfortunately, all this culinary activity has left my poor sweaters homeless, forced to squat on the narrow strip of floor surrounding my bed.

The kitchen sink, once sparkling from disuse, is now a continually shifting skyline of crusty pots, pans and Ziploc containers balancing precariously over discarded avocado rinds and carrot peels.  Sure, it sucks to be in a constant state of dish-washing, but the positive effect on my bank account (and waist line) make it almost - almost - worth the pruned fingers.

Still, it's been a serious challenge following my Snatched nutrition plan and hitting my calorie and protein goals.  Who'd have guessed it would be so difficult to cram down 2200 healthy calories?

I'm a spoiled New Yorker when it comes to dining options.  Why bother cooking when there's every type of ethnic food just a phone call and delivery boy away?  But now that I'm counting every calorie and gram, take-out has suddenly become the devil.

It doesn't help that my previously tame OCD tendencies have blossomed into full out crazy now that I've hit my mid-40s.  The thought of ordering Chinese food while on my Snatched plan literally sends me into a panic.  I picture myself huddled over that white take-out container with a pair of tweezers, separating and meticulously weighing out each ingredient on my shiny new digital food scale, wondering if I should pat down the steamed chicken to get rid of the extra water weight, and then tossing everything back together to make sure I have an accurate calorie count.  I know, sick, huh?

Anyway, It's now the end of week 3 (of 6).  Thanks to my high daily calorie goals I'm rarely hungry, unlike some of my fellow Ninjas (that's how clients are referred to at MFF) who seem to be starving all the time.  But I'm also bloated and gassy as hell thanks to all those damn veggies.  I've learned to quietly and stealthily release while sitting in the subway and then immediately turn to the person next to me with my just-sucked-on-a-lemon face as if to say, "Did you do that?" thereby deflecting blame away from me.  I'm not proud of it.

The workouts have also gotten progressively more difficult each week.  Exhaustion is my new normal.  I'm resigned to the fact that my muscles will perpetually remain in ache mode.  At least the trainers have the decency to wear tight, skimpy clothing.  So even while I'm heaving for breath and just about to vomit up the protein shake I just guzzled an hour earlier, I'm also ogling their tight asses and muscular thighs and drooling like a cougar at a frat party.

On the bright side, my clothes are beginning to loosen up and I no longer have to do the "suck in" to button up my work pants.  And although my weight loss has plateaued over the last few weeks, I still see major shifts in my body shape.  The man boobs are starting to deflate and my flat ass is starting to get some J-Lo curve.  So I'm sticking to the plan and getting through the next 3 weeks by visualizing the plate of stuffing and gravy I'll be sucking down come Thanksgiving Day as my reward for finishing my Snatched journey.

Sweating with the Stars but Puking by Myself

If you read my earlier post, you know that I'm elbow deep in the midst of a full body makeover via Mark Fisher Fitness.  I know some of you could care less about my fitness life, so to keep slightly on topic, my Snatched in Six Weeks group includes none other than Lin-Manuel Miranda, Tonya Pinkins & an old colleague of mine from back in my NYGASP days, Heather Hill (who just happens to be in the current Broadway company of Phantom).

Yup, I'm glute bridging with Tony winners, bitches.

It's difficult to describe MFF and the Snatched program because it's just so...well, not like any gym I've ever worked out in before.  And trust me, after criss-crossing the country for years on one-nighter bus-and-truck tours, I've hit just about every grungy gym and cruisy YMCA between here and Yakima.  Yeah, that's a real city and sadly I've performed there TWICE!

But to quote an article from the Huffington Post, the MFF workout is "...a combination of theater camp and marine basic training..."  And if you've never been to theatre camp, well, let's just say there's lots of gay dudes, top hats and nudity involved.  Oh, and show tunes.  So yeah, it's not for everyone.  Example: at a recent Ninja Essentials class I attended (they refer to all us members as "ninjas") the trainer - probably the only straight guy in the room - asked us who was going to watch the football game over the weekend.  Crickets.  Then the guy next to me shyly spoke up, "I think you're talking to the wrong group."

I've just finished up week two of my six-week Snatched program.  And yes, my pants are a little looser and my neck is a little less stumpy, but the past two weeks haven't passed without a few challenges, mainly in regards to diet.  Actually, "diet" is probably the wrong word for the nutrition program I'm following since "diet" usually conjures up the image of a big, empty plate of sad carrot sticks huddling together for warmth.  

With five intense workouts a week, the MFF team asked me to consume a whopping 2600 calories a day.  I know for most people (and me before I started Snatched) quantifying calories is like watching those annoying guys who break dance on the subway for money - you ignore them and just hope they go away.  But let me put a greasy face on that number for you: 2600 calories = 5 Big Macs.  And a banana.  Sadly, Big Macs aren't recommended on the Snatched program.

After about a week and half of literally gorging myself to near-puking levels, I finally spoke up and asked the nutritionist if we could perhaps dial that calorie count down just a notch.  So I'm still grazing all day like ol' Bessie out in the field, but I now have a more realistic goal of 2200 calories a day.  

A typical day of eating looks like this:

Breakfast - banana w/ peanut butter, 2 whole hard-boiled eggs, cup of Greek yogurt w/ fruit and sunflower seeds
Lunch - large bowl of turkey chili, roasted brussel sprouts and brown rice
Dinner - grilled chicken and asparagus w/tomato salsa
Snacks - protein shake w/ almond milk, a couple slices of beef jerky, some mixed nuts, a protein bar and an apple

I'm obviously not starving.  And after two weeks, I'm 10 pounds lighter.  Only four more weeks to go!

The adventure continues...

<< Monday, September 2 ...later. >>

Satiated from my "gourmet" lunch, we piled back into the van and headed to one of the more famous south rim vantage points, Mather Point.

A panoramic view of the Grand Canyon and my baby bump.

The view from my window seat as we watch the canyon fade into the distance. Farewell, Captain Todd. I'll never forget you.

Sightseeing sure works up the appetite, so once back in Sin City, Trish and I head across the convenient attached walkway from our hotel to the Fashion Show Mall and El Segundo Sol for some Mexican food.

There's nothing better than a big ol' bowl of guacamole and plenty of white and red sangria to get the party started. Wasted at four in the afternoon! That's Vegas, baby.

More food and drinks, Vegas style (that means the calories don't count - what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, right?). Check out the alcoholic glaze over my eyes.

Thoroughly exhausted from our eight-hour mini excursion to the Grand Canyon and our Mexican siesta, Trish and I thought we'd cat nap before heading out for some final slot action. Our bodies, however, had other plans. Though we had every intention of getting up, we actually slept through to the next morning.

Grand Canyon or bust...

<< Sunday, September 1 >>

With my list of spots-to-visit-before-I-die growing endlessly longer and my time on earth dwindling away faster than Miley Cyrus' integrity, I decided to book Trish and I on a very expensive one-day trip to the Grand Canyon via small charter jet. Let's be real, I'll probably never have the time, opportunity or finances to plan a separate trip anytime soon.

With iPhone cameras in hand, we heeded our 6am wake-up call and groggily headed downstairs for the shuttle transfer out to a private desert air field for the 40-minute flight to one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World (I'll have now seen two - the harbor in Rio being the first).

We checked in and waited patiently for our group to be called for boarding. After about an hour, the waiting room stood painfully empty save me, Trish and an anxious handful of tourists. I was called back up to the check-in counter.

I'm sorry, due to technical difficulty with the aircraft, we've had to cancel your tour for the day.

Huh? My once-in-a-lifetime trip is canceled?

We can reschedule you for tomorrow morning.

Phew, disaster diverted. Sadly, a few foreign tourists didn't have the luxury of an additional day for a reschedule. And though my linguistic skills are limited to English and a spattering of Tagalog curse words, I could tell there were some mighty angry foreign profanities being hurled around that waiting room.

Disappointed and sleepy, we joined a bunch of pissed of tourists on a shuttle bus back to Vegas.

Determined to salvage the rest of our day, Trish and I made a beeline for the TI coffee shop for a gluttonous All-American breakfast of pancakes, ham steak and home fries. If I wasn't going to see the Grand Canyon today, I'd at least have a Grand Breakfast.

And that was just the beginning of our Sunday food orgy...

In a decidedly unhealthy attempt to eat our feelings of disappointment, we lucked out and snagged a last-minute reservation to the ultra-chic, very snooty, high end Sunday brunch at the Mandarin Oriental's Mozen Bistro. Yes, the above is in fact the buffet's all you can eat oyster, shrimp and crab claw bar. The buffet also boasts a noodle and ramen bar, made-to-order sushi bar, dessert bar, carving station and dozens of other random high end choices. Oh, and you also get to choose a supplemental menu entree with your meal. Best of all, unlike most of the other high volume buffets, the price point and limited seating ensures you're not fighting the huddled masses for that last claw.

We decided to walk off some of the day's calories by hoofing it on the strip. Unfortunately, summer in Vegas isn't exactly amenable to daytime hiking. We instead hit one of the many discount ticket booths and on recommendation from our friend, Chris, got tickets to Jubilee! at Bally's.

If you're looking for a dazzling evening of fine singing and stunning choreography, be sure not to miss Jubilee! said no one ever.

If you're looking for a cheesy display of silicone-enhanced boobs accompanied by the gayest, most mediocre chorus boys in Vegas, and boobs - did I mention boobs? Get your tickets to Jubilee! immediately.

Even though I shall never re-gain those precious 90 minutes of my life wasted at Jubilee!, the night wasn't a complete bust. Trish and I lazily wended our way back to the hotel in the comfortable desert evening enjoying the sights of Vegas at night.

I'll admit, I'm probably being a tad harsh on Jubilee!, but it has a review average of 4 stars on Tripadvisor.com. I mean, come on. It's at best a 2-star affair, and that's for the costumes and novelty of all those topless dancers. Trust me, after about 10 minutes you realize you're in for a long, tedious evening of cliched skits that were probably only vaguely sexy in the 1970s when they were likely created and staged. The only reason to sit through this mess is to see the rather spectacular contortionist couple. Bitter, party of one, check please!

We finally make it to the Grand Canyon...

Vegas in 3 Days...

<< Saturday, August 31 >>

After my hellacious flight experience, I finally arrived at TI (that's the new, hip name of the former Treasure Island casino) around 1:30am. I was exhausted from all the boarding and deboarding, but seeing the glowing lights of the Vegas strip from the airport van window, I quickly caught my second wind. By 2:00am Trish and I were slurping Vegas-sized bowl's of pho in TI's Vietnamese restaurant, which, oddly, is located in the casino's ultra-American coffee shop.

Sadly, my second wind didn't last very long. So after a quick walk around the casino, we decided to hit the sack so we could get an early start the next day. I'm a Vegas virgin and I was dead set on cramming in all the must-do's on my list before my 72-hours in Sin City elapsed.

Despite our best efforts, Trish and I didn't roll out of the hotel until after noon. First stop, the lovely Venetian, just across the street from TI. I made Trish stand to the left so I could capture the frisky couple in the background who had just completed a robust round of tonsil diving.

 The real Piazza San Marco never looked so good - or clean. I don't think the famous canals ever resembled this shade of green. Ever.

I'm so attractive. And a flesh tone t-shirt on flesh to boot. What fashion sense. Anyway, we started the day off right with a glass of wine and trio of desserts at Zeffirino overlooking the Venetian's indoor canal. Wafting through the air like stale farts were the bleating tones of some of the worst opera-singing gondoliers ever. Loved the authentic Italian servers and accents, though. Pasta was fine, but as New Yorkers, we're spoiled when it comes to good Italian food.  

After lunch we made our way down the strip via the fancy new monorail system and ended up at the MGM Grand. Here I show off my impressive roar after Trish and I are caught outside in a sudden downpour sans umbrellas .

Next stop, the Titanic exhibit at the Luxor. Very impressive with some crazy ass artifacts. And happily, both Trish and I survived (upon entrance, you receive a boarding pass with a guest name which you then check against the manifest at the end of the exhibit). Relieved to find both our names on the survivors' list, Trish celebrates by getting friendly with the dogs outside.

I, of course, head straight to this hunky Egyptian God. Honestly, I did not plan on having it look like as though I was about to give the statue a blow job. It was just a wonderful coincidence.

Trish strikes a pose in front of the mighty Sphinx as we wait for the monorail to arrive. Though it's still early, we head back to the hotel for power nap before tonight's performance of KÀ at the MGM Grand.

The dinner of champions, a foot-long hot dog from Little Richie's in our casino lobby. Not much tastier than an NYC dirty water dog, but it was quick, cheap and big enough for two (that's what she said).

After a power nap and an excruciating few moments on the toilet (thank you Little Richie), we got dressed up and headed to the MGM Grand for KÀ. What a truly amazing visual and technical feat - like nothing I've ever scene (and I've seen many of Cirque's tent shows). The stage was the size of a large airplane hanger with hydraulic lifts and multiple stages that seemed to rotate and float in midair as acrobats scurried across like extremely limber cockroaches.

Tomorrow, Grand Canyon or bust...

Staycation 2013 NYC part deux

Friday, July 5 (click here for part une)

Unlike the rest of civilized society, my office decided to open for business the Friday after July 4.  I sat in my empty office and watched the clock tick by as my phone and inbox sat silent for five hours.  The powers that be at least had the sense to let us leave after lunch.

Tonight, the boys and girls split up for separate date nights.  I took Juan for a belated birthday dinner to michelin-starred Aldea for their nine-course Brazilian tasting menu.  Coincidentally, Trish and I noshed here earlier in the summer during our Memorial Day staycation.  If you're an adventurous eater and appreciate gorgeous plating, you can't go wrong for the $95 price tag.

Three hours later, Juan and I stumbled out of Aldea in an Iberian food coma.  Time to burn some calories by renting citibikes.  After some issues with the credit card kiosk - nothing a few good kicks and a slew of obscenities couldn't fix - we were peddling back downtown to the hotel.  What's that saying?  You never forget how to ride a bike...bullshit.  I was weaving back and forth on First Avenue like a drunk drag queen in platform stilettos.

The girls chose a date spot in Little Italy, walking distance from the hotel.  Val's sporting her new pixie cut.  While I was twiddling my thumbs in the office earlier in the day, Juan, Val and Trish were getting all Housewives-of-Orange-County at the salon with haircuts, massages and mani-pedis.  Bitches!

Trish is showing off her fancy dessert.  She and Val were generous enough to bring back a bag of Italian goodies for Juan and I to try.  So what if we had just finished a 9-course dinner, there's always room for a cannoli.

Saturday, July 6

Still woozy from last night's food orgy, Juan and I decided on an early morning bike ride across the Brooklyn Bridge.  Since we purchased 24-hour citibike memberships the night before, we still had several hours of rental time available to us when we got up this morning.

I'm finally getting my "bike legs" back after nearly a decade of living bikeless in the city.  On a side note, notice the unintentional cross branding.

In theory, a bike trek across the Brooklyn Bridge seems like a pleasant enough way to spend a morning.  In practice, it sucks balls.  With the mercury already nearing 90 degrees and the humidity crushing my out of shape lungs, we made it about two-thirds of the way to the first tower before I felt the pangs of an impending heart attack.  We decided to stop and take a breather while enjoying the downtown Manhattan skyline.

Here's my artsy-fartsy overhead shot.

I take one more minute to catch my breath before heading back to dry land.

Here's Juan.

After working up our appetites crossing (at least partially) the Brooklyn Bridge, Juan and I dropped off our bikes and headed back to the hotel to pick up the ladies.  Next stop, Petit Abeille for waffles and mimosas.  Directly across the street from the restaurant we spotted this freakish array of superheros and marine life hanging out in front of the Balloon Saloon.  In NYC there is literally a specialty store for everything.

After brunch, we bid Juan and Val a fond adieu.  Juan, unfortunately, has a church job so he and Val had to cut their weekend short.  Trish and I, however, decided to keep the hotel room an extra day and extend our Chinatown staycation.

After a power nap, Trish and I were hankering for some Vietnamese food.  Based on yelp reviews, we headed to Bo Ky, which was just around the corner from our hotel.  I'm not gonna' lie, the place seemed a little ghetto and the cleanliness level was, well, just a notch above outdoor truckstop picnic table, but damn, the food tasted good.  You know it's authentic when you can't spot a single white face in the joint.

I'm enjoying a bowl of yummy pho and an appetizer portion (yes, appetizer portion) of their fried spring rolls.

Trish opted for a heaping plate of marinated steak.  Amazing how a delicious chunk of cow can make you forget all about that sticky spot on the table top.  Shout out to our waitress, a crazy old Asian grandma, who helped allay our initial wariness and made us feel like we were having lunch in her dining room.

After dinner Trish and I headed a few blocks uptown to the Public Theatre where my gorgeous and talented friend, Jaygee, is appearing in David Byrne and Fatboy Slim's environmentally-staged rock musical, Here Lies Love, based on the tumultuous life of Filipino first lady, Imelda Marcos.

Me with the delightful Jaygee after her rockin' performance as Imelda Marcos.  She's the swing and understudy for Imelda so when I heard she would be going on this weekend, I bought my ticket pronto.  (Read my review)

Trish and I were exhausted from the day's flurry of activity and non-stop noshing, so we decided to take advantage of our last evening at the hotel by watching TV and lounging in our PJ's.

Sunday, July 7

Our staycation is nearly over, but not before one last stop for soup dumplings.  We checked our bags in the hotel lobby and headed to Shanghai Gourmet.

11am on a Sunday morning in Chinatown - nothing like having an empty restaurant all to yourself.  These babies arrived just in time to sate a raging dumpling craving.  Soup dumplings are exactly what they sound like, tasty little bundles of scalding hot broth and pork wrapped in a slightly sweet dough.  Heaven.

As a final farewell to the lower east side, Trish and I ventured slightly northward to the Essex Street Market where we leisurely strolled passed the many arstisonal vendors.  Still bloated from our earlier dumpling adventure, we left empty handed and merely made mental notes for our next visit.

One cannot venture to the lower east side and not make a pilgrimage to the Doughnut Plant.  So on our way back to the hotel from Essex Street, we made a little detour and visited their original location.  And after ordering a half dozen luscious, diabetes-inducing beauties for the walk home, we opted to wash it all down with a "healthy" drink option - fresh watermelon juice! 

Staycation 2013 NYC

With the Pineda family squirreling away every extra penny for Juan and Val's adoption fund, we decided to forgo our usual July Fourth trip to DC's swanky Omni Shoreham.  I'll surely miss luxuriating in the outdoor pool while an attentive staff plies me with frozen libations.  Oh well, if I want a little niece or nephew that I can dress in inappropriate message tees, I'm going to have to make a few sacrifices.

Instead, we decided on a last minute staycation in the city - a decision that left us with very few lodging options.  Sure, there were plenty of $1,000 a night rooms in five star hotels, but blowing a month's rent on one night seemed just a tad unreasonable.  And though I love Juan and Val, I wasn't about to spoon with either one of them in a tiny cot in some nasty fleabag hotel.

Lucky for us, Trish was able to work her internet magic and found a very reasonably-priced boutique hotel in Chinatown with unusually high yelp and tripadvisor ratings.  We decided to spin the hotel roulette wheel and take a chance on the Hotel Mulberry.

Wednesday, July 3

Technically, my apartment in Astoria is less than 10 miles from the hotel.  But I've always been an uptown kinda' guy, having never lived below 42nd Street.  So a long weekend in Chinatown seemed just as foreign to me as a trek to the exotic Orient.

Due to the impending holiday I only had to work a half day at the office.  So after lunch I headed back to my apartment to stuff an old backpack with shorts and t-shirts for the expected 90-plus degree weather.  Juan, Trish and Val drove up from Jersey right after camp and met me in Astoria where we boarded the N train for the 30-minute ride downtown.  After entertaining some elderly tourists from Pittsburgh (on their way to Eataly) with our sparkling wit and clever sex-in-the-city banter, we got off at Canal Street and found ourselves in the midst of a torrential downpour.

Nevertheless, we sucked it up and trudged through the murky brown water now running through the streets and between my open-toed sandals, all the while telling myself, "This is not human waste running up through the sewer, it's just dirt."  The stench, of course, seemed to betray the truth of my mantra.

Damp, sticky and sweating, we eventually found our way to the Hotel Mulberry.  I'm obviously enthralled by our hotel room's dramatic dusk view of downtown Manhattan with the Freedom Tower shining in the distance.  Below, a soccer field afforded us equally breathtaking views of sweaty, shirtless jocks kickin' it during daylight hours.

Inspired by a fellow subway rider, we photographed this colorful mosaic inside the subway stop closest to our hotel.  What a difference a "C" makes. 

For our first night on staycation I made a reservation at Bacaro, a cozy Italian joint on the eastern edge of Chinatown.  It's apparently one of Padma Lakshmi's favorite restaurants in NYC.  With its downstairs seating, exposed stone walls and maze of tunnels and private dining rooms, the restaurant gives off a fun, medieval-dungeon-meets-hipster vibe.  Our semi-private room lit with dripping candles felt straight out of the Crusades, sans the metal shackles - though there did appear to be blood stains on the walls.

After a few bottles of wine and some dozen delicious small plates (Bacaro specializes in tasting plates), we started to loosen up and really dig the dungeon-chic vibe.  We entertained visions of Hugh Jackman a la Jean Valjean belting out "Who Am I" while chained to our wooden slab table.

We decided to skip dessert at Bacaro so that we could fill my lactose intolerant bowels with exotic Asian flavors from the famous Chinatown Ice Cream Factory.  Hmmm, red bean?  Or maybe the almond cookie or taro?  My mouth watering, we approached the shop only to find it...closed!  Wah wah.  We instead hit the dessert shop next door, Mango Mango for some shakes and halo halo-like sundeas.

Thursday, July 4

Instead of sleeping in, the men folk decided to venture forth from the comfort of our climate-controlled room to scavenge up a patriotic breakfast of Asian delicacies. But with NYC experiencing heat and humidity rivaling the Amazon rain forests, Juan and I only made it about a block before turning back.  But not before stopping at Mei Li Wah for roast pork buns and congee and Simply Bakery for a month's worth of baked goods.  Happy Birthday, America!

All decked out in our red, white and blue (notice my use of horizontal striping to accentuate my muffin top), we headed down to South Street Seaport's SmorgasBar, the NYC min-outpost of Brooklyn's sprawling SmorgasBurg, for dinner.  Per usual, we ate until we could barely walk - lobster rolls from Red Hook Lobster Pound, oysters from Brooklyn Oyster Party, grilled cheese sandwiches from Milk Truck and pizza from Pizza Moto.  Oh, and beer.  Lots of beer.

Due to my inebriated state, we were forced to take a cab back to the hotel.  There was no way I was going to make the 20 minute walk back to the hotel.  I could barely stand (notice me leaning heavily on Val in the above picture).

We spent the rest of the evening hydrating and watching A Capital Fourth from our beds.  Dear God, what has happened to Barry Manilow's face?!  And who decided it was a good idea to let the über white Darren Criss sing "Shout" (with an all black gospel chorus backing him up, no less)?!  The show's saving grace?  The always suave Neil Diamond belting out, what else, "Coming to America."  

Staycation continues...