Day 27

October 30, 2021:

Janthomas was upstairs making dough when I got up. He had gotten his yeast out of the refrigerator and had placed the glass cup in the oven to activate them. While he worked, I got a San Pellegrino lemonade out of the fridge to sip. We went over our plans for the day. I needed to go find international plug adapters, and I still wanted to spend a little time actually exploring the city. Janthomas said that in his experience, all you really need for international charge adapters is for the shape of the plug to change, rather than also converting the power. He said that most charging bricks are designed to meet the higher European standard voltage as well, and that I should check mine. I did, and he’s right. I’m just not sure if my smaller electronics, like my power bank and shaving razor will be able to handle it. Janthomas showed me their power converter and it’s the size of a brick. I wouldn’t want to carry something like that with me. But I was still unsure. I don’t remember quite what it was I bought for my 2016 trip, but know it did the trick. Janthomas said it was best not to buy the cheapest brand anyway, since those are poorly made from cheap materials and can overheat your devices and so forth. My plan was to go to a Best Buy to get the right thing.

Janthomas explained that they’d have an easy day. He and Ella might go for a walk, but would otherwise relax at home and work on dinner. They requested I come home by 5:30 or 6:00 pm for dinner, since Janthomas was making dough for pizza. I agreed, then headed out on foot.

I headed for the Church Ave metro station, getting on the G line to Fulton St. Every time you get off the subway in New York, it’s as if you’ve been teleported into an entirely different world. Each neighborhood is distinct. They each have their own feel, like they’re each their own city. After gathering my bearings, I walked towards the Best Buy, passing a good-looking pizza place on the way called ‘Not Ray’s Pizza.’ There must be some joke there that I’m missing. I’m sure it’s come up on Seinfeld or something. The pizza was good. I liked it, anyway. I think if I’ve made one mistake in New York, it’s been not eating at a different pizza place each day. There’s so much pizza in New York, and while I got a good taste here, I should have gotten much more. I think I could build a whole trip off of pizza exploration in New York.

I walked right past the Best Buy several times. They usually have these gigantic illuminated signs that stick out of the wall and make it abundantly clear where you are. In this case, I just missed the Best Buy banner strung up against the wall on the second story of the mall next to me. I think I can be forgiven for not looking up in this case, given how chaotic New York is on ground level alone. When I did get in, they didn’t have what I needed. Or they used to: I found the empty rod where the international plug should have been. It was way overpriced, coming in at $40, which is pretty crazy. They did have an international USB charger, but that’s not very useful given that most hostels have little USB charging ports alongside beds anyway. I asked their customer support if they had any more in the back. Not only did they not have any, but it turns out that every Best Buy in New York City is out of them, except one store down my Coney Island. She asked if I wanted to reserve it, but that I’d have to buy it in advance. I decided against it. I wanted to ask some questions to make sure it was the right product first, and didn’t want to gamble $40 on the wrong thing.

I went back to the subway, and decided I’d just get the international adapter at the airport. It would certainly be the right thing, even if it were very expensive. It’d also save me a trip back down to Coney Island, further wasting the day. Instead, I took the train to Greenwich village, one of the areas that Mama especially recommended.

I got off at 4th and Washington, walking around the neighborhood on foot. I passed Washington Square park, with its pathways and fountain. There were gay bars, comedy clubs, restaurant patios, and street musicians. I went looking for Mama’s memorable cheesecake, finding an Italian bakery called Pasticceria Rocco in which I bought a slice of classic New York cheesecake as well as a pistachio cannoli. The only other cannoli I’ve ever had was at Novanta in Madison, WI. This one was much better, made with pistachio instead of chocolate chips. The filling had hints of flavor as opposed to straight sweetness, and the dough was crispier. It was a delight! The cheesecake was also good… and filling, but nothing special. I must not have found the right place, because Mama said she was blown away by her Greenwich Village cheesecake experience, and this was just not that. Mama and I have different tastes, but I can’t imagine this being what she was talking about. I also stopped at a bagel place and ordered an open-top everything bagel, toasted, with plain cream cheese and fresh lox. They charged me a lot for the lox. The bagel ended up costing something like $13, which is just.. totally ridiculous. I paid up anyway, hoping the experience would exceed or at least rival the best bagels I’ve ever had – at Izzy’s, in Palo Alto. I ate up while seated on a bench in Christopher Park, saving some space in my stomach for the pizza Janthomas had planned for later. And while they were good, Izzy’s is frankly just so much better.

From Greenwich Village, I took the subway to the Natural History Museum at Central Park. It’s been years since I was last here, and I took another look at the dinosaur skeleton in the lobby of the museum. There was a horse-drawn carriage on Central Park West, and I overheard two people on the steps of the museum wondering where they kept the horses. It was a good question. Are there stables in New York City, or do they transport the horses in each day from elsewhere? Either way, it just sounds so impractical.

I wandered into Central Park in the direction of The Ramble. I didn’t really care which way I went, and soon got lost in the winding paths of the park. I crossed Oak Bridge and watched birds swoop overhead. The stone arch in The Ramble dripped water and the trees overhead shaded it, creating an eerie scene. The walkways loop every which way, a labyrinth that creates the illusion that the park is much larger than it actually is. I kept an eye on the time, knowing I’d have to leave around 4:30 in order to make it back to Brooklyn in time. I walked to Lexington Ave, then took the F train all the way back, no transfers needed. On the subway, I saw a woman that looked exactly like I remember Nell, from western PA. Her husband wore a black mask that had a hospital name on it, and I recall Nell telling me her husband works as the chief medical officer at a hospital. I checked Facebook, wondering if Nell had posted anything about traveling – and she had, to Cape Cod, in Massachusetts. That’s really not too far from New York. I thought for sure she’d recognize me, but when they got off at another stop, I called after the husband, asking if they were from Indiana, PA. “Nope!” I guess not. There was a well-dressed guy standing next to me – holding the same subway pole, and he spoke up. “Worth a try. Sometimes you do actually see people you know.” He introduced himself as Rob, and it turned out his stop was just two before mine, also in Brooklyn. We talked the whole way back.

When I did get back, I messaged the WhatsApp chat that Janthomas and Ella had set up, letting them know that I was home, and that I would enter from downstairs and clean myself up. When I emerged upstairs, I had timed it perfectly. Ella was setting the table, and Janthomas had just finished preparing the pizza, placing it in the oven to quickly bake. It was a small pizza, which was good, because I had overeaten a bit during the day for a big dinner. But as it turned out, it was only the first of many. Every few minutes, Janthomas would get up, get another roll of dough out of the fridge, and prepare the next round. He’d use his hands to spread the dough flat, leaving a small lip around the rim for the crust, spread tomato sauce, and dribble toppings artfully on top. He explained that he cooked the dough on top of his pizza pan on the stove first to cook the dough through, then give it a quick blast in the oven to sear the meats and other toppings, giving it a good crunch. It’s a makeshift approach that works surprisingly well with a conventional oven. The pizzas kept coming, and I found my appetite to match. They were delicious, thin-crust, true New York pizzas. After a while – after maybe six or seven such pizzas – I became incredulous. “Just how many dough balls do you have in there?!” “Enough to feed the neighborhood.” Janthomas strikes me as a serious guy. I wasn’t sure if he was kidding. But the pizza kept coming. I mentioned some of my previous pizza making attempts some years ago, and that I’d found it extremely difficult to get the dough thin enough. He said you have to give the dough time, often multiple days. In his case, the dough had just been resting for the last twelve hours or so. The longer you wait, the easier the dough is to work. It doesn’t rip if you spread it too thin, and it doesn’t immediately contract either. It’s just the right elasticity. He showed me how he did it, then gave me a try spreading the dough. Pizza making truly is an art.

And that was the evening. We talked for a while longer, after we were all finished eating.