A New York City Holiday

We wish you a schmaltzy Christmas!

We have a Prius. I mention that because luggage and gifts and driver and three passengers make for a tight squeeze for a 12-hour drive from the suburbs of Charlotte, NC to my happy place, Brooklyn. Of course, I’m not complaining, since one of the passengers is nine years old. Also, I was born and raised in Brooklyn, and I’m excited to go home. My wife is the driver because she’s the best driver. I sit next to her and serve as navigator. My daughter and one of our granddaughters are in the back. I control Spotify (if anybody can be said to control Spotify), but I’m respectful of the tastes of my family members.

Fortunately, I love long road trips.

We got to Brooklyn before dark, and when we saw this, my wife said, “don’t cry, honey.”

I didn’t, but it was close.

Our hotel room reminded me, as so many things do, of an old joke:

“My hotel room was so small, I put my key in the door and broke a window!” Ba-dum-bum.

The hotel was next door to the Brooklyn ISKCON (Hare Krishna) temple, so the following morning Lil and I went over for a visit. Daughter and granddaughter demurred.

After seeing Krishna and Radha and paying our respects, we had breakfast at Junior’s. No, we didn’t have the cheesecake. Don’t worry, I’ve had it many times. This is my town.

The whole family, including our other daughter and her six-person crew and Uncle Mark (our brother-in-law) got together at Radio City Music Hall for the Christmas Spectacular. I always feel like a tourist in that place. Look at the lobby:

Don’t you feel like a tourist right now?

The show itself was dazzling. Two hours of relentless and brilliantly executed schmaltz. That may sound like a complaint, but I confess to being a sucker for schmaltz when it’s brilliantly executed. My favorite part has always been the Nativity scene with the live camel.

Sweet Schmaltzy Jesus!

Of course, after the show we blended into the massive street throng, saw the big tree, and visited the overcrowded toy emporium FAO Schwarz (“You came for toys, but you’re leaving with claustrophobia!”). Then we all went to a food hall with dozens of vendors.

Here’s a spot I chose not to get food from:

It was attractive, but Lord knows I’ve already been there.

They also had this ‘Welcome to NY” sign:

One regret: I didn’t have time to go to the Franz Kafka exhibit at the Morgan Library, which should be a holiday tradition for all New Yorkers (and Czechs).

My wife’s extended family is large, especially with everybody’s in-laws, and nobody was ready to host Christmas Eve dinner with its associated lingering fish aroma, so we went to Gargiulo’s Restaurant in Coney Island.

Well worth it, especially since Chef Matthew Cutolo is an unrelated cousin of my wife’s (it’s an Italian thing where you have uncles, aunts, and cousins who are not actually family members. IYKYK). Great food, great company, no politics. Top that off with the secret recipe cannoli? Yes, please!

On Christmas morning, our faction took over much of the hotel lobby and spent two hours exchanging gifts. Then, Christmas Day dinner with Lil’s ‘cousin’ Dorothy (Matthew Cutolo’s mom), her family, and thirty guests. This was awesome, in the true sense of the word, inspiring awe. I earned the heartburn.

Now we get to go back to North Carolina and light the menorah. Oh yeah, at some point, my daughter got me a latke.

Happy Holidays, y’all.