Adventures of the Oblivious Manhattanite: Attack of the Cheese Grits
Previously on the Oblivious Manhattanite
Part Five: Loft Hunting with Kitty Jihad and the Attack of the Cheese Grits From Cubby’s
As Kitty Jihad rounded the corner in her crossover vehicle to pick me up in Lower Manhattan I realized just how cold it really was. As I gripped the handle of the car door I felt the frost melt into my glove. I squeezed it tight and gave it a tug.
“You look great!” I said, greeting Kitty with a kiss on the cheek. “How are ya?”
Before I knew it we were halfway across the Other Borough Bridge. With Kitty's foot on the pedal, my ear was pressed to my iPhone, dialing complete strangers that supposedly had lofts to share in St. Gumbo and securing viewing times. Thanks to the features on my nifty device, I was simultaneously able to secure a list of cafes where we might sit down to a hot breakfast.
Collectively, we had probably been to St. Gumbo perhaps four times, yet we acted like neighborhood pros. We decided to check out Cubby’s Cake Factory, a bastion of comfort food that originated in Tribeca – thus I knew their menu by heart.
Go with what you know when in new lands, I thought. I had already dined there a week before with Sherpa F after our rousing St. Gumbo building protest. We had a charming meal in the corner of a large dining room directly under the Big City Bridge. It was picturesque – we had a basket of hot flaky biscuits with raspberry jam and delectable butter. For the Other Borough, it was sublime.
Kitty and I parked near the Beast River, which showed no mercy as the frigid gusts of wind kicking around above it soon violently thrust poor Kitty down Warehouse Row and eventually into Cubby’s foyer.
As we tumbled into Cubby’s – on Vain St. in St Gumbo – we were immediately confronted with a bevy of strollers. Kitty groaned. Having just risked her life by treacherously slip-sliding in heels over two blocks of ice covered cobble stones she was now faced with maneuvering, as if a stealth ninja, through a sea of overpriced and over-sized newborn carts. I quickly suggested we sit at the bar instead and order food.
An art boy-cum-bartender who resembled the protagonist from the film Dazed and Confused sauntered over and produced two menus. I glanced at its pages while trying to decide whether he drank from the Other Borough's free flowing fountain of youth or if he was distantly related to Benjamin Button. Can he really serve alcohol? I wondered.
I immediately ordered a cup of joe. It did not take long for me to add two eggs over-easy with rye toast and potatoes. Kitty, somehow perplexed by eating an entire breakfast, ordered a large steaming bowl of cheese grits with biscuits. We sighed happily after placing our order and began discussing the task at hand: loft hunting.
“I see you here,” said Kitty. “It’s you – it’s a real neighborhood, and it's convenient to your job and it's cool.”
She was right.
“I should talk to my husband about looking for a place here,” she continued.
“We could be neighbors!” I replied.
I was soon lost in a daydream about hosting a groovy rooftop wine party and inviting Kitty and her husband and all my Other Borough friends, dancing on a hot summer night to a British DJ spinning some random flash-in-the-pan retro soul music.
I was smiling happily when all of a sudden Dazed and Confused dumped a heavy bowl of piping hot cheese grits and a basket of biscuits down on the bar in front of Kitty.
“Ummm that looks good – but its a lot!" she protested.
My plate arrived soon after and by then Kitty’s nuclear reactor sized bowl of cheese grits had cooled down to a safe temperature. We ate, chatting all the while about the surrounding art galleries with Dazed, who turned out to be very nice and funny. Feeling warm and fuzzy after a good meal, we paid and exited. Having expertly serpentined the strollers, we were now faced with the elements.
It was but a short walk to our first stop at 135 Warehouse Row. On the other side of Nay Street towards Cider Hill, we came upon the building and I realized I had been here before – I had attended an art party right here just a few short years ago!
But soon an unlikely fear rushed though me as I pushed the buzzer and peered through the glass door. I could see what seemed like an iron death cage elevator. We were granted entry and I was right, there it was. I immediately put the kabosh on the place. Still, I wanted to see the room, which looked so good on the internet.
As we started up the stairs we realized it was a long ascent. Two flights up we went – no fucking way, I thought again. Suddenly it dawned on me why this place was so familiar. I glanced down at my hand holding the railing along the stairwell.
I was clutching the railing for dear life as I realized what had happened here before. I turned to Kitty.
“Alopecia! Oh God! Oh no! This is the alopecia building!” I yelled, confident of my horror.
Just then the hallway door swung open, and our roommate-for-hire stood before us.
Next: I Need A Paper Bag to Breathe Into Because I Cannot See Manhattan from Shrublick
(Photo by Brandon King via Flickr)
