Capogiro Gelato Artisans: Misfits take Manhattan

So, Capo's awesome district manager and all around swell person, Sarah, and I share the same day off. Recently, we have also been sharing a kind of Philly cabin fever, one that makes me want to pick this city up like a whiny child and give it a good shake. Since that is both impossible and crazy, I needed a quick fix. Solution = Day trip to New York City! Here are some highlights:

Epic Gyros. After we arrived in the Flatiron district we trekked over to the East Village and found a cheese shop. Cheese was not enough, I was getting pretty hungry and therefore cranky. We wandered around a bit more, then got a little lost when things started looking really fancy and we realized we had drifted into SoHo. There was a lone gyro cart parked in front of Sotheby's so we decided to give it a go. Best. Gyro. Ever. (This is not a picture of it but my hands were too covered in awesome to take a picture so imagine that this is it only it is lamb and smothered with tzatziki and spicy sauce and when you bite it it feels like little fat Greek gods are dancing around inside your mouth).

Old Men's Bar. Sarah knows of a bunch of little secret gems in the Village, the best of which had to be McSorley's Old Ale House. Apparently it's the oldest continuously operating Irish bar in the country (opened in 1854). Her dad spent a bunch of time here when he was in college, so the bar is really sentimental to Sarah. This place was awesome. It was the most bare bones, 'we don't ever change because we were perfect to begin with' old school pub ever. No music playing, no frills, sawdust on the floor, history covering the walls. They only serve two types of beer, light and dark. They refused to allow women here until the 1970's. Above the bar there is an ancient lamp, covered in at least a century of dust. Hanging from the lamp are a dozen or so wishbones. Story goes that local lads stuck them up there when they were shipping off for WWI, to be removed once they returned. The bones that are still hanging are presumably from those who did not make it home. Heavy.

Lobstah Rolls. Sarah had a craving for these babies, and I had never had one. She did some research, and found a place on 7th St. called Luke's Lobster that serves lobster that was caught in Maine the day before by Luke's own father. So fresh! We both went for the a la carte lobster rolls. These beauties consist of a toasty split-top bun with a bit of mayo, a hefty serving of fresh claw meat, a dab of lemon butter, and a pinch of their secret spices. Delicious. Go there. Get some. Now.

Secret Spy Bar. I might get killed for this but I'll tell you anyway. Around the corner from the lobster joint is a hot dog shack called Crif Dogs. It's an unassuming place, just your typical dog stand. There's an old phone booth in the corner. Sarah entered it and dialed right on the rotary phone and waited. After a few minutes the back wall opened up and a well dressed woman escorted us in. We were suddenly inside PDT, a hidden lounge in the style of a prohibition-era speakeasy. Pretty swank. The ambiance was something out of the Maltese Falcon, small and dark and classy with amber lighting and well-placed taxidermy spaced around the room. They had an amazing craft cocktail menu, and you can still order some of the fancier dogs off the Crif's menu if you're in need of bar food. PDT was definitely pretentious, but that's kind of the point.