When eight of the women in my family decided to go to NYC for the weekend to celebrate two birthday’s, I knew not only would it be an opportunity to reconnect with them (which was long overdue), but I’d get to eat fresh seafood!

I’d figured that I’d have four, if I was lucky, maybe five, meals in the short span of time I’d have in the city. But not everybody, gasp! has the same love of seafood as moi. Fortunately, regardless where you eat in NY, there’s seafood on the menu.

Once we’d agreed on the dates, March 30-April 1, and where we’d stay (Sheraton in Weehawken, NJ), I secured a few reservations for dinner and started thinking of how I could commemorating our first-ever-trip-together to NYC.

I decided that a picture book with six-word phrases, based on Smith Magazine’s famous Six Word Memoir, would be the perfect gift. Everyone agreed to take part. The funny, six word phrases began. (That’s six right there!)

But as it turned out, Mother Nature had a say about our weekend, and our carefully constructed plans were side tracked by her chilly, wet attitude.

Our first night out to dinner took us to Blue Fin Seafood and Sushi Restaurant in Times Square. It did not disappoint. Uni, tuna and Hamachi slide down our throats faster than we could say one of our favorite six word phrases, “I think I need a vacation.” Dinner followed with shared plates of seared medium-rare salmon, flaky striped bass, whole, buttery Maine lobster and meaty halibut. Okay, one down, three to go.

The following morning, our Water taxi adventure departed from Pier 84 at West 44th St. Rain pelted the steamed-up windows and we listened to the captain narrate the rich history of the city. The skyline disappeared and reemerged through the rain and fog as the boat slogged through the choppy waters of the Hudson River. I suspected we wouldn’t be scouting the streets food trucks, more likely, we’d be desperate for a warm, dry restaurant. Without a reservation. But a little rain wouldn’t dampen our spirits and fun.

The rain subsided a bit and we disembarked at Pier 17 for a quick walk to Chinatown in search of knock-off designer purses and a little sightseeing. (Lunch was going to be somewhere in Greenwich Village-the next stop on the boat.)

We wandered the streets, passing stalls of exotic-looking foods. Jack fruit, a dirty brown, cranium-looking melon, its interior reminiscent of oversized sunflowers, piles of gnarly knobs of ginger the size of cantaloupes, boxes of fresh squid and fish, steamed-up windows displaying bbq ducks and chickens, hanging, waiting to be wrapped and taken home, and countless pastry shops. Who knew Chinatown had so many bakeries? One pastry shop’s window displayed American-ized birthday cakes. It was perplexing, but then a tiny, thin Asian man pulled open the front door and the thick wave of sugar -air lured us in.

Once inside we realized the window display was a rouse. It was as if we’d entered a small intimate shop exclusive to families and friends. Small wooden tables filled the back of the shop and cases of handmade pastries lined the entire right side. A smattering of patrons sat sipping drinks, murmuring in Cantonese or Mandarin, watching the eight of us, cluck like hens, ohh-ing and ahh-ing over the pastries. I’d ordered six pieces of sugary confection, based on eye appeal since my Mandarin is non-existent. We stood in a tight circle in the front of the shop, passing the confections like school children on a fifteen minute pass, eager and excited. Mango, almond, sesame, sweet cream, all unknown combinations to our American palates. All were devoured.

Except one.

A blood egg, according to the counter clerk. The red bean curd-filled flaky pastry was mysteriously delicious. Although, it was enough to make a few stomachs flip and go in search of a packet of TUM’s.

We’d forge on to Canal Street and we’d eventually find our purses in a tiny back room of a store. The afternoon ended in a warm, dry, cozy Italian restaurant on Mulberry Street, Da Gennaro Ristorante.

The only seafood items on the lunch menu were shrimp, clams and lobster. Regardless, it was time to sit on our butts, and we filed into the small, busy, garlic-infused restaurant. I’d ordered one of my favorite go-to entree’s, angel hair pasta with pink sauce and shrimp. Two down, one to go?

The boat ride took us to the Statue of Liberty, not Greenwich Village, which was better anyway. Our feet were weary and we were ready for a some down time. After all, we’d still have the night ahead of us.

Thanks to a suggestion from our nephew, Ryan, who lives in NYC, we’d ended up at Hurley’s Saloon, a famous mid-town Irish-American eatery. We hadn’t planned to spend the evening there, but we are glad we did. The service and the comfort food (I’d ordered fish-and-chips-three down) would have been enough, but other patrons (sisters also celebrating birthday’s) made it a memorable, enjoyable evening.

The rest of the night was a blur of people watching in Times Square, souvenir shopping and late night (2 a.m) talk in our jammies reminiscing our trip and lives in the hotel room.

That was my eleventh trip to NYC. I’m sure I’ll go again. But next time, I’m going to find a walking seafood tour. I know, I know, I just might be on my own.

This one’s for my sisters and nieces.