3/25/03 Mike, Aaron and his 2 Cali Friends go to Peter Lugars in Brooklyn for Meat & Shlog, and I tell the story of the girl on the subway that got away:





Aaron, from "Erin and Aaron" fame, had two friends of his from back home in California, visiting him this week. And they decided to get lunch at Peter Lugars' in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.


Peter Lugars is apparently an institution. Its supposed to be the best steak in the city, if not ever. Me, being a fish person, would take half price sushi over a really good steak any day. Aaron and Mike, and many others, think I'm crazy on these grounds.


But, I am interested in Peter Lugars from the perspective of an old New York lover. The restaurant in Williamsburg has been open since the 1800's.


In fact, Mike and Aaron and I have actually tried to go there for their lunch burger once before, and were not able to get in due to some party that had overwhelmed the place.


To go there for dinner requires a month-or-so in advance reservation. But lunch is open to the wandering public, and they have a burger for under $7.00 that is supposedly the ground up leftovers of their very high quality meat. Sounds good so me. So we all went to lunch, to try to get in once again, this time with the two guys from Cali, Seth and Joe, pictured below. Seth is the one with the highlighted curls in his hair.



Do these guys look like they're from California or what? They stick out like a sore thumb on the J or M train to Brooklyn... a very seriously NEW YORK train for NEW YORKERS. It doesn't hit any museums. It doesn't go to Times Square or Grand Central. It's not even on some Manhattan-centric subway maps, even though it has a few stops downtown. No tourists on this line. Except for Joe and Seth. If it weren't for the huge guy with his huge hand on his huge girlfriend's ass a few steps away, I was afraid we were going to draw too much attention.




A nice picture of Mike on the subway.


We got out of the train at the first stop in Brooklyn: Marcy Avenue, which is a few blocks from Peter Lugars. There's a large sign, advertising their presence, painted onto the side of a building in olde New York fashion, which can be seen from the train as it comes across the Williamsburg Bridge.



And from the station platform after getting off the train, with the Williamsburg Bridge in back (The "Willy-B"):



And we walked under the el, along "Broadway" in Brooklyn. Yes, Brooklyn has its own Broadway, and it is a main thoroughfare, with an old elevated running most of the length of it, for many miles. A great place to go to imagine what old Manhattan was like... and to get shot.



"Broadway Brooklyn" as it is often called by Manhattanites, goes through some tough neighborhoods. Even I am wary of those areas. Nostrand. East New York. Etc. At Marcy Avenue, there is a distinct uber-jew presence, mixed in with a lot of other minority groups.


Here is the posse, looking like Reservoir Dogs:





Brooklyn, and the rest of the City, cannibalizes itself architecturally. What was built as a government building or a mosque can end up being a bank. As is the likely case with this ridiculous HSBC.



And so we arrived at the restaurant and entered:



Immediately noticeable is the original interior. The ceiling, the light fixtures, the long bar and the old bartender:








And we sat:



And at the next table, this lady was enjoying her steak, just the way she did when the place opened:



I know, shameless old joke. But seriously, she added to the look and feel of the place, just like a lighting fixture or floor tiling might. How convenient for us.



Aaron and Mike, posing for the camera, happy to have gotten in. It was actually pretty empty, as opposed to the last time we tried to get in for lunch during somebody's party. Today, on this Tuesday afternoon at about 1:45pm, you wouldn't know the place was anything special.


Here is the large but not quite full menu:



And here is the steak sauce they put on the table right away. Kind of like how they put duck sauce on the table at a Chinese place, except that you have nothing to dip in it, which is kind of strange.



We joked, because I'm a "fish" person, that I should order the "fish," only to find that there was indeed one token "fish" dish on the menu, most likely for some outrageous price. Isn't that what "Market" means?

I learned, this past Valentines Day, when Mike, Rich and I went to a different steak house, not to get the fish. I had a 2 pound lobster at $22 per pound, and it kind of sucked. And their mark up on that was something like 500%. Fuckers.


Anyway, I was there for the burger. And so was Mike, as he wanted not to spend too much money. But Joe and Seth were there for the real deal. The steak for 2... priced at just shy of $100 when you include tax and tip.



Getting served.








When ordering, I asked for my burger to be "as rare as possible." It came out blood red. I could see the red, and I was color blind. I probably should have ordered "as rare as allowable within the limits of the law," as it would have been cooked for double the amount of time. But, I trusted it, because it's Peter Lugars, and according to Aaron, who makes it a point to know this stuff: Peter Lugars gets the best meat because they have such ridiculous seniority, they get the first pick from the best of the best of the meat at the meat market. Then all the other steak houses get to pick their meat. It's a long-standing tradition, he says. A functional homage to the oldest and the best within the steak-house industry, which is funny, because it helps continue a self-fulfilling reputation for quality. They pick the best because they're the best, which authorizes them to pick the best, and so on and so forth.


So I ate it, and it was like meat sushi.






For under $7, it comes with some fries. But after that burger, you couldn't eat many more anyway. So it's one of the better deals in the city, even if you're not a meat fanatic. But, when I was ordering, my "eyes were bigger than my stomach", as my father used to say, and I ordered a side of creamed spinach.


It cost as much as the burger, and I didn't get to eat it because the burger did me in. So I brought it home and had it for snack the next day.


Joe and Seth said that it was the best steak they had ever had. I tried a piece, and was underwhelmed by it, just as I am by all steakhouse steak. All steak in general. I'm just not a meat guy, which is so unfortunate in a situation like this, because after the whole pilgrimage, and the excitement of the chance of not being able to get in, and all the pomp and circumstance and history... it's a total letdown for someone like me.


But, I will admit, that the sauce that the steak came in, which the gentlemen at my table are fond of calling "the shine," was very good. And I ladled some "shine" onto my burger, and it made it even better. Good times.


At the table, after tickling ourselves for a while, calling the steak juice, "shine," we got into an argument over the definitions of the words "Shine" and "Sheen." Are they the same, are they different? Can something have shine and not have sheen? Or the the sheen a quality of the shine? Or both? We decided to look it up, but never did. This is why cell phones, which have games, calculators, and cameras often built in, should have dictionaries, or, at least, access, via wireless internet, to www.dictionary.com


Then came the matter of dessert. It was expensive. $8 per plate no matter what it was. The Apple pie was amazing, and came with a heap of whipped cream that they call "Shlog." We had fun with that word for a while as well. The 5 of us apparently enjoy funny words. "Shine." "Sheen!" "Shlog?"


Mike, at this point, to impress the camera, and his friends, decided to Shlog himself thoroughly:

Click here to see a movie of Mike stuffing his face with "Shlog."
Note: You need to watch this while turning your head to the left. I apologize for the inconvenience.




Then we paid. Joe and Seth were surprised how fast 8.25% sales tax and 20% or so tip adds up on a $60+ steak. Welcome to New York, guys.


Seth calls Joe by a nickname: Joeliath. I thought that was worth mentioning, because it's terribly endearing, though I can't seem to fit it into the narrative. So here it is. Joe and Seth are old High School buddies with each other and Aaron.


Mike, to be a pain in the ass, paid with change, at one of the most famous restaurants in the city. Mike, you're an asshole, and you love it.




And then we walked back to the El. Like a bunch of very light-colored balls in a sea of flowing rainbow flavored dippin' dots, we traversed the sidewalks of Broadway Brooklyn, under the old elevated train, full of shine and shlog, dreaming gluttonously of the next time we would be able to nap peacefully, and digest. A good time had by all.





And now, a story for which I have no photographs:


One week ago today, I had a strange experience on the subway.


I was taking the uptown N train from my apartment at Rector St. to 23rd street to pick up an order of video tape from the Tape Company on 21st and 6th Ave.


As the train pulled into 14th St., a girl caught my attention from the corner of my eye. She was on the platform, outside the window. And the train came to a stop in such a fashion that she got onto my car. And, furthermore, she sat down right next to me.


Now, I've seen a lot of pretty girls in the subway. Sometimes I just pass the time by looking them when I have nothing else to do with my idleness. It's a nice, clean, heterosexual way of passing time, and in NYC, its a renewable resource that doesn't harm the environment in any way. There is a constant supply of pretty girls.


But something about this one was different. I don't know what it is. It wasn't just her looks. It was mostly her looks... but not entirely. It was how she carried herself. How she moved, behaved. What she was carrying. What she was wearing. It was a combination of everything, and resulting from nothing in particular at all. She was blond, fair skinned, and was carrying a large portfolio and a large artist's pad, like those used on "Win, Lose or Draw." You know, the old Pictionary game show, now occasionally rerunning on the Game Show Network?


Anyway, the reason I even remembered this encounter among the many others that have come before, is that I was, for one reason or another, so moved by this girl's presence, that I actually wanted to say something to her, and that has never before happened to me on the subway. I was desperate to think of something that was so clever, and so efficient, that it would begin a conversation that allowed us to get to know each other so well in such a short amount of time, that I wouldn't feel so strange asking for her number on the NYC subway system, solely based on her appearance. I mean, if I got to know her between 14th and 23rd streets, well enough, I would be asking for her number based on the merits of her personality and charm, and not on her appearance alone. Right?


But I do not believe that there exists such a well-thought-out and useful conversation starter. Not with that kind of time constraint. And in my frustration I panicked, and my train pulled into 23rd street, and a tucked my tail between my legs and got out of the train.


And as the train pulled away, I felt, with all my being, from some place inside of me beyond the reach of my logic or common sense, that I had just made a terrible mistake.


And I was immediately depressed. I kicked myself all the way to the Tape Company, whereupon I related this story to the woman who I am very friendly with who works behind the counter. She, in the past, has even given me tickets to a Rangers game at MSG, to which Mike and I went, because I'm a good customer and we have a good rapport. And she didn't want to go to the game.


And when I told her this story, she laughed, and said with her vaguely Caribbean African American accent, "Oh, you should have talked to her."


And I asked, "But isn't that creepy? Getting approached by a guy you don't know in the subway of all places? I thought that was just a creepy thing to do."


And she said, "It depends on the guy. And you're not creepy. You should have gone for it. In fact, just last week, I was on a train going home, and I noticed a gentleman reading a book, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. And then, I transferred to another train, as I always do, an soon after noticed the same man on the train with me, still kind of lookin'. I said to him, 'this isn't your train, is it?' And he said, 'no, I should have gotten off long ago. I'm nowhere near home anymore, but I just couldn't take my eyes off you' or something like that. So I let him walk me home and I gave him my number, and we have a date coming up."


This was all fabulous. And I kicked myself all the way home.


And when I got home, I remembered that she had also said, "If it was meant to be, you'll see her again." Well, I wasn't willing to wait that long. I wanted to take matters into my own hands. Right a wrong. So I resolved to go back to that station, on that part of the platform, at the same time, on the same day of the week, one week later. And that day was today.


The reasoning behind this, is that, hopefully, she was coming from a class. It looked like she had a lot of materials from a design class of some sort. And the big hint was the book she was reading, which I noticed was titled "Design." And there are design schools clustered around the station at which she got on the train. So perhaps she has a weekly schedule and a weekly routine. And hopefully her uptown train ride on the last car of the N around 5:45 pm on a Tuesday is part of that routine. Hey, you never know. Right?


So at 5:00pm today, I went back to that platform, and sat on the bench that was conveniently placed there. And I waited for an hour and a half.


It is a very strange exercise to be in a place doing the one thing that everyone else is not doing: Staying still. Every time a full cycle of trains came through, an N, an R, a Q, and a W, the compliment of people standing around me would be completely replaced with new people, as I expected. So nobody was around for more than 10 minutes, and therefore, nobody knew that I had been sitting there for so long, waiting for a train that would never come.


Except... the other people who were not moving. And it surprised me that there were other people not moving. I mean, I expected that the dirty homeless man sitting at the other end of the bench wasn't going anywhere, and he stayed for about 45 minutes. I don't know what prompted him to leave. Maybe he went to go look for his teeth, as they were missing.


But the Asian kid sitting right next to me, who I sat down next to when I got there, didn't budge for an hour! I would never have known he was there for so long if I was just passing through like everyone else. And when I sat next to him I didn't expect that he would be sharing much of my searching time with me. We didn't talk. At all. He was reading some ditto from some anatomy class of some sort. He was probably studying for a test. And when he did leave, he didn't take a train. He walked up the stairs. Maybe he gets his quiet contemplation in the middle of a ruckus. I mean, the one thing that can't happen while studying in a loud space as opposed to a quiet one, is someone interrupting your train of thought by sneezing, dropping a pencil, or otherwise making too much noise.


And right around the time that he left, an Asian girl, who also looked slightly younger than myself, sat down right next to me on my other side, when she could have easily sat one or two seats away from me, and read a book, and scribbled notes in the margins.


She sat there for over a half an hour, and I left before she did. And I was a little perplexed by her choosing to sit right next to me on an empty bench. You go sit on an empty bench in the subway and see how long it takes for someone to sit in the slot of the bench directly adjacent to you. Good luck. So I was weirded out. And I read some of her book over her shoulder, and it was a weird one.


And, as you can probably guess, the girl I was looking for never came. Perhaps she was on another part of the platform. Perhaps she was sick. Maybe her school was on vacation. Or perhaps she skipped town. I don't really know. And would I have recognized her if I had seen her? And will I if I ever accidentally see her again? Maybe. Maybe not.


But I did learn one sappy thing from all this: That you get one chance with things in life. And while other opportunities may arise, you've got to make your move or accept your fate when they do.


And maybe I've known this all along. But now I've learned it the hard way, which is the Sharpie permanent marker of learning. So next time, if there is one, hopefully, I won't be such a pussy. Per se.

Take a picture of that!