NEW YORK — This place is cool.

Inside the Norwood Club, a pre-Civil War brownstone building in Manhattan’s Chelsea neighborhood converted into a private club in 2007, there’s a giant likeness of a walrus made of shimmering metallic ribbons hanging over the mantel and a bust of the Virgin Mary with David Bowie’s Aladdin Sane lightning bolt painted across her face looming over the elevator. “Club members,” per the Norwood’s website, “enjoy a salon of discovery through a variety of talks and events,” including “stimulating screenings and performances.” Near the front window, an entire wall is covered by an art piece built of bold block letters and light bulbs referencing “faraway places” where the lights “do not turn off the stars.”

Upstairs, while a room full of media chows down on small dishes of buzzworthy foods like avocado toast, yogurt parfait and chicken and waffles, Mets pitcher Noah Syndergaard discusses Cholula-brand hot sauce and his new role as an ambassador for what the company is calling “The Order of Cholula.”

“To be able to add Cholula to everything at every part of the day is a big thing that keeps me in my routine,” Syndergaard says. Asked of his experience with the campaign, he notes, “I was able to meet a guy who has lived in a van for three years now and cooks with Cholula. I found that very inspiring.”

After Syndergaard speaks, the room turns its attention to a screen on the wall, backlit with red LED lighting, where widescreen video soundtracked by grungy blues rock shows the pitcher, a tattoo artist, a painter, a guitarist and an MMA fighter going about their work — united, of course, by their shared love for Cholula. The tattoo artist is inking a tattoo of a Cholula bottle. The painter is painting a Cholula bottle on her jacket. The fighter is nicknamed “Hot Sauce.” “The Cholula,” he explains, “helps break up the monotony.”

Syndergaard, 24 years old and on the disabled list for the first time in his young but stellar pitching career, now faces the monotony of rehabbing a torn lat muscle that sidelined him — in somewhat controversial fashion — after only five starts at the outset of the 2017 season.

The fireballing righty, known as “Thor” for his dominance and bravado and massive frame and flowing blond hair, refused an MRI after missing a start with biceps soreness in late April, then endured a nightmare outing only days later that ended with him grabbing at his side and leaving the game in the second inning. He has not pitched since, and Mets GM Sandy Alderson estimated on Thursday that it will be at least another four weeks before the pitcher is cleared to throw again — a timetable Syndergaard corroborated at the Cholula event last week.

“My understanding is that the issue I had been experiencing before had nothing to do with my lat,” Syndergaard told USA TODAY Sports, echoing the Mets’ statements on the injury. “My lats have always been tight. Sooner or later, something was going to happen. I wish it hadn’t been now. I wish it was something I could’ve addressed in the offseason, but I can’t do much about it now.

“I feel like I do a pretty good job at controlling the controllables. Right now, OK, my lat’s torn. I can’t really do anything about it besides rehab the crap out of it, and make sure when I come back, I’m stronger than ever and this doesn’t happen again.”

Syndergaard’s a Texas native, and in the promotional video he noted that bouts of homesickness fuel his desire for hot sauce. But he loves New York City, and at this event and others like it, he endeavors an arduous task: Ascending to superstardom in a place and a sport that often seem hellbent on devouring their brightest young talents. His teammate, Matt Harvey, rocketed to fame in 2012 and 2013 only to see injuries, bouts of irresponsibility, and the type of backlash that now seems to inevitably follow celebrity take their toll on his arm and his reputation.

Syndergaard still seems thrilled to explore the city and happy to court exposure. He joins the Mets at Citi Field whenever they’re home, and during road trips spends his free time around New York with his girlfriend, riding bikes in Central Park, uncovering Manhattan’s best healthy and gluten-free food options, and debating the merits of one cheat meal per week versus one cheat day per month. He recently attended a magic show produced by Neil Patrick Harris. He met Jim Breuer at a Metallica concert at Nassau Coliseum.

“It’s weird, really, figuring what to do with your time now, but you’re in New York City,” he says. “I’m not getting bored by any means. I’m still present in the clubhouse; I still want to be around the guys. It’s my first DL experience. I’ve been around those guys basically the entire year, and when you take that away from somebody — I don’t know what it could do to you mentally, but I definitely don’t want to go down to Port St. Lucie and be basically by myself.”

On this topic, Syndergaard is unequivocal: He wants to do as much of his rehab as possible in New York, rather than spend any more time than necessary at the Mets’ complex in Port St. Lucie, Fla., a town that seems constructed almost entirely of parking lots linking big-box stores and chain restaurants.

“Spring training is one thing, because you’re down there in that miserable place with everybody else,” he says. “But if you’re rehabbing down there, it’s a whole different animal.

“What is a professional athlete there supposed to eat? The amount of times I go to Chipotle while I’m in spring training, it would sicken you.”