A rare weeknight journey to the East Village became the highlight of my week. Situated a few cities away, my craving for one of the best dishes I have ever eaten in foodtown Manhattan was increasing at an annoying rate, and the only things standing between me and Momofuku SSAM's popular dish were time and space. The late afternoon Metro North train ride sucked the life and patience out of me, but at least I had quite the view as my backdrop for daydreaming and drooling as we crossed the Bronx into Harlem, Manhattan.
Upon my arrival at a relatively empty Grand Central Terminal, I noticed something that had irked me. My telephone contained a text message from my friends whom I was meeting that evening, informing me that dinner was at 9:00 pm. Fantastic, I thought. The famous clock in the middle of the Terminal told me that another hour and forty-five minutes would pass before my chance to so as much sit down in Momofuku. Luckily, some of my friends were available before then, so we decided to get a drink across the street from Momofuku. At that point, I jumped onto the 6 train heading downtown.
Yes. The train was crowded. In New York, if you couldn't hold onto something on the subway during rush hour, there is no need to worry; your body is bottled up within a hexagon of other bodies supporting your weight like a trust-exercise in an overpriced empowerment seminar led by a perky maniac with a lapel microphone taped onto his cheek. I poured out of the subway and finally found myself in Union Square, hungry like no one's business. It was close to 8:00 pm.
Union Square had its distractions and temptations. A slice of typical New York pizza almost seduced me into cheating on the not-so-imminent Momofuku experience. I resisted, but with some remorse.
Eventually, I found myself at the Blue Owl drinking a happy hour Martini with old friends from Manila. They too were impatiently waiting to satisfy the somewhat destructive craving that was just across the street.
At 9:00 pm, after a seemingly long and endless journey, I finally made it to Momofuku.
I had three pork buns that evening, and it hit the spot to say the least. The pork was tender enough to melt in your mouth and was covered in a tangy hoisin sauce and thinly-sliced cucumbers in a Chinese bun. Fantastic. I had no thoughts of the long commute back up north...I needed to bask in this moment of culinary glory.
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