Wednesdays are for the International House of Pancakes (IHOP), a mecca I have only been fortunate enough to frequent once before. Imagine a Little Chef on acid, with chicken and waffles.
We lost our shit over the menu. I had eggs, sausage and waffles. Jaz had sausages, potatoes, bacon, eggs and pancakes. I did what I could to help her finish because I’m a good and selfless person. We had as much coffee as we could drink and then rolled ourselves out to 2nd Avenue to walk to The Strand Bookstore.
I’ve visited a lot of bookshops in my time but there is something wonderful about the Strand. I don’t know if it is how well organised the shelves are or the vast array of Kurt Vonnegut books I easily found but it is something special. I found a cheap copy of Even Cowgirls Get The Blues, which I have wanted to read for a long time.
We walked to Chelsea and through the market which was a vast, gentrified maze of bespoke candle shops and bakeries. We took the High Line, an abandoned tram line that runs above the city and is filled with gardens and artwork.
We got the Subway to the American Museum of Natural History (which I know as the Night At The Museum museum). We saw a lot of dinosaurs and got to experience the immersive planetarium experience narrated by Neil deGrasse Tyson. If you ever want to feel powerfully insignificant then it is recommended.
When we were coming out afterwards, we noticed Thanksgiving Parade floats and balloons being prepped on a side road. We fought against a murder of buggies (the collective term) to check out Spongebob before walking through Central Park until we found a hot dog vendor.
Debating what to do with our evening, the weather decided for us. Raindrops the size of pretzels fell and we rushed back to the Subway to jet down to the Lower East Side and the cinema.
We were finally hungry again so grabbed slices of deep-dish pizza pie from (Lions and Tigers and Squares) before a teary viewing of Honey Boy.
We walked home, talking about the film and wondering what we could have for breakfast.