Andy Chase

It Comes Down to This
I saw it coming yesterday, but here it is, my last full day in New York. I finally got around to trying a cup of coffee from the Porto Rico Importing Co., and immediately wished I'd gotten around to it sooner. As good as the coffee was, I thought their storage method was questionable; the whole store is full of sacks of roasted beans, completely open to the air and getting staler by the minute. I was also surprised to see so many flavored (read: cheap and perfumed with fake raspberry/hazelnut/chocolate) beans at a store claiming to offer the finest coffees in the world... but I suppose if a large part of your business is selling large quantities of coffee to other business, you need to offer that stuff. I'd buy a pound of something exotic and unflavored to take home with me if I thought it hadn't been sitting out in the air all week.

I think I recovered the karma I wasted on Monday morning's Starbucks bagel by patronizing Bagels on the Square at 7 Carmine Street. As I sat in Demo Square enjoying my bagel, I watched a dapper, elderly gentleman as he puffed on a huge cigar and fed the pigeons.

False Alarm
The company whose office I've been working at this week was so gracious as to provide me with a set of keys, in case I decided to get an early start. I haven't needed them so far this week, but today I got there about half an hour earlier than their usual starting time. As I opened the door it occurred to me to wonder if there might be an alarm system nobody had remembered to tell me about.

Sure enough, a friendly ADT control panel started beeping at me as soon as I came through the door. Knowing full well it would do me no good, I pushed the 'stop' button, which silenced things for about 30 seconds, at which point the console started beeping again before launching into a full-on alarm.

At this point I realized I didn't have so much as a cell phone number for anyone at the company, much less the alarm code. I called the ADT number on the control panel and told them what had happened for what it was worth, but naturally they couldn't do anything if I didn't have a code.

After about 10 minutes the klaxon turned itself off, but the alarm system was presumably still telling a police station somewhere that I had broken in... but an employee got there within 10 minutes, and thankfully I didn't have to convince any officers of the law that no, I really was a guest of the company.

Otherwise, it was a good end to a productive week.

Caffe Reggio
I had been thinking about checking out the 1849 restaurant, but apparently the weekend starts on Thursday night around here and it was way too crowded and noisy. I kept walking, going further away from Bleecker, looking for someplace that looked like it would be good without being pretentious, or overly expensive, and not full of people trying to out-cool each other, and so it was that I happened upon Caffe Reggio, home of (so they claim) the oldest Espresso in New York.

It's a small, dark place with years of accumulated old stuff covering most of the free wall surfaces. According to the web site, a Caravaggio hangs in the restaurant - my past masters recognition capabilities are not what they were in high school, but I did spot a couple of very old looking paintings on the walls, and assumed they were nice reproductions until I visited their web site.

The food was great for the price, and while I suppose many would complain that portions were small, I was pleased that my plate of pasta pugliese wasn't bigger than my head, nor was it swimming in white sauce.

I had been eyeing the dessert case since entering the restaurant, and I had to try their Italian style cheesecake, made with ricotta cheese instead of cream cheese. It was served with freshly sliced strawberries (not frozen strawberries in syrupy goo), and it was so good I probably could have eaten a second piece. I probably should have eaten a second piece; I doubt I'll have another piece of cheesecake that good for a long, long time.

I don't know of anyway to substantiate their claim of being New York's oldest place for espresso, but the shot I had would certainly have been worthy of the title.

All in all, a great place to spend my last night in the Village - if/when I get back down there, I'll definitely be returning.

Introvert's Lament
After dinner I thought I might head back to the Peculier Pub for a pint of something or other, but it was packed to the gills. I took a futile walk around the block, looking for a pub with room at the bar, and found nothing. I know the saying goes that nobody wants to eat in an empty restaurant, but criminy, I'd like to eat (or drink) in one where I can hear myself think! I really miss MacGregor's in Rochester. Dark, quiet (a nice, mellow blues jukebox that played strictly in the background), and generally not so crowded that you had to shout across the table.

So, I picked up a bottle of Young's Old Nick, which I've been enjoying as I write this. The night is drawing on, however, and I should drag myself up to the loft to get some sleep so I can get up early, pack and have plenty of time to enjoy an espresso and fine pastry at Caffe Reggio before checking out and heading up to Penn station tomorrow.