Restaurant Map 

Why did you choose to map out restaurants in NYC?

I just asked myself why I personally love NYC so much. I LOVE food and trying new restaurants and apparently, there are about 16,700 restaurants in Manhattan... A different one to eat in every day for 46 years. Manhattan is clearly the perfect place for a foodie like me.

I wanted to create something that would point to why I love this city, so mapping out the places where I feel the happiest, seemed like the right direction.

In one of my past blogs for Sense of Place, I questioned whether it was only possible to have an intimate relationship with a place if we don’t have an intimate relationship with a person within that place. This project is an illustration of how restaurants in particular have become important elements in the equation for my own love for NYC.

Why did you choose to map out these restaurants in particular?

I chose each of these restaurants because they mean a lot to me. Each restaurant represents someone close to me because of the memorable experiences I had with each of them at these places.

This is not a listing of my favorite restaurants solely in terms of food quality. (Although I must say, most of the restaurants on the list are incredible.)

I am well aware that two of these seven restaurants listed, are scoffed upon by foodies, which I can completely understand. Unlike the other restaurants, these two do not focus primarily on the quality of their food. They can be known as “tourist traps”….or just the restaurants that amateurs believe are top notch restaurants.

Will you please elaborate on the memories and/or people that each of these restaurants represent?

Absolutely.

Estiatorio Milos, an incredible seafood restaurant uptown, reminds me of my Dad.

I loved every time he would come visit me in ny on business trips. It was our time of bonding. I come from a big family, and so this was the only opportunity we had for one-on-one time. The two of us would choose restaurants to try out together and always had a blast.

At this particular restaurant, I remember my Dad ordering a glass of wine for each of us. It was the first time I had my own glass of wine at a restaurant. (I was underage of course.) When the waiter asked my dad if the wine was to his liking, my Dad, with a serious look on his face, lifted the glass, delicately twirled the glass in his hand, then placed the glass under his nose and moved the glass side to side as he took in the wine’s aroma…….then he just nodded his head up and down to the waiter, to say yes . Once the waiter walked away, my dad suddenly puts a big smile on his face and says to me “I have no idea what the hell I just did.”

.....

Here is the video portion of my final project:

Firemen: by Liz M.

(Click here or on the photos to see my video project!)

The other night I was watching the latest James Bond flick, Quantum of Solace, with some of my roommates. Five of us total, four still awake. The new London import (“I just tried Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups for the first time. They’re brilliant!”) left the room. I thought he’d turned in. We struggled to focus…

“Is she the bond girl?”

“Wait who’s that guy?”

“I have no idea what’s going on…”

“Yeah I’m lost.”

“Maybe if you’d stop talking…”

“I’ll rewind.”

Our Brit had gone out for air. Usually around 2am on west 22nd the only company you’ll keep are some mice having a late night feast on your garbage. I guess the mice were not alone. Bounding up the stairs,

“Look out the window!”

Gathering around the windows facing the street. Two per window. Guy girl, guy girl. A cardboard box on fire. Presumably started by the homeless dude fanning the flames.

“Is that a 40?”

“Oh, don’t pour it—”

“Awww, duuude.”

Funny how emptying your booze on your fire doesn’t work out quite the same as a hose, eh? So yes, walk away, walk away… Down the driveway of THAT building? Really?? Hard to be surprised at this point, but come on buddy!

“Not a bad turnout –maybe people DO care.”

“Cops, firemen. Not a bad response time actually.”

“Okay, outside.”

“Quick! Get your camera!”

“I don’t wanna miss the show…”

Cops v. Perp, @ Our stoop: from my Blackberry

Just in time to watch six or so cops pick up the guy, slam him against the car in front of our house. The fire was across the street, in front of the dentist’s office, but suddenly our stoop is the best seat in the house. This is apparently a great way to meet the people you pass on the street every day without acknowledgement. The Israeli from a few doors down, all tight blue t-shirt and muscles. Cigarette and silver spoon in one hand, bowl of fruit-loaded cereal in the other.

“Do you want some? It’s soy milk!”

“Um, no thank you?”

“Can I use your phone to call the dentist?”

“Sure…”

“He said Eysh, that means fire!”

Apparently no one cares that I understand a bit of Hebrew. Oh well. Look away for one second, and now the Israeli is across the street, holding the smoke, cereal, spoon, and the borrowed phone. He allegedly “runs” our block, Mr. 22nd Street. Naturally, he is talking to the firemen as they attempt to break into the dentist’s office. Natural, right, maybe if he was not performing a balancing act.

Where there's smoke…: from my Blackberry, aussi

Back on the north side of the street with Mr. 22nd street.

“How do you spell your name?” “Well THAT’S a diplomatic way of saying you already forgot my name… So do you guys ever go to Chelsea Piers? I have free 1-week guest passes. How many of you are there? Okay great I’ll get five… It’s a shame how they treat rentals, come see the difference when the owner is the one living in the building.”

The Brit leaves. This time for the night. But three of us–girl guy girl—follow Mr. 22nd to his apparently bulletproof door (I didn’t test it…). Beautiful Turkish tile on the floors and walls. The floors donning two or three Persian rugs.

“I used to invest in real estate”

Ultimate Fighting Champion cannot be ignored on the enormous flat screen.

“I only date men who look like wrestlers, warriors. Why do you have a beard? Do you want to look like a Rabbi?”

“My mom’s a Rabbi…”

I try to steer his attention, as my roommate is getting uncomfortable. Mr. 22nd is far too intrigued by the attorney to spend more than a few moments on my attempts at discussing Hebrew and Rabbis. Granted, they are rarely topics I bring up with neighbors, strangers, anyone, but what else am I supposed to say to this guy?

Does it really take an inebriated homeless man setting a fire to meet the neighbors? It’s not like when something embarrassingly touristy happens while traveling and my mom’s go-to line of comfort is “Well, you’re never going to see these people again.” These are the people we see every day. The middle aged, slightly balding dad carrying a scooter down the steps, the lackluster of his “Come on,” not wanting to escape his air-conditioned denial as his young daughter bounds down the steps ahead of him shouting with an opposite tone to his, “It’s summer! It’s not spring, it’s summer!”

Because, really, where WAS spring? A couple weeks ago I brought out my winter coat during a couple of late night study session breaks. This weekend I read on my roof until my skin melted into a new, darker shade. This did not take long. This nine year old girl is thinking the same thing I am. And maybe the odd progression of the seasons is the least of my concerns, but I probably share some of the same thoughts as her dad, my roommates, Mr. 22nd, or even the poor homeless guy who tried to put out his fire with beer and ended up surrounded by the 5-0. Reading about this city through the eyes of Ian Frazier (Gone to New York: Adventures in the City) or Colson Whitehead (The Colossus of New York) or even a surrealist, postmodern vision of Paul Auster (City of Glass), how many times did I think, hey, that’s what I thought when I was on THAT train or in THAT intersection or THAT neighborhood. They name some seemingly unique circumstances—if you’re not a New Yorker. And I have always hesitated to call myself a New Yorker, not from a lack of wanting to belong to this vibrant metropolis, but out of respect for the true locals. I’ve always heard it takes 5 or 10 years in theory, but Carrie Bradshaw said the true natives could always spot their own kind. When I return to California in the fall, I will have only lived here a very loaded 4 years. But according to Whitehead, I may already be a New Yorker. I have been here long enough to watch some of my favorite hangouts disappear and apparently “(y)ou are a New Yorker when what was there before is more real and solid than what is here now” (Whitehead, 3-4). We all build our mythic New Yorks, and the probably intersect with the myths of others more than we will ever fully realize. I have been here long enough to connect to just about every phrase in some sections of The Colossus of New York. As an NYU student, the “Downtown” section hit hard. I know those kids. I have been some of those girls. And yes, I run into kids from my L.A. private high school on an almost daily basis even when I DON’T go out on a Thursday night.

My point is, if I’ve only lived here 3.5 years and find Colson Whitehead’s portrayal of Manhattan almost uncomfortably accurate, he’s probably not just reading my thoughts. He’s just had the same thoughts—as I have, you have, the smelly guy on the C has. Not all in unison, but at some point in time. No one will look at you on the train, but whatever you’re thinking right now, that dude thought the same thing 13 minutes ago, that woman was thinking it 22 years ago. No wonder we’re so lonely sometimes. If only we could coordinate our little moments, maybe we would understand how connected we truly are. New York is not lonely so much as a haven for untapped communal potential. But strangely, that’s how we like it.

The line that hit the hardest was that, “(m)aybe we become New Yorkers the day we realize that New York will go on without us” (10). I have to leave by the end of September. Maybe this fact is heightening my senses to embrace New York as my own, one last hurrah, or something less cliché... Or maybe I just know that it really will go on without me. I am just another young adult, thinking the same thoughts as everyone else here.

New Amsterdam Facade 1903Since its presence on Broadway beginning in the early 1990s, the Disney Corporation has been credited as the driving force behind Times Square’s transformation into the ultimate tourist attraction. During the 1970s and 80s, the span of 42nd Street between Broadway and 8th Avenue had been covered in peep shows, private clubs and explicit storefronts. Now it is crowded with themed museums constructed as mazes, a casino disguised as a children’s arcade, and chain clothing stores selling bulk. For many people, the street is the epitome of US’s tourist culture, with its various themed buildings sandwiched together, each selling a unique experience.

      It is commonly believed that this artificial development took force when the Mouse first emerged onto the Great White Way. It’s a valid allegation, since Disney revolutionized the industry of creating fabricated realities in its theme parks and attractions. From the Western frontier and country mountain to mainstreet America New Orleans, Disney has created life-sized diaromas in each of its five international amusement parks. But this time, Disney’s involvement did not encompass the construction of attractions that mimicked historic buildings to create nostalgic experiences. Rather, it involved the restoration of a building in order to preserve its overflowing history: the New Amsterdam Theatre.

THE THEATRE

When starting the final, I thought a lot about whether or not NYU has a sense of place distinct from the city around it. With each year at NYU, my workload and my time spent on campus increase proportionately, and I've lately found myself wishing I could just sleep in the Gallatin lounge. I'm becoming almost too familiar with the place, yet I can't quite place an identity to it. NYU, as a "place," is conflicted. It doesn't know whether it should be integrated into the urban fabric or should separate itself off, and has done neither successfully. On the one hand, NYU is integrated into the fabric of lower Manhattan: there are no clear boundaries or edges between it and the rest of the city. Unlike other universities in the city, like Columbia, with a distinct campus feeling created through architecture, gates, and closed off streets, NYU's buildings, sprinkled throughout lower Manhattan, are not necessarily distinguishable from the surrounding cityscape. Some buildings are so far from the Campus Core, like Third North, that they can hardly be considered a part of whatever "campus" we do claim. On the other hand, NYU does not "feel" the same as the rest of the Village. It is seriously lacking in ground floor retail and attractions and, because of a love affair with Philip Johnson in the 1960s, has a disproportionate number of "brutish" architectural buildings. During the time between classes, the streets are packed, but lay almost empty during each hour and fifteen minute period (not mixed use!). Students flock to the park (benches!), which has been identified with NYU, but certainly isn't "our" space. For me, a sense of "community" is spatially related; running into people you know unexpectedly makes the city feel smaller and makes me feel more connected and grounded in New York and NYU. On the whole, however, NYU does not do a very good job of providing spaces to facilitate spontaneous interactions. The public spaces the university provides are usually quieter study spaces--the library, the lounges most academic buildings, computer labs... With these issues in mind, I set about redesigning Washington Place between Broadway and Mercer. Ideally, I'd knock open the ground floor of the Meyer Hall and give the space a nice little sidewalk cafe and other ground floor retail to reintegrate the land use of the campus back into the City, but I gave myself the parameters of working with the existing architecture and land use. (In my opinion, not only would this create a better street scape, commercial uses would also provide a reason for the non-NYU public to use the streets around NYU buildings.) My redesign visually separates out the street from the rest of the city. If not as a "gateway" into the campus, I'd envision it as an identifying feature and as a place that facilitates spontaneous interactions. My placement was definitely influenced by Gallatin's efforts to create these types of spaces in the building redesign (which I think have been fairly successful), so I am just taking what Gallatin has already done and dragging it out onto the street. More screen shots are up on my flickr, with larger sizes: http://www.flickr.com/photos/7230238@N02/ (I am trying to figure out how to make a video jobbie of the sketchup file, and I will post it on youtube and here if I can figure it out. 3D is awesome!)

            My final project is about the most pertinent place in my existence at this moment in time- my apartment. It’s the place I seek refuge, the place I rest my weary head at night, the place I loathe and love, the place I call home. To portray a “sense of place” about my apartment my friend and I decided to create a movie, capturing the essence and feel of my apartment on one rainy day in the middle of April.

            The movie starts off with random shots of grime, trash and unwashed dishes, all of which have become a staple in my apartments existence. For me these shots capture the reality of life in a tenement apartment in the east village where three young and senseless college students make there home. My friend Jay and I decided to do these shots because they exemplify much of the strange and sometimes pointless things that the books in our class seem to focus on. In “City of Glass” Paul Auster goes on random tangents about red notebooks and other seemingly unnecessary things that he decides to make relevant in his novel. In “Gone To New York” Ian Frazier essays discuss how the shape of Brooklyn looks like a stain, and why its important to take plastic bags out of trees, the type of stuff you see everyday but which your mind consciously chooses to ignore in the clutter of mass stimulation. Even in “The Colossus of New York” Colson Whitehead discusses the annoyance of his alarm clock, the sweaty nasty people in the port authority, and the culture of subway platforms. These bizarre situations and eclectic recollection of events are exemplified in the movie but they represent the intriguing calamities I deal with in day-to-day life.

            In four minutes and twenty seconds to the dot this movie tries to give the truest sense of place of 122 Saint Marks Place Apartment # 6. In my apartment the insanity and intensity of the street are not left on the street where they belong. Maybe its because I live on the first floor and people have a lot of energy left to let loose, maybe it’s the infamous deck in which mischief and madness take place routinely, or maybe its just that this city drives everyone nuts and no one really knows how to take it all in. A place is made a place by the things, people and actions that take place in that place and all of these aspects of my apartment come to life in the movie. Much of the direction was focused on the previous three books we have read this semester but seen through the lens of my distraught mind.

            Many shots in the movie take place in a blurred state of motion. For me this spaced out lost feel resembles how I feel when I walk through the streets of this city, and this city specifically. I’m a lost body of matter and thoughts floating from moment to moment in a spooky set of coincidences called life. The sense of my life is this video. It says what I can’t reveal in words---and oh yeah its set to “Cosmic Charlie” an epic tune by the Grateful Dead. Its lyrics speak for themselves….and maybe even a little bit for what I feel at this moment, in this place.

CitySights NYThe “real” New York is difficult to find, if it exists at all. Even so, and perhaps as a result, New York has a draw, a magnetism that brings you there and once you get there, makes it hard to leave. Before I came here for school, I had never really experienced New York as a tourist. Now, settled in to my own pattern, I am comfortable here. I feel like I know New York. I know the monuments—some better than others—though my New York is not the one sold in Times Square, or advertised in brochures. I have learned to love New York, but I don’t necessarily “♥NY.”

I thought it was time, then, for me to better understand the popular New York, the one that is bought by the average tourist. What places are you supposed to go—or are you brought to—when you come to New York? In order to find out, I decided to go on a double-decker bus tour.

Being “the recognized leader in NYC’s sightseeing” (though it is unclear who is doing the recognizing), I chose CitySights NY. CitySights NY offers a variety of bus, boat, and helicopter tours throughout the city, with multiple routes and themes. In a sense, the tourist is first acclimated to New York’s daunting range of choices through the barrage of tour options. How do you choose between the “Downtown Tour” and the “Uptown Treasures & Harlem Tour,” and the “Brooklyn Tour”? If you can’t decide between those, the “All Around Town Tour” or the “Super New York Tour” might be for you. These tours package multiple tours in one ticket, with museum tickets thrown in as an added bonus. Or you can go on one of the “On Locations Tours,” where you can take your bachelorette party on a “Sex and the City Hotspots” tour or go on a “Sopranos Guys Getaway.” And once you get tired of New York, you can take a day trip to Boston, Philadelphia, or Washington D.C.

The Waterfalls: An example of highly-publicized temporary public art in New York. The Waterfalls, by Olafur Eliasson, proved to be one of the city's more disastrous projects. The salt water sprayed from what were called "glorified fountains" ended up killing trees by The River Cafe and on Governor's Island.New York is chock full of places that are deliberately manipulated to affect the viewers’ experiences. Museums, parks, galleries, restaurants, airports, train stations – the list goes on. Arguably fewer spaces are manipulated to enhance the viewers’ experiences. One who could argue against that assertion would be architect Jean Parker Phifer, AIA, whose recent book, Public Art New York, catalogs permanent public art installations across all five boroughs. In these public spaces, artists have been commissioned to create pieces to attract viewers and create an aesthetic that leaves a mark on an individual’s experience of the space, and therefore, inform their sense of place. Just last night, Phifer led a panel discussion at the Center for Architecture on public art and architecture in New York. Joining her were artist James Carpenter, architect Todd Schliemann of Polshek Partnership, and David Thurm, VP of Operations at The New York Times. The three were selected for their unique perspectives on the process of commissioning, designing, and installing public art in new buildings and spaces around the city.

This morning I woke up with a hangover, and I knew I had to clean. It is an urge that visits me with a particular urgency after a night of drinking. Having relinquished some control the night before, I feel an almost religious compulsion to recapture it, to grab the reins and prove that my life is on a stable path. It helps, too, that my hangovers usually fall on weekends, when my apartment is in a state of mild squalor after a week of neglect. So it was this morning; the stress hormones surged through my veins, and I was out of bed to take stock of the task at hand.

I had to dust. There were several clues: The sun streaming in the window illuminated the dust particles wheeling through the air. Was it true, as I had heard, that they were simply dead skin cells? As I breathed, I was sure, I was sucking them in, canceling the lung benefits of whatever exercise I had recently done. My apartment has cheap hardwood floors, and dust accumulates at an alarming speed. It had gathered in small dunes behind cabinets, and in thin films atop books, speakers, and the cowbell that has sat at the head of my bed since I moved in two years ago. It had accumulated in clumps among the tangle of extension cords beside my desk, a bizarre matrix of dog hair (a roommate keeps an irate Chihuahua) and what appeared to be lint. In homes with carpeting, it must somehow be absorbed, but in my own it had once again piled up for all to see.

We experience the world with our bodies and our senses. This simple statement has vast implications, and forms the basis for Yi-Fu Tuan's writings in Space and Place. Any information that we collect from our surroundings, any experience we have, originates in sensation. We interact with one another using our senses, we experience art with our senses, and we know our external environments only through our senses.

If our experience of the world is so heavily vested in our senses, it follows then, that any of the slightest alterations to the operation or behavior of our senses would also drastically alter the way in which we perceive, know, and understand that world that surrounds us. Tuan acknowledges this truth when he notes that

"The Eskimo environment is bleak. Moss and lichen in summer give the land a uniform gray-brown cast; snow and ice in winter paint the scene in monotone. When fog or blizzard appears, land, water, and sky lose all differentiation. It is in this poor and poorly articulated environment that the Eskimos, to survive, have refined their perceptual and spatial skills. When all landmarks disappear in mist and driven snow, Eskimos can nevertheless find their way..."