– Got a ticket from work to attend the NYCWFF’s Burger Bash at Pier 92, hosted by Rachael Ray, whom I didn’t see and somehow didn’t hear. It was pretty fun. I ate many quarter sections of burgers. My favorite was from a restaurant called Emily, some dry-aged beef mishmash of wonderful things. Eater handicapped the event, if you’re curious about what was on tap.
The best part of the night was just being around all these burger-heads. Tickets were something like $300 a pop, so you either had to be rich or really into burgers to be there, and I was happy to find it was a real mix of the two. The burger-heads were mostly overweight white guys who non-discreetly eyed my food, loudly discussed the merits of the different offerings, and generally seemed very happy to find themselves in this situation. My favorite dude came ready with earplugs to block out any outside stimuli. A true hamburger-head.
My boss, in town from Chicago, showed up a little later and we walked around, ate more burgers, drank premixed cocktails out of clear plastic cups. We then left and took a cab to Tribeca to get shitfaced. At Ward III, a deeply trendy bar that played actually very good club music at a high decibel, I drank a $15 negroni.
We walked over to The Odeon for second-dinner. The Odeon is a “New York institution,” according to boss, and once a preferred hangout of the original SNL cast. It did feel old and authentic and charming, but you could also picture Jim Belushi Hoovering coke in the bathroom downstairs. I ordered the mussels and a scotch, boss ate a dozen oysters. We aided our digestion with calvados. It was dope and he paid for everything.
I determined to go home because I had to work the festival in the morning. Boss went off into the night to get up to God know’s what. I took the subway, but the E train wasn’t running, or rather it was running but on the F train tracks, so I rode it into Queens and from there took a taxi back to Brooklyn. That part was dumb.