(Photo source: that’s just it)
In the telling words of my friend Charles, I did terrible things to my body tonight. Kind of like this weekend when I did, in fact, do terrible things. I didn’t break the law. No, no. I didn’t even do anything to embarrass my future offspring (or the Internet, clearly). But my nutritionist would be horribly disappointed. If I had one of those.
It was 9:30pm, I was starving and grumpy, and feeling somewhat stranded in the food wasteland of Lincoln Center. New York City is an endless pit of overpriced beverages (six dollars for a diet coke!) and places to eat. But no, not near Lincoln Center. You can see the symphony! the opera! NY Fashion Week! But asking for a normal meal that isn’t terrible is too much. You might think walking to Columbus Circle would help, but no, that probably made it worse. Especially if you, like me, classify worse as sitting down at an oddly decorated and even more oddly staffed Indian restaurant with an oh-we-didn’t-mention $25 minimum per person, and promptly leaving (sorry, we changed our minds).
By that time it was almost 10:30pm, I was even hungrier, and my partners in crime and I had somehow convinced ourselves that the 20-minute train ride to the West Village would be worth it. We were hungry! We weren’t thinking straight! Hamburgers! Pizza! Ice cream! Meatball sandwiches!
And then we ate. And ate. And an evolving joke about more eating turned into a reality. And terrible things ensued. So, if you’re ever in New York City and want to follow in our footsteps, here are your official instructions:
Round One: Elephant and Castle for the Elephantburger, with a shared side of french fries.
Round Two: Bleecker Street Pizza for a slice of the White Pie. If that’s not your style stick with the Nonna Maria.
Round Three: One Reese’s McFlurry from McDonald’s on W 3rd Street. Yes, McDonald’s.
If you, too, ever have one of these weekends please tell me. Mostly so I don’t worry it’s just me.