United States

Say It Ain’t So


The existence of tomato sauce flavored chips is about as foreign to me as tomato sauce flavored chips. Gross! Apparently lots of things come in tomato sauce, aka ketchup, flavor.

I just found this new delicious restaurant slash craft beer bar not too far from my apartment called Bitter Suite. Beers are awesome, and expensive, and awesome. Yum Sunshine Coast Brewery Porter! Also, the food ain’t too shabby. Pork belly with succulent crackle, mmm whah (like a smack on the tip of your fingers). I just returned from there. Love that the owner recognized me and my love for Porter’s from a few weeks back. Yeah girlfriend.

I fly to New York in less than one week from today. I was hoping my killer tan would impress everyone, I’m not sure if it’s so killer anymore. I was told to not forget my roots when inquiring about how freezing the temperature actually is. Damn’it, its freezing! Back to the beach. Not sure if I can squeeze a last minute sesh in, however would like to point out that the last two occasions I was at the beach, my bathing suit bottoms, known in Aussie slang as togs, were on inside out. Twice! Yes, twice I’ve been lazily tanning and minding my tanning business to have someone point out, “Oh hey dude, you know your bottoms are on inside out!” Uh…twice, really?!?!

There is a rule many folk may be familiar with which states “no shirt, no shoes, no service”. I would like to tell you that that rule does not apparently apply in Australia. No shirt, no problem. Boys don’t wear shirts, a lot. Actually, if they do, it’s probably a singlet, which is what they call a tank top. Which I hear only Californian surfer boys wear, and FYI no one on the US East coast would ever be caught dead in. There is also a tendency to not wear shoes. Like a lot, again. Most often I see this in grocery stores. Service is all of a different standard, so no problem.

I’m back in time a bit, but as the much anticipated Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn Part I was released, I was pleasantly entertained at the Blue Room Cinebar in Rosalie, a cute suburb crawling with eateries of all cuisine and alfresco seating, displaying much cuteness in every direction (apparently I’m not one with words this evening). Anyways, Blue Room, tickets cost an appreciated $11 in advance, they have a swinging bar to socialize in before the show, and you order bevies and food prior to taking your assigned seat in the small 50 person theatre and they feed you as you watch the movie. Another wine? Press the button and it magically appears while I stare into Edward Cullen’s dreamy eyes and imagine running my hands through his bouffant.

In the US there is this fabulous reality TV show called Beauty and the Geek where they pair “beauties” of super hot chicks who aren’t meant to be fairly intellectually challenged with even the basics of life, with a “geek” who has most likely never a kissed a girl and is unaware of pop culture phenomenon’s. Heaven must love TV series creators! They were smart enough to run Season 2 of Beauty and the Geek Australia, thank G, and although it has expired I had intentions of blogging about its addictive nature months ago, as the Geeks got sweet makeovers and all the sudden turned hot. Just saying, download that for some amusing entertainment, hello Gilly!

Spike, the damn lizard who has lots of relatives that sprawl all over Brisbane, is technically a Goanna. Just thought everyone should know.

While working in Hoboken, New Jersey from 2007 to 2011 my local bar was called The Dubliner. It was an Irish pub that served awesome cole slaw till the management changed and annoyingly took the cole slaw off the menu. I would just say to Ben, the bartender, side of slaw and Yeungling please! And could sit there for hours. Things changed over the years, but that was the gist of it.

The “pub” next to my work now is called The Coro. There is no weekly Thursday HH (happy hour) like there was in Hoboken, but on the occasion that we do go there all bottled beers are only $5, even deliciousness like Leffe. The toilets are see-through until you press the lock, then it goes cloudy so people can’t see you doing your business. These are the vast differences of the Dubliner verses the Coro. I still secretly favor the Dubliner in the old days, where you could sit there with a pint of Guinness by yourself and listen to the Fratellis. Luckily a new boutique beer bar called Scratch just opened in the Milton neighborhood that may soon to be the Coro replacement.

I’m going to quote my friend Anthony who said at the Coro “I’m pretty sure Australia created the plastic currency that’s now used around the world, except in America because your money is made from paper.” Have a think about that.

It’s A Small World After All


According to the Australian Bureau of Statistics the population clock for the entire country reads 22,726,327 at this very moment.  The New York Metropolitan area, defined by the U.S. Office of Management and Budget as the New York-Northern New Jersey-Long Island, New York-New Jersey Pennsylvania Metropolitan Statistical Area (MSA), had a population of 18,897,109 as of the 2010 census (roughly 1 in 16 Americans). Put that into perspective. The entire population of Australia is just slightly larger than the entire Metro New York area. So that explains things.

I won a contest the other day. After discovering my odds of winning something are somewhat in my favor in comparison to the competitiveness that I’m used to (roughly 1 in 16 Americans) I gave it a go. Australia did something awesome. It just unveiled a new radio station called Triple J Unearthed. Basically, this station is dedicated purely to playing music from unsigned Australian artists. Awesome. So when I stumbled across a contest to win tickets to the launch party and a free tee and cd of course I thought what the heck. And I won! Here’s what I had to do: just email ABC2, the television station, explaining what my favorite show was and why! Well that’s a no brainer, TwentySomething! Here’s what I wrote:

“Hey ABC2!

My favorite ABC2 show is TwentySomething! What’s not to love! As a TwentySomething new to Brisbane, I find myself in constant misadventures all around this city almost as if I’m reliving my glory days when in fact I work full time and am on the later age of the TwentySomething spectrum. My friends think I’m crazy for living this double-life, but isn’t that what living abroad is all about! My flat mate Sam and I are in a constant battle of who is Jess and who is Josh in the relationship; it’s a hard toss up, especially when I asked in a joking manner when I can start exposing him like Josh during the erotic cleaning episode, and he responded “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that all day!” I
turn to Jess and Josh each week for new ideas, and can’t wait to see what’s up
their sleeve next!

Lisa Vecchio (NYC transplant)”

Thought that was cheesy enough to catch their interest, and apparently it was. I also like it when I go somewhere and someone comments on how darn crowded it is. I do at times mutter to myself, “walk into a bar in the middle of Manhattan on a Saturday and perhaps your perception of ‘crowded’ will change”. However, it’s all relative I guess.

Brisbane TwentySomethings

Halloween is approaching. Well, first Oktoberfest is approaching and I’ve got myself lined up for an all day stein sculling event tomorrow however my costume never made it across the seas. Boo. Alas, should be a fun day and makes me think back on Oktoberfest in Munich in 2006, oh the days. So yea, this would be the 6th year of Lisa and Emily’s Halloween Extravaganza in NYC but I’m in Brissy and Emily is in Buffalo and there is no extravaganza. There is no big Halloween, no trick or treaters, no pumpkin patches to pick pumpkins from, no carving of silhouettes and worst of all, no CANDY CORN! Ahhh. Well, at least I can repurpose the Oktoberfest costume I never got to wear so it won’t be a complete waste.

I rarely watch TV, and when I do its two shows, TwentySomething and Miranda (UK) and they are hilarious. Well, I also secretly download the Vampire Diaries but shhhh. Regardless of what my television amusement preferences may be, I did want to touch upon that at times I notice an exact script of a television commercial shown in the US, to the tee, only with Australian actors. Now, I’m fully aware of need to adapt marketing and advertising materials to a local culture, it’s just very fascinating when you get to witness it firsthand. I’m sure many of you, regardless of your national orientation, may have seen the yogurt commercial where the wife talks about all of the yummy things she ate that day like key lime pie and chocolate mousse etc and the husband is searching through the fridge trying to find all the of the “real” desserts when in actuality she is referring to yogurt. Oh boy, it’s a global phenomenon only with local desserts referenced!

No blog goes complete without a reference to the astronomical cost of living. For example, after a late night bender instead of stopping off at my usual Pie Face for a delicious meat pie that without a doubt regardless of my intentions ends up on my outfit, I chose to venture with my accomplice to New York Slice. Holy Mother, Oh My Gosh. $7. Yes, $7 for a slice of pizza! Now, granted it was 3 am, I still think that it may, and I need to do better research, be $7 around the clock. Yum, but no thanks. Secondly, after accidently going on a spree at Target yesterday, when asked if I would like the items I purchased in a bag I was kindly told that will cost me 10 cents. Now, I understand everyone is trying to encourage the population to be environmentally friendly, which I 100% agree with, I was just a little surprised when Target is the type of bulk buy place that it is. Let me just clarify, Target here is of the standards of a US Kmart, nothing to get excited about and in no way a Tar-jay (spoken in the condescending French way that I don’t know how to use special characters to spell out).

As an east coaster growing up going to “the shore”, and yes it happens to be in New Jersey however please let’s not go there, I kind of like that the same affinity here is referring to the beach as “the coast”. The only difference is clarifying if you mean the Sunny Coast (Sunshine Coast) or Gold Coast. I’m sure there is secret lingo to specify without actually specifying which I’ve yet to discover.

Two other points of observation. If I’m excited, and can’t wait until the time that I’m waiting for to come, or maybe even in other references too, I would refer to the nights until the encounter is to take place in terms of “sleeps”. “Only one more sleep until Oktoberfest!” Additionally, if I were to go somewhere where the weather is cold and snow appropriate I would describe that as “I’m going to the snow” or while in mountains “I’m in the snow.” And people just know, that means your skiing or something. I guess because snow is such a big deal and all.

So yea, in times of needing alertness or motivation to get pumped I turn to my flatmate Sam, and he plays for me the S Club 7 theme song. And everything is alright, S….Club!!

From Melrose Place to Bohemian Rhapsody


Bogan Bingo, 2011

I’d like to tell you about a little game called Bogan Bingo! Whodawhat? From Wikipedia, “The term bogan is Australian slang, usually pejorative or self-deprecating, for an individual who is recognized to be from a lower class background or someone whose limited education, speech, clothing, attitude and behavior exemplifies such a background.” Think of Brittany in her un-glory days.

So, I’ve previously mentioned that Wiley does complimentary Friday night drinks. Yup, there’s a beer fridge! Anyway, the social committee had organized a company called Bogan Bingo to come in and do their thing. It literally was the
highlight of my week leading up to it as I didn’t have much going on, and I
thought what a great way to make friends, while dressing up like an idiot.

Luckily, my fanny pack (sensitive term here) made it in the final cut of my packing! Everyone’s costume was hilarious and it was awesome to be able to have a casual chat with people I hadn’t had the opportunity to meet yet and some of the people in the “school” division. I didn’t win Bingo, or the best dressed, or the air guitar contest, but it was still great fun. In fact, the head of HR hurried over shortly after the event ended to make sure I wasn’t offended by any of the evening’s antics and wanted to assure me it wasn’t always like this. Bummer, but I told her I’ve worked for Wiley for a while and it takes a lot more to offend me.

After all the Wiley sponsored booze was gone I ended up at a bar called the Paddo, in Paddington, you think? with a group of people from work and the boys who ran Bogan Bingo. It was great a night, so great that I’m pretty sure, no surprise there, that I yapped everyone’s ears off and woke up with a killer headache. Unfortunately, that kept me from meeting one of my new friends at Roller Derby Saturday evening. Talk about Memorial Day weekend fun!

But now its Sunday and yay, I have a house! Well, an apartment! Woo hoo. What a relief to finally escape the Cosmo Hotel. I mean, I actually enjoy staying in hotels. There’s a novelty to it and I quite enjoy just feeling free in a place that isn’t mine. But, two weeks in the Cosmo on Park Rd and I was ready to settle in.

So here I sit in my new flat. Samm, one of my new roomies is slaving in the kitchen whipping up some delicious smelling eggplant parm. Apparently he enjoys cooking and I’m more than happy to buy the ingredients and be served. Liam, my other roomie, kindly picked me up from the Cosmo this morning and helped me lug my gigantic suitcases up 4 flights of stairs, took me shopping to pick up some last minute items, and helped me wash my new bed sets. I’m feeling pretty good about all this.

The place has a real colorful feel. I went from Melrose Place to Bohemian Rhapsody…well not exactly. Samm’s artwork hangs around the flat, Asian paper lanterns dangle from the ceiling, plants line the balcony while the kitchen is painted bright blue and tea lit candles are scattered around all sorts of nooks and crannies. Today we were on the balcony and giant beautiful butterfly just fluttered right in – apparently that happens a lot.

Tomorrow I have a 4:30 am rise to catch a flight to Wagga Wagga. I’m sure it has its own tale to tell so I leave it at that.  Is dinner ready yet?

These two eyes are making a move. What they’ll see is still unknown. But before they go…


They’re staring at the brick warehouse where young artists paint murals on the red brick. There is no rave tonight, no low murmur of drum beats coming from the window. They stare at the “unfinished furniture” sign staring back at them. Four years smoking on this front step – having a staring contest, just me and the warehouse.

They run along Sinatra drive hugging the Hudson. Again, what’s with the starring contest Empire State Building? You’ll always be taller. And you can see farther. I’m just running along, taking it all in, trying not to get stepped on.

They walk down Washington Street one last time. Thinking about the places where the food consumed the person more than the person it. Then what about all the others? Always “saving” them for another day, another special something, but it seems it was saved for nothing.

They straddle their green bike and ring that grey bell. No-one moves out-of-the-way but they keep going, up the hills that make up this small town. They stop to read a book on a bench, pet a pup, and listen to the ice-cream man’s music fade out.

They take a walk to the back streets. Yea, the back-back streets where just the locals goes. Or at least they used to before everyone found out about the best damn bar in this town. These two eyes saw them coming, and sure as heck didn’t like what they saw. But they went anyway, said hi to an old friend, took a sip of an accomplice, and didn’t look back.

They’re going places now. They will see things they never imagined they could see. They’re wide eyed from the excitement and shut tight with the fear. They’ll be back shortly though to tell you all about it!

There’s trash in the sky!


There’s trash in the sky! There’s trash in the sky! Only in New York City can you look up, and see trash fly by. The seagulls squeak, but where do they live? No beach in sight, there’s trash in the sky!

Do the seagulls chase the balloon as if it were a boardwalk fry? But clearly they know, it’s just trash in the sky! The planes fly high, up top they go. Is a young boy looking out the window, saying “Mom look! There’s a bag flying by!”?

On the corner of 34th and 9th the garbage can over flows, piles onto the street, seeps into the subway, then up to the sky. How strong is the wind, to make it fly so high? Clearly only in New York, can you watch trash fly by.

Sushi Steal of Tribeca


Sake Bomb

When friends of mine proposed all you can eat & drink Sushi in Tribeca for a mere $30 I was skeptical, this has to be the california roll only kind of deal. So as a group of us hauled into a few cabs and made the short trek from the West Village over to Greenwich Street my mind was racing of the thought of spending my hard-earned pennies potentially planting me in bed all weekend from consuming defective raw fish.

If you’re attempting to visit Ashiya III (also has sister locations in the East Village and Jersey City) on a weekend make reservations. Simple enough – this place gets packed! Walking in we were quickly ushered to a group of small wooden tables pushed together making one long sake-bomb shelf. Listening to the amusing and rambunctious tables around us it was evident that we could wait no longer. At precise timing the waitress delivered to each table setting a clear glass cup, and inside, a ceramic sake cup.

Bang, drop, drink. With careful expertise the gentlemen of the table poured their glass cups halfway with Asahi Beer. Next the sake cups were filled from the small white sake pitchers. Chop sticks were placed side by side and layed on top of the beer cups. Then the sake cup was placed on top of the chop sticks. All are ready and marching orders are in place. At the count of three…bang, drop, drink! Fists pound on the table; sake quickly drops in the beer cup; and the men rush to drink the contents as fast as possible. I see a long night ahead of us.

What’s most impressive about this place is the two-sided menu. At first glance, the one side has your traditional sashimi and basic sushi roll offerings – spicy crunchy tuna, california roll, philadelphia roll. This met my expectations and therefore I was ready to order my usual “I’m on a budget” fare but before I could complete my order the waitress quickly pointed out that there’s more. There’s more? (subtle eye brow lift).

Heck yes there’s more! There’s maki rolls made from real crab meat and speciality rolls – each unique enough to make you scratch your head and ask yourself, but which one do I choose? Choose all! It’s all you can eat, duh! A few table favorites included the Lover Roll (salmon, crab stick, and avocado with spicy crunchy tuna on top) or the Dinosaur Roll (cucumber, avocado, and tempura flake with broiled white tuna and masago on top).

When your 2 hours are up it’s time to get out and the staff aren’t afraid to say so. We started to notice before our next pitcher of beer was ordered and the few pieces of sushi were soon scarfed down a check magically appeared on our table. The extra $10 per person thrown on for tax and gratuity make the $30 all-inclusive more like a $40 all-inclusive but hey, it still ain’t a bad deal baby and the sushi was damn good.

Ashiya Sushi I
680 Rt 440
Jersey City, NJ 07304

Ashiya Sushi II
167 1st Ave
New York, New York 10003
212-505-3348

Ashiya Sushi III
374 Greenwich St
New York, New York 10013
212-962-8080

Could this be beer heaven?


4:20 at Pony Bar
The menu at Pony Bar – changes daily!
We crawl through Hells Kitchen and down restaurant row. Although its cold outside, it’s not cold enough for us to see our breath. The glow of Christmas lights outside the boutique restaurants gives a sense of comfort, despite the holiday having gone. Onward, march.

Approaching 10th avenue there isn’t too much around except a vast Hess Station on the corner of 45th street. Taking up nearly a whole block, this immeasurable vicinity sticks out as awkwardly as your grandmother at a gay cabaret. But there is another defining characteristic to this street corner, The Pony Bar.

Stouts, hefeweizen, IPA…hops upon hops upon hops! Glorious days, I think to myself, this has to be the best place on earth. What makes this place so unique is that it serves only craft brews from across the US. That means you may try a Belgian ale or a delicious German wheat but its going to be grown domestically.

I feel like I’m on Family Feud when I scan the large board taking up the back wall behind the bar. Each listing depicts the brewery, beer, and alcohol content (ABV). No need to mention price because they’re all only $5. Try and find another steel like that in Manhattan. I dare ya.

I’m intrigued by the breweries and curious to learn more. Where is Goose Island and what’s their speciality? How about Sly Fox? I’m seeing a theme here that many brewers choose names from animals, uhum, Dog Fish Head.

I take notice of the clock on the wall. It’s permanently stalled at 4:20. I find it no coincidence then that their happy hour which earns patrons $1 off all drafts runs from 4:20-5:20 daily. I approach the bartender and ask for one of their large score sheets. This allows me to keep track of each beer I drink and give it a rating. Once I hit 100 I get a free t-shirt. Clearly obtaining this goal is my latest priority.

I now spend my days daydreaming about the next time I will be able to stop in the Pony Bar, grab a seat at one of their large picnic tables, and dabble with the thought of which beer will catch my fancy. For starters, I cannot get that Cappuccino Stout out of my mind!

http://www.theponybar.com

When influenced by a review


A horn honks in front of Baltimore Penn Station. There are still piles of ice stuffed in corners and medians covered with snow scattered throughout the car port. I look up sharply, a bit annoyed that in a matter of 2 minutes I was asked to bum 3 cigarettes. My friends have arrived.

I’m amused by Baltimore. It’s a city I loved hating when I lived here and now every time I come back I’m hating that I hated it so much. It’s got a lot to offer, and I’m almost certain if I found myself living here again it would a whole new ball game. But regardless, I’m in the car listening to pop music with two girlfriends from college. Should she spend $1000 on a new rug for the dining room or use the money for a shelving unit? The other votes rug. Her Saturday is already spent, what a nightmare, having to get up at 8 am to pick up a new dinner table 30 minutes away! For some reason I’m having a hard time grasping this. This is stress of your daily life? You lose sleep over carpets and shelves? If I had a $1,000 well I’d, I’d…

The conversation quickly turns to dinner. At this point I doubt I’ll ever understand the necessity to spend vast amounts of money on home furnishing. Do we try something new? Go to the same old-same old’s in Canton Square? Sushi, again? I’m up for something new but would be perfectly content in a funky little bistro tucked away in a quiet ally. Votes in. New place it is. Funky bistro out.

We do a drive by. From the outside it looks no different then any other restaurant in a shopping center. Could almost pass as a chain, like a Fridays or Outback. The reviews from friends were minimal. Appetizers good. $3-10. Really? Who gives feedback solely on apps? I’m a bit more interested in the ambience and entrée selection. Any good beers on tap?

Lambermains. Longhorns. We’re back in the cute, polished row home in Canton Square and now for the life of us cannot remember the name of the new restaurant. Does this place even have a website? Not to our knowledge. After several minutes of scuffering around the internet (it really shouldn’t be THIS hard) we come across one review. Thank you! But it’s not sounding so hot. There are complaints that although this place (true identity Langermann’s) is Southern inspired, the menu selection in actuality is not. From overpriced burgers to wings doused in a sweet bbq sauce (apparently this reviewer was so disgusted she had to wipe of each wing on her napkin – no way).

We ignore the reviews and don’t tell the other girls. Let’s see if this place can prove their sole reviewer wrong! The dining room is big and open. The bar spacious to allow for large groups to have drinks while waiting for their tables. We were tucked away against the kitchen. Part freezing draft drifting our way from the cold outside, brushing past the hostess stand and directly into our laps. The other part wafting the smells of savory meals, southern spices, and the rickets of pots and pans.

For starters, our waitress was clueless with a capital C. The beer selection was varied but there were a few local or imported brews that I wasn’t familiar with. Either was she. A personal pet peeve, and one would understand, was that the drink list didn’t differentiate between bottle and draft, and neither did she. Entrée’s ran for around $20 and I had my eye on the seared tuna. Other’s included shrimp and grits, crab cakes (we are in Baltimore), and sea bass. Unfortunately, the girls went all “diet” on me and most of us ended up with entrée salads.

Was I full at the end of my Beef Tenderloin Salad (sub goat cheese!)? Yes. Was I completely satisfied? No. I had to send my meat back – something I rarely do. When I say “whatever the chef recommends”, I’m assuming that his dear heart truly does not recommend completely raw meat for an offering that’s typically medium, medium-rare.

Was I swayed by the poor reviews? Would I have been as judgmental about the poor (I would go as far as saying completely inexperienced) service, a bathroom so cold I should have just gone outside, a dining room too open for the vast space – if I had not read a bad review before coming? Probably my friend. Probably.

http://www.langermanns.com/

New Years Eve in midtown Manhattan?


Tomorrow is New Years Eve. Year 3 in New York City. Makes me question myself and my whereabouts every time I contemplate how long I’ve been here.

Year 1: House party in Murray Hill. Ice luge, check. Penthouse, check. A bunch of people I know, check. A bunch a people I don’t want to know, check. Midnight tolls. I’m confused. I don’t like it much and wonder, although surrounded by those I love, kinda like, and want to hate, and do hate – is this forthcoming of a new year worth my efforts?

Year 2: Same penthouse. No ice luge. Same group of people I love. New group of people I hate. Still wonder why I’m here. Not satisfied with my only, or at least only semi-viable option being a replay of last year, only worse. I end up at a diner five minutes past the stroke of midnight. It’s empty. Service is slow. What can you expect? I’d hate me too if I had to serve burnt grilled cheese on New Years Eve in Midtown.

Year 3: I’m opting for something different. Can I truly leave New York without doing an all-inclusive open bar in midtown for too much of my hard earned money? I mean, I only drink beer so $135 open bar for a bunch of, well at least I hope something a bit tastier than Coors Lite drafts, but lets be serious folks, shitty drinks while wearing a fru fui outfit, mask, and a bitter cold on the
roof top – apparently a view of the fireworks, to freeze my ass of and shiver like there’s no tomorrow – is worth it.

I envision walking in, seeing a dark-haired and blue-eyed man give me “the look”. I’m still not even sure if I know what that means. They hand me my free bottle of champagne. A big guy, a magnum of the good stuff. Not the shitty mini bar type that is most likely what I’m going to get. So yea, I’ve got my sexy sequined skirt on. I even went the ten-fold to curly my hair. Still deciding if I’m in the mood to manipulate my toes in a “I’m ready to walk on the side-walk in my stockings” kind of heels, or just opt for the sneakers kind of mood, but we’ll see.

The forecast calls for snow, rain, and sleet. 28 degrees farenheit. Awesome.

Least to say, I have to do it once. Pay a shitload of money to stand in line. Hide out next to the entrance where the waiters exit to serve the handful of h’ourderves not sufficient enough to satisfy an over-filled bar. Drink my moneys worth of beer; not in the least that I could have gotten for $15 at my local, where I’m pretty sure the clientel will be a bit more my speed and can have a conversation other than Brittany or Tiger’s latest shananagins.

So wish me luck folks! I’m off to celebrate New Years Eve in Midtown! Oh boy!

Frozen Monkey makes me feel alive


I initially started this post on a torn piece of paper from the back of the current book I’m reading, a collection of travel stories from the year 2002. My moto today is anything is possible if you make it happen.

I get great satisfaction eating at the Frozen Monkey cafe in Hoboken. The service is terrible, and no, that is not a typo above that I take great satisfaction in eating here. There tend to be long waits for simple a menu to be dropped on your table, your order of eggs takes as long as making mashed potatoes from scratch, yet lately it has been friendly and not as daunting as I recall from the past.

Maybe this is because I eat often by myself and don’t notice these subtle nuances anymore. I like it here because its one of the few places in Hoboken with character. That’s not to say the various bars and restaurants plastered all around this small city don’t  hold true to the northern New Jersey joints most would picture in their minds; they do exist. But this place represents the character that shouldn’t exist and isn’t expected to.

Local, contemporary art hangs on the walls – changed every few months to support the local artists. Bright, vibrant shadows drape the walls in lime green, blood-red orange tables and chairs fill the room, and a coffee counter sits in the corner as retro as a 70’s polyester suit. I come here, despite the service, because the food is flat-out good, healthy, and cheap.

I make eye contact with a cute boy with shaggy hair and blue eyes sipping coffee at the table across from mine. They play music that I would listen to in my own apartment or at least would be interested enough to want to. I ignore the screeching laughs of the university girls who come in to gossip and the nannies who wipe spit from the spoiled children’s mouths while their parents are off working at investment banks in Manhattan.

It’s Sunday and I’m bored. It’s sunny but cold. The snow is shoveled against the curbs, occasionally missing someones head as it falls from the apartment window sills above on Washington street. Today is my day in Hoboken and I feel alive.