Who needs international travel when there’s such an amazing city here in our own country. Work has brought me to New York City, a city that I’ve only visited a few nights total in my life, and this time I got to stay for several days. This city is so lively and so energetic, it’s hard to believe anyone would want to live elsewhere. Dare I say I may even like NY better than SF? To be determined.

I almost couldn’t contain my giddiness when I stepped out of my hotel and tried to absorb everything: crowds of people rushing by, high-rises covered with bright neon lights, streets filled with honking yellow cabs, and to top it off my fancy hotel has free internet … I love the internet! I may need a sedative.

Here are some highlights from my short trip.

BAM! More like WEIRD!
I met my aunt and we took the subway to see a show at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. This is America’s oldest performing arts center, and we had tickets to watch The Source, a performance about Bradley Manning, the Army private who leaked tons of classified military documents to the public. He was arrested in 2013 after chatting online with various people who then ended up turning him in. The show’s concept was fascinating: voices would recite the hundreds of lines of online chats, Twitter posts, and actual leaked documents, and then synchronize it to music in this multimedia opera of sorts. Again, fascinating in theory …

… but terrible in implementation! This was the worst “artistic” piece I have ever experienced. The voices were processed and sounded so synthesized and robotic that it made Stephen Hawking sound sexy. The music was more of a random collection of dissonant electronic noises. If there are any Friends fans out there, it sounded like that terrible electronic music Ross performed in front of everyone. (Except tonight was worse: at least Ross’ performance lasted only a minute.) At first I thought I wasn’t sophisticated enough to appreciate it, but then I realized I’m the normal one here … it’s the show that was an hour and a half of auditory nonsense.

(If you don’t believe me, feel free to listen to some sound samples from the show and form your own opinion. Godspeed.)

Ramen
I love me some good noodles. Outside of Japan, there’s probably no better city to find an abundance of great bowls of ramen. In preparation for this trip I looked up the best ramen shops in the city and learned of Ippudo, which appeared on multiple lists. What luck, it was only a few blocks from my hotel. I snuck out of my conference at lunchtime and ran to the restaurant, only to see that even at lunch there was a line. But after a 30 minute wait, I was soon seated in front of a bowl of karaka-men, traditional tonkatsu (pork) broth with an added kick of spice paste and fragrant garlic oil.

My first sip of broth immediately reminded of the many bowls of ramen I ate in Japan. This is what ramen is supposed to taste like. The broth was the ideal combination of salty, rich, silky, and (for lack of a better word) porky. The noodles — homemade — were perfectly cooked and thin, and were all covered by a thin layer of the oil. I slurped that broth so quickly, I wanted to order another. Unfortunately I had to return to the conference. I am here to learn, after all.

Phall of Fame
Months ago I discovered an Indian curry called phaal which is considered the world’s spiciest curry. It is typically made with at least 10 different types of chilies and peppers, and reportedly can bring down the toughest of eaters.

Soon thereafter I learned about the Brick Lane Curry House, an Indian restaurant that offers a phaal curry that they describe as “an excruciatingly hot curry, more pain and sweat than flavor. For our customers who do this on a dare, we will require you to state a verbal disclaimer not holding us liable for any physical or emotional damage after eating this curry.” And if you can finish their curry you will be rewarded with a free beer, a certificate of completion, and a spot on their “Phall of Fame.” Spicy food and recognition for eating it? Challenge accepted.

I went there, I ordered it, I gave verbal consent, they double-checked I was serious, and once it arrived I looked at it … and it smelled atrocious. This black curry had the most potent smell and a taste that was even worse. It was certainly hot, but while it wasn’t quite as spicy as the hot wing challenge I did a few months ago, its horrendous taste made this experience much more painful. Honestly, it didn’t taste like food but more like ash. Burnt cigarette ashes. Halfway through, to keep myself from gagging, I needed to keep a piece of garlic naan in front of my nose to fool my taste buds as I shoveled down the remainder of the curry.

A long 40 minutes later, I reached the bottom of the bowl. The two tables on either side of us cheered me on and when my free beer arrived I handed it over to one of them, as I couldn’t stomach the idea of insulting my stomach any more. As promised, I also received a certificate. I have never suffered so much for recognition.

I think it’s time I retire from this spicy food challenge business.

The Night of 3 Dinners
Time flew and all of a sudden my final night in NY was upon me. I had previously RSVP’ed to a work dinner at a nearby Italian restaurant, but I still hadn’t gotten my fill of NY’s unique food scene. My work dinner was at 730pm, so once the conference ended at 5pm I darted out to the streets and visited a falafel vendor I had been eyeing for days. Falafels are among my favorite foods and such stands aren’t found in San Diego, so with over two hours until dinner I wasn’t about to let it go to waste. Here’s the brief exchange I had with the falafel guy:

Me: How many falafels come in one order?
Him: How many do you want?
Me: I don’t know … 3?
Him: How about 8?
Me: OK.

A few hours later I went (with a full stomach) to the Italian restaurant, where I was let down by a duck ragu pasta dish that had sounded very promising.

Walking back to my hotel I was lamenting the fact that my last meal of the trip was a mediocre one, when I came across Totto Ramen. It was as if someone up above answered my silent food cries with my favorite food. It was nearly midnight, but I didn’t think twice about walking in to this tiny, cramped restaurant that consisted of nothing more than a single counter, and watched as they prepared bowl after bowl of their signature chicken — not pork — ramen. I looked over their menu and people, I am proud to tell you that I ordered the “spicy ramen” and not the “extra spicy ramen”. No need to be a hero tonight. (Plus, I was still sore from the previous night’s phaal.)

Overall a fantastic trip to NY, and believe it or not I actually learned a lot too!