A Proud Announcement
By 
I am pleased to announce that the Maoists who edit the New York Times Styles and Real Estate sections have informed me that our own wjts has been hired as a columnist. Here’s an excerpt from his first column, which will surely whet your appetite like a stale Kaiser roll smeared with I Am Thoroughly Persuaded That This Is Not Butter and wrapped in cellophane:
Is there a more quintessentially New York beverage than ice water? This deceptively simple yet undeniably refreshing combination of water and ice is a mainstay of meals in the city, whether it’s served in cut crystal goblets at Le Sot Crédule or a capacious plastic tumbler at an outer borough diner.
Indeed, the ways in which the city’s signature drink can be served are as varied and fascinating as the city itself. Beyond the choice of drinkware, the ice can be cubed, crushed, or even shaved. Some pour the water before adding the ice, but many purists insist that ice-first is the only way to do it.
Unsurprisingly, this incredible range of options leads to strongly-held convictions and passionate disputes. There is no surer way to start an argument among New Yorkers than to ask a group of them which establishment serves the best ice water. (The correct answer, by the way, is a little family-owned trattoria in Fort Greene. No, I’m not going to be more specific – it’s already too crowded.)
But despite its ubiquity within New York, ice water (also called “iced water”) is impossible to find anywhere else.
Believe me, I’ve tried.
On treks as far afield as Hartford and Philadelphia, I have, occasionally, attempted to order a glass of ice water. The outcome is always the same: the server looks at me, not quite understanding, and returns a minute or two later carrying a glass of water with some ice cubes in it.
I’m not sure what that’s supposed to be, but whatever it is, it’s not New York ice water.
I hope he will celebrate with a nice meal at Maggiano’s, an upscale eatery in Philadelphia’s so-called “Little Italy” neighborhood. Should it be too crowded, perhaps a sojourn to Chinatown, where apparently a Mr. P.F. Chang is bringing Asian cuisine to benighted American provinces.
While we’re here, even if we leave aside the bits of the original column imagining rubes reacting with drooling incomprehension to the concept of buttering a hard roll, I will let Friend of the Blog Darcy explain why the whole premise was ridiculous:
Plus the New York deli/street cart kaiser is awful. Taking pride in a ubiquitous food that is especially bad in NYC = the worst NY tradition
— Darcy James Argue (@darcyjamesargue) August 3, 2017
There are genuinely distinctive things about living in NYC. The availability of bad food on a commute route is…not one of them. Bragging about NYC deli/cart rolls and/or breakfast sandwiches is like writing an ode to the remarkable culinary tradition embodied by the hot dogs available at the Mobil station near the freeway.