Glenn's Diner

I’ll admit that I’m a fan of the Food Network show Diner’s, Drive-ins and Dives hosted by the glue haired, one step away from beach bum Guy Fieri. When he’s not wasting his time hosting game shows or sponsoring hackneyed versions of American meals at Friday’s with his name on the menu, he takes care to drive his drop top classic convertibles to restaurants across the country to find intense local dedication. I took up Fieri’s recommendation and my friend Mike’s of Glenn’s Diner on Montrose in the north side Ravenswood neighborhood of Chicago.

A practical hop off of the CTA Brown Line at you’ll find the wide brown awning of Glenn’s Diner. Inside, 30 name brand cereal boxes are artfully placed in wooden cubby holes at the back, indicating how unique their breakfast-all-day option is. That evening Mike, Ally and I were there for dinner entrees, more specifically the market fresh fish that is shipped in six days a week, with some of the 16 catches on the menu from outside the lower 48 states. Both the east and west walls of Glenn’s are dominated by a blackboard with all the seafood options, a few scratch cooked menu items (Reuben, spaghetti and meatballs). 

A local himself over in Lincoln Square, Mike was given instant recognition by our plucky waitress, giving Glenn’s a sense of community in a packed city. Though she could have made herself more present, Mike give her kudos for corking the remainder of the 22oz Stella he took to go, bag included. 

Mike’s tastes were simple that night – spaghetti with red sauce and no meatballs. Ally and I scanned the meticulous details of the menu, settling on the Sea Wing Crab Cakes for me and the Yellow Lake Perch for her. Price was a factor, each plate being twenty plus dollars, which we knew had to do with the high grade 3-5 quality of the fresh fish. Ally couldn’t help, nor would I, to mention the bones she picked out of the small portion of her perch. My two jumbo lump cakes were jammed with creamy crab, topped off with a nice pan sear with clarified butter and a side of what I could only guess was tartar sauce and mayo or aioli blend. The slaw was nothing to write home about. The kernels of buttered corn with Cajun spices reminded me of the same recipe, in flavor as well, of a dish I make for Bears football get-togethers with my softball crew and their wives - mine's better! Ally and I hated to admit our stomachs weren’t satisfied, nibbling on some goat cheese, crackers and raisins when we got home. 

I’m glad I tested out Glenn’s, thanks to the exposure from triple D. I cannot fully expect to judge Glenn’s unless I’ve grabbed their high diner quality breakfast items as well. I guess my gripe, aside from Ally’s unpleasant fish, was that the price didn’t satisfy the quality at Glenn’s, though I get the vibe several returns visits for more culinary experimentation wouldn’t be out of the question. 

New York: A Touch of Culture

New York has many embodiments of identity. The New Yorker would call the five boroughs the center of culture and disregard everything west of the Hudson River as a wasteland. The bubble life of small town folk might sneer suspiciously at Manhattan for to them it holds the opposite of their core values. The foreigner conjures images of the green lady that is Statue of Liberty and the dazzling lights of theater central – Broadway. As a Chicago-land resident for most of my life I hold New York against the light of Chicago, perhaps aware that we got the Windy City nickname from a New York World reporter in the Gilded Age (early 1890’s) that referred to our backwards and corrupt Middle-America city. I’d say we make mobsters, food, sports icons, and corruption famous not because they all hold virtuous qualities (murder and theft not being two of them). New York holds these similar icons, foibles and tragedies as well as Chicago, Los Angeles, San Francisco or Atlanta does – New York City just seems to move on with a chip on its shoulder.

City planners, elected officials, art patrons and patriotic residents of Chicago and New York underwent a revolution of revitalization since the early 1990’s. The image of the decayed, dying and violent city that unfolded in the large inner cities of America from the 1950’s to the 1980’s had many causes, not the least of them the White Flight to the suburbs and classic American industries turning into rusted factories and urban dystopias – a downside of globalization. Though many of those troubled areas of Chicago’s South and West sides and New York’s Bronx and Brooklyn neighborhoods still exist, those forward thinkers knew to save their beloved cities inside and out and have them be a beacon as much as the Statue of Liberty and the Water Tower were they would have to invest. Neighborhoods were transformed, with some controversial moves, such as with the brutality towards homeless and unemployed in the late 80’s within Manhattan’s East Village. Public art, commerce, mass transit and clean-up efforts were robustly funded, earning bright marks with honorable images in T.V and film and ever increasing tourist industries. 

I came to New York to be awe struck by the modern culture of the inner city, creative food destinations and share the experience of a lifetime with my new fiancé. I’ve highlighted specific cultural journeys I took in Manhattan that perhaps you would like to one day see for yourself.

Broadway (2 shows)

“THEY SAY THE NEON LIGHTS ARE BRIGHT ON BROADWAY
THEY SAY THERE'S ALWAYS MAGIC IN THE AIR”

            George Benson knew a thing or two about his Broadway of old. To visit Broadway you are likely to encounter the ADD liquid crystal, ads-a-plenty, tourist trap that is Times Square. Don’t get me wrong, the phenomenon that American’s watch every New Years Eve feels vivid and overwhelming once you step inside the crowded public square, just south of midtown. One could spend hours staring at the ads, get sucked into a chain store nightmare of the multiple stories of a Disney store or Forever 21. The night turned day by the artificial light of man reminds me of Las Vegas, and Vegas’ strip of Times Square.  I am not sure if New York purists wish that the nudie parlors and dangerous street corners of pre-1995 Times Square would return to spite the odd salute to capitalism.

Peter and the Starcatcher at the Brooks Atkinson Theater on West 47^th

Adapted from the Dave Barry/Ridley Pearson trilogy about Peter Pan and the cast of characters before the events of J.M Barrie’s initial Pan story, this five time Tony award winning production brought children into two hours of wonder and adults back into their adolescence, reminding them now and then to laugh with their awareness of maturity. The adaptation is clever in their Minimalist staging, using ropes to simulate waves and dynamic character actors, some of which play up to seven parts, large and small. All we needed was period costumes, the occasional and laugh till you cry over-the-top performance of Matthew Saldivar as Black Stache (Captain Hook) and supporting cast and you have money well spent. Despite some slow beats in the second act and a so-so performance by my standards for Adam Chanler-Beret as Boy (Peter Pan), Celia Kenan-Bolger’s Molly reminds us that she deserved a Tony. My Ally was upset (perhaps still to this day) that we just missed Christian Borle (Broadway actor and co-star on NBC’s SMASH) as Black Stache.

RENT

Consider the art forms that so influence their field that they change the direction of theater, music, art and film forever. RENT by Jonathan Larson brought youthful exuberance back to theater in 1996 with sympathetic characters, social issues such as AIDS, and a soundtrack that fed off of the alternative rock music craze that I still hold affection for in that decade. Having lived at Broadway’s Nederlander Theater from 1996 to 2008, making RENT the 9^th longest running show in history, it faded away from Broadway for two years to open up productions of any college, small theater or high school who wished to run the show. Re-opening at Off-Broadway at the New World Stages in 2010, I was excited to see RENT in small, intimate theater, much like it would have been in 1995/96 before it became a cultural phenomenon. I enjoyed RENT so much more the second time around, having discussed the characters, the short life of tortured artist/waiter Jonathan Larson and tripped over solo renditions of Seasons of Love and La Vie Boheme in my car. I could have done without a few of the hipster touches to the show and the need I say bad acting but good singing of the Roger. RENT has energy, off the wall humor (especially with this rendition of Over the Moon by the Maureen understudy) and enough heart to remind the audience how important compassion, expression and community can be if we put down the financial ledger for two seconds.

Rockefeller Center

Ally could sense the tickling anticipation I held, ever the Humanities professor, as we walked from our hotel west on 50^th to the brilliant civic project that is Rockefeller Center. Home to NBC studios where the Today Show and SNL are filmed, the center bears the name of the oil rich history and unbridled wealth of the Rockefeller family. Given the task of managing the adjusted for inflation 256 billion dollars made by his miserly, Mr. Burns-like father, John D. Rockefeller Jr, his wife Abby and son Nelson, decided to use a small portion of their wealth in a series of skyscrapers adorned with Art Deco. This was all in place of the original idea of a simple opera house, which eventually became Radio City Music Hall.

Ally and I took a one-hour art tour of the complex, gathering enough interesting material by my estimation to teach an entire lesson. Next time in New York we will take the NBC studio tour. We had our Community, Office and other NBC legendary shows fulfilled with a trip to the studio store, across the way from the glass windows of The Today Show.  

Go up 87 stories to the Top of the Rock (30 Rockefeller Center) and some of the greatest views of Manhattan are within the palm of your hand. If Ally hadn’t reminded me that we had other things to see to, including our tummies that ached for Bouchon Bakery pastries, I would have stared at the architecture of Manhattan all day from that great height below a cloudless sky on that early Saturday afternoon.

Birdland

Named for the famous Bebop Jazz virtuoso Charlie Parker, Birdland closed down and then moved from the original location on West 52^nd Street to the current location in the Theater District. Once a famous hangout for Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Frank Sinatra and Marilyn Monroe, our last night in New York was spent at Birdland for what was referred to as the ‘Gold Standard of open mic nights.’ Jim Caruso’s Cast Party has been running on Monday evenings for nine years at Birdland, allowing Broadway stars and incredible amateur vocal and musical talent of all ages (we saw a 15 year old Jazz singer and a 17 year old violinist) to perform with a three-piece jazz backup for a packed house. Ally delighted in seeing stars from one of her favorite shows Jersey Boys perform on stage and playfully heckle the hilarious and loose MC Jim Caruso. Though a night at Birdland can be expensive, and the food and drinks in my experience were decent at best, those performances are worth the price at the door.

Ellis Island

Though Ally and I stepped off on Liberty Island to get a look at the lovely copper lady, I could not report much for the majority of the 125 year old structure is under maintenance. She’s an old broad after all. The real treat was Ellis Island for I knew my history resided within those walls that saw millions of immigrants come through its doors from 1892 to 1927. 

Past the gymnasium-like rooms of the entry centers you will find the Family Information room. Here you pay a flat $6 fee to search through registries with help from Ellis Island historians for your ancestors. With an honest tear in my eye I found my Great-Grandfather Stephano’s (I’m named after him) original entry information from 1910 and when he came back in 1920. Letting them take my credit card for a ride with $50 dollars in fees to acquire personal copies of the registry to bring home, I printed out a copy of Stephano’s 1910 manifest as well as the 1921 manifest of my Aunt Anita and Great-Grandma Assuta when they came over in 1921 from Italy. There is a price to pay to know where we come from.  However I am assured that what we do with that information can remind us of the American Dream we make for ourselves much like my ancestors did when they saw the fading copper of the Statue of Liberty and were allowed to pursue their own happiness when they were stamped for entry into the United States. 

New York, New York: Stories of food and engagement

Central Park was the key to my plan for months. Ally and I would unite our travel ambitions earlier this year for that dizzying concrete jungle of New York City with fire in our guts for theater, top notch food, architecture and the best of all – a life lived together through experiences that materialize in a life’s worth of good stories.  In a blue velvet box, the inscription of Leo Diamond sewn into the top was a ring that would change our lives. Stowed away careful enough to not be frisked by the TSA nor be noticed by the eager to touch down on Manhattan soil in Ally, the engagement ring was transferred to my pocket in the room by sleight of hand – the best magicians trick of my life. 

New York City is overwhelming for first time visitors. Taxi horns and the hum of millions of souls echo through the canyons of skyscrapers, putting my beloved Chicago to shame by the first day of my vacation. Hand-in-hand, on occasion separating to snap a shot of the genius civic plan of Frederick Law Olmstead that is Central Park, Ally and I walked down the mall with ice cream in our hands. That is when I realized finding a private spot in a public place, swarming with people on a hot and humid day to being the Labor Day weekend wasn’t easy. Was I going to have chocolate on my face when I asked? What would be the ideal spot in that massive green escape? After walking over the Bow Bridge, a secluded wooded area with a steep rock hill spoke to me. Convincing Ally to risk life and limb to scale the rock face, we found ourselves thirty feet above the floor of the park and the nearby The Lake where the waters were graced with dozens of couple paddling along in rowboats under a hot, late summer sun. 

“Take off your glasses, Ally. I have something to ask you.”

Words that united our soul force that I cannot remember (most men don’t so it seems) forced me down on one knee to present that blue velvet box from my pocket. A ring shaped like a slight curve of the stars spiral galaxy in diamond form was before her. 

“Will you marry me?”

And did she say yes? I sum this all up in my facebook status that blew up my account with likes and comments those following days. 

“I don't always propose in Central Park but when I do... Ally says ‘yes!!!’”

This edition of my blog has to be a summary based one for how could I write about New York without highlighting the food. In another blog post to come later this week, I will write separately about certain cultural elements of the Big Apple that cannot be missed and a time at Ellis Island that had me re-engage with my ancestors. But onto the goods…food with pictures to make you jealous below!

Grays Papaya – A hot dog institution in the West Side of Manhattan, I would call this corner operation on 72^nd street “A meal on the cheap.” Their dogs run about $1.50 and come with New York style sauerkraut. A little spicy brown mustard on top will do the trick on that tasty dog. The papaya drink left a chalky residue in my mouth – perhaps not thing to have after walking two miles.  Chicago style dogs are better – sorry New York but so is our pizza.

Bouchon Bakery at Rockefeller Center – Chef Thomas Keller has built a higher echelon of culinary excellence across America. Ally and I indulged in a top three meal of our life in Bouchon at the Venetian in Las Vegas. The bakery has goodies of simple decadence in open glass cases alongside small bites of quiche and croissants for breakfast and hunger suppressing deli sandwiches on baguettes. Ally tore into a peanut butter cookie with Bouchon peanut butter spread into the inside like a certain blue flurry Sesame Street character. I flipped for a strawberry macaroon with fresh jam inside as well as rekindled my childhood love for Hostess Ho-Ho’s with Bouchon version called a Bouchon Oh-Oh. A few days after our first visit, we stopped back in for two breakfast croissants with ham and cheese and a piece of buttery, flakey almond brioche. 

Five Napkin Burger – On a recommendation from my sister-in-law Heather on her visits to the Big Apple, Ally and I crossed over to the Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood and sat down at the Five Napkin location on the corner of 45^th and 9^th. Just try and look at their featured burgers on their site and not create a pile of drool in envy. After a struggle of lamb kofta or the original, I went with the first creation and wasn’t disappointed one bit. My request of medium couldn’t have been cooked more perfectly – I mean, to the second accuracy with pink and bits of red meat inside with a juiciness rarely experienced. The 10oz ground chuck patty was made complete with rosemary aioli, caramelized onions, gruyere cheese on a soft white roll. Ally still dreams of her avocado ranch burger. The fries were good enough to compete with any other pomme frittes expert. 

The National – Located on the ground floor of our hotel, The Benjamin, this creation of Iron Chef Geoffrey Zakarian services brunch, lunch and dinner with a fairly set menu. The white trimmed walls and chestnut floors and table décor is a hybrid of European cafes and classic upper middle to upper class American dining rooms. Though I wasn’t impressed by their dinner (the spicy chicken soup was inventive enough), their brunch was the treat. Ally ordered an excellent beef hash that tasted and more closely resembled Cantonese stir fry. I devoured the carb explosion that was pancakes with blueberry compote, Vermont maple syrup and candied hazelnuts with vanilla butter patties.  The tea, a mere cloth bag of box tea, floating in scalding water, was overpriced and underprepared. 

Katz’s Deli – Since 1888, Katz’s deli on the lower east side of Manhattan has been serving locals, tourists, immigrants from Europe to Asia with staple deli creations that will annihilate any competition. Once inside, you are handed a ticket to register your food behind the counter. Don’t lose this otherwise you have to pay a $50 dollar fine and all in cash. If the capacity of Katz’s dining room, also made famous by the orgasm scene in When Harry, Met Sally, is 389 people, there had to be 388 in that madhouse. At long service counter, five people deep all the way down, you order your sandwich fast in this establishment that is the embodiment of impatient, chip on their shoulder New Yorkers. The genuine charm continues (no sarcasm here) as we crammed into communal style seating with total strangers. The thick cut slices (like with corned beef and cabbage) of the famous one pound pastrami sandwich are out of this world good thanks to the pepper bark that holds in all that smoke flavor. The spicy brown mustard (different at each deli in some way) is a must on the sandwich. Katz’s steak style fries shouldn’t be anything special but they are. Whatever they fry them in is amplified by the kosher salt that is sprinkled on top. 

Les Halles – The French brasserie on Park Avenue in the Flatiron District has a reputation of excellence because of how famous their former executive chef, writer and Travel Channel star Anthony Bourdain, has become. Ally and I spent three hours at a window-side table next to the bar enjoying a meal that rivaled Keller’s Bouchon as one of the best of our life. The Les Halles cocktails of St Germain, soda water and champagne were consumed by the two of us four times over. The crown jewel of the visit was a medium cooked prime rib that was sliced off of the bone at a tableside wooden cutting board. A hearty side of fries that were robust and crunchy on the outside, creamy on the inside completed the plate. That steak – oh, that steak – rich with flavor, was only to be taken to the next level by a side of béarnaise sauce and small salad to cleanse the palate. We ended with meal with tiny cream puffs stuffed with ice cream, covered in dark chocolate sauce and another round of drinks. At that moment, the bill already high, I figured a glass of Lagavullin, a 16yr Islay single malt scotch was the appropriate way to round out the night. 

Sprinkles Cupcakes – Known at the cupcake store that revolutionized an industry, Sprinkles has cupcakes that in my estimation beats out the already excellent cross-town competitor Magnolia Bakery.  The champion of my sweet tooth was the smore cupcake, burned marshmallow on top, chocolate cake in the center and a rounded bottom of graham cracker. A bite from Ally’s strawberry cupcake was enough for me to admit, even against the truth of her bakery skills at home, that Sprinkles is at the top of the medal stand for cupcake stores in America. 

Carnegie Deli – Our last meal in New York before we taxied over to LaGuardia was at sometimes called the 7^th Avenue deli, better known as Carnegie Deli, in operation since 1937.  With locals and tourists filling that tuna can sized dining room, Carnegie churns out sandwiches at almost all hours of the day, open way into the early morning. We bet against the size of our stomachs by ordering the Woody Allen, made thinly sliced pastrami and corned beef Tower of Babel on rye. Within minutes we gave up trying to eat it like a normal sandwich and began using our hands to devour the sandwich with squirts of spicy brown mustard. The pickles, rye bread and meat were superior at Katz’s.  Let us be honest though - Carnegie is still one of the best deli’s you will walk away from feeling like you entered into a blissful meat coma.