So I apologize for being so late on posting my last few journal entries from my stay in NYC. Several days after I got back my little brother came into town and I've been incredibly busy with that and the last week of my classes. However, things have freed up a little bit, and I have time to post them.

This would be my post from Wednesday, March 26th.

I started off my day a little earlier than normal, deciding that instead of dicking around with all that sleep I should try and get up in the morning to try and find a damn good breakfast. After going onto Citysearch I found the Clinton St Baking Company and Restaurant and decided to try and find it.

When I got into town for some reason the directions that HopStop gave me were incredibly bad, and when searching for the restaurant I kept seeing that it was located in some place I'd never heard of called Brooklyn Heights, so since it was raining and I was in a bad mood from frustration, I said fuck it and just walked towards the East Village.

I suddenly found myself in Chinatown, and since I had tried to find it several times previously and wound up with nothing, when I hit Mott St. I promised myself I would find the arcade everyone had been telling me about, the Chinatown Fair.

Much like Dash Dogs, when I got there the place was unnecessarily closed. Furthermore though, while Dash Dogs was still there, the Chinatown Fair was permanently gone and up for lease. I was extremely let down. My day was getting worse. Then, as Chinatown faded away and I crossed the big gorgeous bridge that hits a buddhist temple, the line was crossed and I had stumbled upon what the local kids called "Nolita" (apparently it's short for "North of Little Italy"; I personally found it stupid and laughed). Encased in this village was the king of light breakfasts. Sorry, le king.

At first glance I passed by, thinking it was just some normal place with nothing special about it, but upon a second look at the dishes people had in front of them, my stomach protested that it had suffered enough, and the time for grub was nigh. Enter Cafe Gitane.

After being very impressed with the low cost of the menu I decided to start off with a Cafe Americano and shortly thereafter a croissant.

The coffee was the thickest, blackest, strongest I've ever drank. It was so strong it made me exclaim out loud and I think I made it a bit obvious to the guy next to me that I had never had a French breakfast before. I tried so hard to drink it straight but ended up pussying out and added a wee bit of milk and one cube of sugar. Regardless though it was still extremely strong, which left my palate quite pleased with me. And then came the croissant.

It was huge, flaky, buttery, and that Smuckers-looking container has locally-grown Strawberry preserves in it. Holy crap it was incredible. Quickly following the croissant was the main course.

Three baked eggs topped off with fresh tomato and coarsely-chopped basil, served with sliced baguette pieces. I had never heard of baked eggs before, and it was a very pleasant surprise. It tasted just like scrambled eggs but was a lot less messy, and the tomato added a nice zing, while the basil rounded out the dish with that warm, earthy spice that only basil has in my opinion.

After having my after coffee chocolate (that's what it's for right? I felt like a noob not really knowing what it was for.), I paid my bill (which only came out to $11.50 before tip) gave a hearty tip to the cute waitress, and with a happily full stomach I set out to the East Village to hang out for a bit before heading over to the famed Magnolia Bakery.

Since this journal is becoming long, I'm going to speed it up. Fast forward to several hours and tons more blocks later, I finally arrive at Magnolia to see what all the hubbub is about. I instantly have to get in a line, and it's chaos.

I finally get inside and everything looks incredible. All of the staff are very friendly and after spending $7.75 on three cupcakes (1 Red Velvet, 1 Devil's Food, and 1 Chocolate) and yelling at some dumb bitch reminding her to use tissue paper to grab the open-air cupcakes, I left with heavy anticipation and a box of baked glory.

I went outside and sat down on a bench with some friendlier-than-normal super pigeons to finally try them, and at first bite, suddenly everything came together in an explosion of buttercreme and a texture I can only describe as what the clouds in heaven must feel like, and it all made sense.

There were three girls and one guy sitting next to me who were also first-time visitors to the establishment, and we both started glowing with testimonial-worthy exclamations of joy at the perfection encased in every bite. Before I knew it I had downed all three cupcakes in less than 10 minutes, and felt like the happiest secret fatty in the world.

Several hours later I ended up in Greenwich Village and decided that it was time to get a good slice of pizza. Sadly, Lombardi's and the other places I wanted to go to only served pies, so being by myself I couldn't go to any of them, since lugging around a box of half-eaten pizza didn't seem like a fun idea. And then came Bleeker Street Pizza, whose front window sign proclaimed that they had the best slice in the village. I couldn't say no, and decided to get myself a slice of their famed Nonna Maria.

All of the ingredients were super fresh, hot, and the cheese was extra gooey. I was incredibly happy, and the staff was also very nice and friendly to an obvious tourist, which was a nice change.

This journal entry is very long, so I'll end with the most bitchin $1200 suit that I found at a place called Lord Willy a little ways from the pizza place.