Dear friends and readers,
One of my goals while vacationing on the east coast was to experience and enjoy train rides, and I was not disappointed.
When I finished my initial brief exploration of New York, I took a late Amtrak train to New Haven. The train station at New York Penn Station was sparsely populated at 8 PM. Its floor was marbled, its ceilings was high. I almost felt like a pilgrim in that space. It was a beautiful to feel that each escalator in the hall was a portal to a potential destination.
As I rode down the one escalator that led to my train, the cool air turned thick and hot on the tracks. The surrounding decor turned quickly industrial and utilitarian, highlighted by the silver chassis of the train.
There were plenty of seats open on the train. I picked one at random, settled down my pack, and took a moment to immerse myself in the train’s atmosphere. Ah, the romance of overland travel.
To complete the set and setting, I brought a novel: Babel, by R.F. Kuang. My research assistant had recommended it years ago, and when the opportunity came up for me to get a physical copy, I went ahead and got one. I won’t blabber about how much I like the book (I have already been really annoying about it to several people). I will just say that I thoroughly enjoyed how R.F. Kuang analyzes how people wield power, and specifically, by whose power. I will read it again soon.
It was nice and quiet. The low hum of the air conditioner, the rhythmic clank of the train track, the movement of the cityscape around me. I was surprised to feel that aside from the amount of foliage, the view was remarkably close to San Diego. The asphalt, chain-link fences, and charming little buildings here and there.
Sometimes, the cabin would entirely power down when passing through quiet neighborhoods. At first, I was startled by this, but upon realize what it was for, it became charming.
Ah, this is what it feels to travel.
Onto New Haven
I arrived in downtown New Haven late into the night, but on a Saturday, it barely feels like 10 pm. Everyone is out on the streets, talking, laughing, and drinking.
I met up with my friend, who I was staying with. He is an old college friend, and we kept in contact because we shared the same fervor for making food (and the same kitchen for a while). He lived right on top of a cigar bar, a little side entrance flanked by smoke and lounging patrons. I was interested in maybe getting a drink, and we thought about the cigar bar (despite living there for two years, he had never gone in the cigar bar), but we ended up getting a good ol’ shake (or in my case, a root beer float).
After a good night’s sleep (and forcing my friend to watch Kpop Demon Hunters), we needed to fuel up for our upcoming excursion to New York (yes again indeed, I bounced between New York and New Haven a lot during this trip). My friend walked me to a few blocks to G Café to get some nice little pick-me-up.
I think it is appropriate to describe the interior of the café as a movie set out of a rom-com. The large window panes let in ample amount of mid-morning sun, and the café itself is warmly lit by several accent lights, painting golden hues on the grains of the wooden counter. The menu is fully handwritten on a chalkboard, and fresh-cut flower adorn the glass displays the pastries sit dainty under. I could live out my coffee shop gay dreams here.
The privilege of being a big boy is that I get to eat a LOT. Here I have put it on full display by ordering a huge black forest ham sandwich (it was a mouthful for sure) and soup of the day, which turned out to be a chicken barley soup.
The chicken barley soup riffs on the classic chicken noodle soup by replacing the, you guess it, noodles with barley. It carries a nice, full bodied flavor, much owing to mirepoix (diced onions, carrot, celeries) and chicken stock being both timeless, classic ingredients.
What really got me was how good that sandwich is. I originally thought it humble and unassuming, but boy was it full of surprises. The first thing that I noticed was the wonderful texture of the bread; it has a beautifully thin crust, and a flavorful one at that. Checking from the gluten formation on the actual inside, it must be an enriched, high-hydration dough. I regret not asking the shopkeeper what kind of bread it actually is. I might ask Reddit for help.
Beyond the bread, the vinaigrette dressing of the arugula was also very well done. Its subtle brightness pairs very well with the generous pile of ham and slightly melted cheese. Each bite was an experience. So this is what it means to make a sandwich…
Signed and posted,
Cheers,
Jeff