Eating Grand Central

Last week we had the chance to dine at Grand Central Station. The sun had temporarily taken leave and left us with a city enveloped in darkness and rain. It is rare that we get a visitor up here as most of our family and friends live in the south, but naturally the one day we do the forecast was dark, gloomy and without hope of sunlight. We met up at the Yale Club, an uncomfortably stuffy hotel/conference center before braving the rain to take the short walk to Grand Central.

Naturally the only times I have been to the train station are to eat, but stepping inside amongst the trample of commuters and out of town travelers the view is quite breathtaking. I like to step aside and while pretending that I am pondering something of great importance sneak silent glances about the cavernous ticket room. I don't think it would be possible to create a greater contrast to the cities' other train station (Penn Station). The dirt and darkness and randomly arranged hobos are all replaced here. The subway like feeling is definitely gone as the ceiling here stretches out high above, an ocean of blue paint covered with constellations.

But enough about the fancy atmosphere and general feeling that you are in a glitzy mall and not in fact sitting in the cities' largest monument to mass transportation. That feeling, by the way, is gone the minute you hear someone pushing their way through the crowds and muttering under their breath about tourists just loud enough for everyone to hear. No the important thing about Grand Central is the food.

There are bakeries and a market and several upscale restaurants quite out of my price range covering the main floor. But take the stairs down and you walk out into a slew of kitchens. The easy mistake to make is heading right to the Mexican food place. The first time we ate here I followed my Texas belly towards the sound of people laughing over overpriced margaritas and scooping up large amounts of salsa. It was a huge mistake, repeated many times throughout the city as each time I leave puzzling over the lack of good Mexican food in a city so large.

This time my wife rightfully overruled me and steered us past the host of other stalls all artfully displaying their samples to a pizza place in the corner. The room was loud and the people were packed around the bar and it seemed just about perfect. The waitress even managed not to sneer at my order of 'just pepperoni.' The food held up as well. And while good pizza is probably within a two blocks of any spot in Manhattan, this was more than the easy subway ride there.

After dinner I subtly applied some peer pressure to make sure we finished the meal in the correct fashion, with dessert of course. We quickly grabbed some cheesecakes before heading home and taking in a few drinks at the irish pub on the corner. It was a good night worth repeating (hint hint if you want to visit us).