BAM

Sometimes, preemtively, I miss NY. I miss the view from our apartment, Prospect Park, Mexican food (shut up, California), pizza, bagels, Red Hook, the swimming pool... and BAM.

Movies, dance, theater, music, opera. Become a member and the movies are half off, as are day-of tickets for everything else. It's within reasonable walking distance for us, with plenty of excellent food/drink/ice cream options on the way. There's even a great bookstore a few blocks away, to kill that extra twenty minutes while I wait for R to get out of work and meet me, or vice versa.

The only thing I could begin to complain about is the quality of the popcorn, and then only because I've had Film Forum's. Anyway, since we usually meet in the evenings for a 7ish show, we skip the popcorn and bring in sandwiches. Is this technically allowed? I think it makes the experience a little more civilized, eating our ciabatta-roasted-veg-goat-cheese sandwiches and sipping a hard cider. No one's ever complained.

BAM generally doesn't show blockbusters, but they're making an exception for Star Wars. (We went on Christmas Eve. The Harvey screen was the exact perfect size for my field of vision.) Generally there's a mixture of first-run films and thematic series of older films, occasionally even with musical accompaniment. Theater runs the gamut from Shakespeare to French robots; dance from ballet to modern. Opera I have no idea, because I don't like opera; I assume it's of the same generally high quality and intriguing variety.

Living where we do, we find ourselves at BAM at least once every week or two. Along with Prospect Park and Fairway, it's one of the pillars of our Brooklyn existence, and I will be sad when it's time to say goodbye.

MAP
RECIPE: Naan. R makes some amazing curries, and I'll choose this as a side over rice any day.

Recent Eats

As a general rule, I refuse to take pictures of food while I'm eating. I'll make exceptions if it's outside and I'm alone, but don't expect any dim restaurant pics here. That doesn't mean we can't talk about the food though.

El Toro Taqueria, Fort Greene, Brooklyn:
Uninspired but decent enough tacos. R likes them more than I do. I'm definitely willing to go back and try the burritos though, as they're very reasonably priced around $7. Cheapness and the proximity to BAM will keep us coming back until something better comes along.
*Update* Still haven't gotten around to the burritos, but we did sneak some tortas into the movies last night. Again, uninspired. Not half as good as this one food truck that used to park on 9th Ave around 58th St. (Maybe it still does, but I don't work over there anymore.)

Chiang Mai vs. Kao Soy, Red Hook, Brooklyn:
Red Hook has recently seen a surge of Northern Thai restaurants. Pok Pok kicked things off a few years ago, and then suddenly there were two more a bit further south, right across the street from each other. There's a bad-blood backstory, but in the interest of fairness we visited both.
Chiang Mai came out ahead, mostly thanks to Kao Soy's whole-fish situation. It's good, this fish, but it's also the spiciest thing in the universe (and I'm backed up on this by a lot of other spicy-food people), so after a few bites it's basically inedible. To be fair, it says on the menu that it's spicy, and the waitress warned us, but... there's a line between wowza-spicy and inedible, and this crossed it. Chiang Mai also has a much more comprehensive beverage menu than you'd expect at a Thai place and, ironically, the "khao soi" I ordered was delicious.

Battersby, Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn:
This was our blowout (seriously; not cheap) third-anniversary dinner. Seven-course tasting menu plus wine pairings. Overall, they were a bit too heavy-handed with the butter, but we definitely enjoyed every course. By the time we left my stomach was aching.
Here's the rundown (obviously seasonal, so your mileage will likely vary): corn soup, dashi (both amuse-bouche), scallops, tuna crudo, fluke, honeynut squash, chestnut pasta, rabbit roulade, ginger cream (palate cleanser), almond joy sundae, nutella mousse (one of each, served together). (I had to explain to R what "almond joy" meant. Candy is one of those very country-specific things.)

Misclenanea

Miscelanea, East Village, Manhattan:
I went for the Cafe Helado con Horchata, which sounded good in theory but ultimately didn't taste quite right to me. The torta I impulse-bought for lunch, on the other hand, was great. Queso Oaxaca. There's a small bench outside the shop (it's a sort of Mexican general store in addition to a counter-service cafe), but it was full, so I biked my sandwich back over the Manhattan Bridge and ate down by the water instead. They even throw in some fresh chips and a tiny container of pickled carrots.

Brooklyn Bridge Park

Patacon Pisao, Lower East Side, Manhattan:
The patacon -- a sandwich with plantains for bread -- sounds like it's going to be the shit, and it's pretty good, but it's the chachapa that really stood out. Either way, you get enough food for two meals.

Burger Mexicano, Lefferts Gardens, Brooklyn:
Once upon a time, my neighborhood had a wonderful Mexican restaurant. It was my bar, my local, my everything. Now it's gone. It was replaced by a brighter, crappier Mexican restaurant -- and by this place, around the corner. So I really wanted to like Burger Mexicano. And it was fine, I suppose, as these things go. Bit cramped and noisy though, and not nearly enough guacamole in an order thereof. Does not replace the hole Cafe Enduro left in my heart.

MAP
RECIPE: Sock-It-To-Me Cake, which I'd never heard of before I started at the Schomburg, but which I've made more than once now, by request.

Ink

In 1999, tattooing was still illegal in Massachusetts, so I drove to a strip mall in New Hampshire for my first tattoo. It hurt like hell, and I swore up and down that my first would also be my last. The artist just chuckled, spritzed my back with cool soapy water, and said, "You'll be back."

He was right. I've added six tattoos to my collection since then, each in a different place (geographically, I mean; they're all on my back), representing a different stage of my life. (2001: Edinburgh, 2004: Tokyo, 2005: New York, 2005: Auckland, 2007: New York, 2012: New York.) Eventually there will be a seventh. I know what it will be, and where, and by whom; it's just a question of putting those pieces together -- and, of course, moving on to another stage and marking the occasion.

For some people, I assume, tattoos are a form of art, expression, or fashion. They're worn decoratively. For me, well, unless we go swimming together you'd never know I had any. My tattoos are just that: mine.

People without tattoos commonly make three objections to getting one: they hurt; there's no design they'd want for that long; they're permanent. To which I say: yes; that's not the point; that is.

I put thought into each of my tattoos, and I chose each design for a reason. I still like all of them, but the one I chose in 1999 isn't something I'd choose in 2015. I've changed. And the tattoos remind me, in a way nothing else can, of what those changes are.

Once upon a very specific time, I was a person who chose to be tattooed with a tree, wings, leaves, words... I am not that person now. At no point along the way was I ever that person again. But looking at the tree, the wings, the leaves, the words, takes me back to what it meant to be the person who chose them.

Tattoos are permanent? You're damn right they are. Own who you are, and the growing up it took to get there.

And since I've had several people ask for recommendations, here are some good shops in NY: MAP.

RECIPE: Three-Ingredient Energy Bars. I keep some version of these in my desk at all times.

Dumplings

Disclaimer: This is a Manhattan post. There is no shortage of great dumplings in Brooklyn and Queens, but for right now let's assume you're in Chinatown and hungry.

When I moved back to NY in 2006, after a few years of living in Japan and wandering Southeast- and Austral-asia, there were a few things that made me very, very happy. Pizza and bread topped the list, but five-for-a-dollar dumplings were not far behind.

Back then there were two standard-bearers: Prosperity Dumpling and Tasty Dumpling. There were plenty of other contenders, but those two were consistently plump, juicy, and hot. Unfortunately, both have long since been discovered by the foodies. Tasty Dumpling fell victim to its own popularity by cleaning up their act, renovating, putting in shiny menu screens... and forgetting to focus on the quality of their product. Prosperity Dumpling went the opposite route, sticking to their quintessential hole-in-the-wall guns, and eventually getting shut down by the health department.

(About which: Look, they're cheap-ass dumplings. They're delicious. It's Chinatown. I'd be suspicious if they weren't being assembled in a rat-infested back alley. Save your A ratings for sushi or spend your dollar elsewhere but leave my dumplings alone!)

So what do we do now? Surprisingly, one of your best options for classic pan-fried dumplings is actually a mini chain, Vanessa's. The price has gone up -- it's now only four-for-a-dollar, but it's still hard to complain when you can feed two hungry people with a fiver. Actually, half the time I don't get the dumplings at all, because Vanessa's is also pretty good at their sesame pancake sandwiches. Crispy and oily on the outside, pillowy on the inside, and stuffed with veggies, an egg, or some roast pork, it's hard to go wrong. My only caution is: if you're in a hurry, stick to those two options. All the other dumplings are cooked to order, and I've seen other people wait upwards of 10-15 minutes for the more obscure boiled varieties.

If you have difficulty with the number of non-Chinese people in Vanessa's, you don't have to look far for more "authentic" experience. Four doors up is Shu Jiao Fu Zhou. Dumplings are the same price here, though phrased differently at eight-for-two-dollars, and they are excellent -- boiled, and much herbier and more sophisticated than their pan-fried cousins. For another two bucks you can get a plate of peanut noodles, and be very happy.

Both Vanessa's and Fu Zhou offer bags of fifty frozen dumplings to take home. And let me tell you, it is a wonderful thing to remember those in your freezer when you get home at 1am a little worse for wear. In any event, neither of these locations offers much in the way of ambient seating. If you're looking for a nicer dine-in experience, swing around west to Shanghai Asian Manor. They're soup dumplings are solid, and the Szechuan wontons some of the best. This has become my go-to brunch spots because yes, dim sum made to order is so, so much better than coagulating hollandaise.

MAP
RECIPE: Baked Risotto. I make this, on average, every few weeks. Sometimes as-written, sometimes totally stripped down and with different ingredients all together.

Halloween

This is going to be one of my rare pictureless posts. Why? Because the best part of Halloween in NY is just living it. Plus there are plenty of other picture sources out there.

I don't care if you don't like dressing up. I don't care if you hate candy. I happen to love both, but regardless, I stand by this advice: Go to the Village Halloween Parade. You don't have to walk in it. You don't even have to see the parade itself. It's enough just to be in the area, soaking it in. Because man, there is a lot to soak in. And it's awesome.

Do yourself a favor, too, and ride the subway there and back. It may be crowded and crazy, but when else will you find yourself on the same car, as my coworker did this weekend, with "war boys, Travis Bickle, Marty McFly, and both a black and a white Jesus."

(For the curious, my past costumes include: Seven of Nine, Delerium, Annie Lennox, Grammar Nazi, Two-Face, Peter Pan, Charlie Chaplin, Scuba Diver, Santa Claus, and The Crow.)

RECIPE: Mushroom Soup. Once you know how to make this soup, you know how to make all soups.

Bridge Analysis

When you ride a bike and live in Brooklyn, bridges end up forming a large part of your existence. On a day-to-day basis, I can find myself facing the Manhattan, Brooklyn, Williamsburg, 59th St/Queensborough, and/or Triborough Bridges. And these are not just convenient connectors from Point A to Point B; each has its own personality, vibe, soul.

Brooklyn: A classic, of course. If you're picking only one to walk over, it's probably this. You... and every other tourist. Which doesn't mean you shouldn't do it. Just be prepared to move slowly, and for god's sake stay out of the bike lane.

Williamsburg: Thick and industrial from a distance -- nothing to write home about -- but up close, inside, it changes character completely. Instead of squat and grey, suddenly it's bright red. Biking across, partly because of the red, and partly because it goes up, then down, then up and down again, feels like riding a long, slow roller coaster. It's a fun bridge, but it can get crowded. They're local crowds though, unlike the Brooklyn, so everyone generally knows enough to stay out of everyone else's way. Cool views of the Empire State Building and Domino Sugar Factory are also a plus. It's the bridge on which you're most likely to encounter skateboarders.

Manhattan: My personal favourite. Closest to the Brooklyn, it tends to suffer by comparison -- sort of a little-brother situation. But... It's nicer to walk across, if you're making a habit of it, waaaay nicer to bike across, and, frankly, it's prettier. The Brooklyn has those iconic stone arches, but the Manhattan is blue and sort of lacy, and anyway it gives you views of the Brooklyn.

Triborough: It's only very recently I've become familiar with this one. How often, really, does one need to travel between upper Queens and Harlem? As it turns out: sometimes, actually, these days. And I'm glad of it. Riding across the Triborough, in this case, means taking two bridges, with a cut across Randall's Island in between. This is not a bad thing; like the Triborough itself, Randall's is weird and empty and cooler than you expect. The Harlem > Randall's section is the more normal bit. Randall's > Queens is where it gets a little trippy. Great views on both sides (Hell Gate on the left; Manhattan on the right) and a complete lack of fence next to you, so that one good tip will send you plummeting to your watery doom.

59th St/Queensborough: My least favourite. It's not longer, but it feels longer. It's boring and brown and altogether unclear on whether pedestrians or bikers should stay to the right. And then it dumps you in Midtown.

RECIPE: Black Bean Soup, with a secret ingredient.

Green-Wood Cemetery

Some cities have an aura of death about them. Paris, New Orleans -- it doesn't take much to imagine a consumptive Moulin Rouge dancer, Baron Samedi following a second line, dissipation, voodoo, vampires, decay. Every guidebook ever written will tell you to visit St. Louis Cemetery Nos. 1-3, Lafayette Cemetery Nos. 1-2, Père Lachaise, Montmartre...

New York is a different story. I mean that literally: the narrative of this city does not lend itself to gothic glamour the way Paris' and New Orleans' do. This doesn't change the fact that we have some damn fine cemeteries of our own. The best, IMHO, is Green-Wood.

A few years ago I was working for an art copyright/licensing company. It was a decent stopgap -- they had health insurance and an unbeatable SoHo location, and I actually find copyright law pretty interesting -- but I wanted something a little more. One of my favorite classes in library school had been Conservation Lab, where we built archival boxes and bound books with fancy marbled Italian endpapers. It was tangibly satisfying, and I was good enough at it that the professor remembered me fondly and put me in touch with a colleague of his, who was also the archivist at Green-Wood Cemetery. For the next year, two mornings a week, I cleaned and bound books and encased blueprints in mylar. I enjoyed the work, but the best part was just being in Green-Wood that often.

Green-Wood Cemetery opened in 1838 as a solution to the problem of people dying in Manhattan. They needed somewhere out of town -- convenient enough for a day trip, but far enough that cholera wouldn't be a concern. So Green-Wood was built as a cemetery, but also, fundamentally, as a park. It was a bucolic escape from the city, the first large municipal green space here, years before Central or Prospect Park were a glimmer in Olmsted's eye. Visitors promenaded and picnicked and, from the tallest point in Brooklyn, looked out over the Harbor where one day the Statue of Liberty would stand.

With green areas multiplying across the city, Green-Wood doesn't see nearly the same level of visitors nowadays, but the ones who do make the trek are amply rewarded. There are all manner and design of mausoleums, a chapel that's a miniature of Christopher Wren's Tom Tower at Christchurch, weeping angels galore, and, of course, the parrots.

The story goes that some time in the 70s, a shipment of parrots escaped their crate at JFK. (Questions like: who was shipping them; how did they escape; and who ships crate-fulls of parrots anyway? remain unanswered.) They found their way west to Green-Wood, where the Gothic gates (designed by Richard Upjohn, the Trinity Church architect) proved an irresistible home. They've been there ever since. If you stand under the arches you can hear them squawking, and if you look up you can see how their nest is slowly consuming the top spire. They're monk parrots, and apparently their style of living -- communal, monastery style -- is responsible for their survival. Parrots that lived separately in individual nests would never last a winter here. Keep an eye on the ground too; you may find a bright green feather.

Green-Wood is also, thanks to Baked in Brooklyn, the best-smelling cemetery in the world. Unfortunately picnics are no longer allowed, but if you pick up a muffin and walk around eating it, no one's going to complain. Green-Wood also holds regular special events, often in the evening. There are daylight tours too, both official ones with the cemetery historian and others.

Everyone comes to NY and sees a Broadway show; hardly anyone comes to NY and sees a candlelit circus in a cemetery. Check it out.

MAP
RECIPE: Turkey Chili. Pretty much the only time I'll allow ground turkey in the house. This one's a crowd-pleaser.

Coffee

R and I were talking recently about what the defining foods and drinks of NY and London, respectively, might be. When it came to the NY drink, he didn't hesitate: "It's coffee."

Blue Bottle, Williamsburg

Every morning I look forward to my simple pour-over. It isn't fancy, but it beats by a long-shot the k-cup machine that is our only other office option. In addition to being terrible for the environment, k-cups just don't make very good coffee. There's also a very real pleasure in coming in every morning, boiling water, heating my milk, and watching the coffee drip for four minutes. I'm not kidding when I say I look forward to it.

But for those who can't or won't make their own coffee, rest assured that's no reason to go without.

Starbucks of course is everywhere. They provide valuable wifi and bathroom services and will happily (grudgingly) even give you a free glass of water. (NYC tap water is excellent. There is no excuse for buying the bottled stuff.) I also, very occasionally, like maybe once a year, admit to enjoying a matcha frappuccino or gingerbread latte. About the rest of their offerings, the less said the better.

I will give Starbucks credit for one thing though -- well, a combination of things. Starbucks taught America the difference between a cappuccino, a latte, and an americano, and that paying over $4 for one was not extreme, and in doing so helped create and foster a new coffeeshop culture. Without Starbucks we might not now have Stumptown, Blue Bottle, Brooklyn Roasting Company, etc. It's a sort of Microsoft effect, where they built something everyone had to have, and as soon as everyone did, they became uncool.

In any event, the question stands: Where should you go for coffee in NY? (Because you should, definitely, go for coffee in NY.)

Stumptown, Red Hook The Basic Cup: If all you want is a basic cup of coffee, maybe with milk and/or sugar, keep an eye on the sidewalks. Every morning until about 11 or 12, silver carts set up on the street corners. They offer coffee, pastries, and other snacks, and some have grills for breakfast sandwiches. These are not to be confused with the halal lamb/chicken-over-rice carts, the hot dog carts, or the smoothie carts. They are silver, disappear after lunchtime, and charge $1 for a small cup of basic coffee. It won't change your life, but it's cheaper and better than either Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts.

Why, how do you carry yours? Iced Coffee: If coffee is the drink of NY, iced coffee is the drink of Summer in NY. It is not going too far to say that on certain mornings, it is veritable manna from heaven. And you can get a perfectly cromulent cup from the silver carts ($2 for 16oz), but if you want to step things up a bit there are a few alternatives: + Blue Bottle New Orleans + Miscelanea Cafe Helado con Horchata + El Rey Vietnamese Iced Coffee (Any place that does banh mi will also have this on the menu.) + Toby's Estate Espresso Julep + Stumptown Nitro + Cold brew (At pretty much every serious coffeeshop these days.)

Milk Bar

Espresso Drinks:

I'm not a big drinker of espresso on its own. It has its place (namely, after a multi-course meal with my father), but generally when I'm drinking espresso, I'm drinking a cappuccino. Still, this does not happen often. Just as there exist iced coffee mornings -- humid, hungover -- there are the "sweet mornings of perfect repose" meant exclusively for cappuccinos.

Cappuccinos are not an everyday drink, nor are they a cardboard cup drink. They must be unhurried, luxurious, possibly topped with a sprinkle of cinnamon, enjoyed near a window, preferably with a cat and the crossword puzzle.

My favorite cappuccino in New York is at Brooklyn's Milk Bar. They also do a killer avocado toast, and sometimes Michael Cera comes in to buy scones. Yes, it's in Brooklyn, but so are a lot of the best things in NY. If you're looking to make a day of it, it's within easy striking distance of the Brooklyn Museum, Botanic Garden, and Flea.
MAP
RECIPE: Lamb Burgers. The lamb is cooked in the pita, which makes things both easy and incredibly delicious. I like a shmear of goat cheese on top as well.

Getting Help

New Yorkers are known as a fast, unforgiving people. This is largely fair. We walk fast, talk fast, and are disinclined to let strangers get away with minor infractions. As Thornton Wilder put it, "Density of population increases irritability, lonesomeness, & a censorious view of the behavior of others." However.

There's a trick. Do you need help? Directions, information, advice? ASK. Ask, and you will find New Yorkers to be the most patient, instructive people in the world.

LES

It's a simple transaction: Indicate your need, and we will meet it. Not least because New Yorkers love to show off how much they know about New York, and how great it is.

If, instead, you choose to indicate your need through entirely passive means, you're on your own. Squint at the map all you want, no one will come to your aid. In New York, you're expected to take responsibility for yourself -- to own your actions.

Brooklyn Bridge Park

Of course if you're fine with squinting at the map, there's no problem. Personally, I'd much rather muddle around under my own steam, figuring things out as I go. Nothing wrong with that. Just please, please don't get in anyone's way. Pull over to the side of the pavement, don't block doors or crosswalks, don't stop suddenly in confusion. Get in anyone's way, and you won't get help; you'll get a sharp elbow in the back.

Update: Actually, sometimes you will get help without asking for it. Like, if you're not in my way, but you're having a loud discussion with your friends about an issue that I can easily resolve... Imma jump in and solve it.
For example, this group of girls near the edge of Central Park today, trying to figure out which way was north. Their GPS wasn't helping, and NY is slanted enough that the 2pm sun only confused them further, so as I was walking by I just said "That way. [pointing] That way is north."

RECIPE: Waffles. Halve this, but use two eggs, and it's perfect for two people.

Photoville

Every September, Photoville pops up in Brooklyn Bridge Park. "Is it indoors or outdoors?" R asked. "Both, kind of," I said.

The exhibition is set up in (and sometimes on the sides of) shipping containers. It runs for two weeks, asking only a $3 donation, and is the perfect excuse to spend a sunset down by the water. R and I went on the last night this year, after an attempt last weekend got rained out.

Photoville

Free art is a marvelous thing. Spend $25 to get into MoMA, and you feel obligated to spend the entire day. Which you can't, because after two hours in a museum your brain turns off and all you want is to sit the hell down and have a beer. With free (or, let's say, up to $5) art, you can to take it as it comes. Spend ten minutes in one shipping container, breeze by others without a glance, go off and grab some pizza and ice cream across the way and come back: it's all good. It gives you art without the guilt -- art for the sheer pleasure of it, as it should be.

And Photoville puts on a good show. There's a wide range of styles and subjects, with work from everyone from NY Times photographers to middle school students. In more than one shipping container, you'll find something you like.

Photoville shipping container

As it happened, we didn't get pizza or ice cream this time. Instead, we headed up the hill to Madiba in Fort Greene, where we'd been once before for a World Cup match. (We hadn't eaten anything then, as the match (USA vs. Ghana) was a total madhouse. For any Ghana fans, apparently a South African restaurant was as close as they could get.) A $3 beer special made our drinks decision easy, and then I had the bobotie while Richard went for the oxtail potjie. Good stuff, and a nice atmosphere. Madiba has languished on my list of places to try for many years now, but, now we've broken the seal, I suspect we'll be back soon.

MAP
RECIPE: Chai. Because sometimes coffee isn't where it's at on a Sunday morning.

Origin Story

New York and London. I grew up in New York and visited London on my very first trip abroad, when I was 9. I went again when I was 20 and spending my junior year abroad in Edinburgh, and again when I was 25 on my way to and from a drive around Wales.

I've always liked London. It's the only place I've made it a point to visit more than once -- not because I don't also like other places, but because there are just so damn many of them. London, though, never felt like a foreign city; I never felt like a tourist there. London felt like home; of course it was a place I came back to.

I suppose part of it is that everyone speaks English, but that's true too in Dublin, Sydney, Auckland, San Francisco -- plenty of cities that I've visited and like or dislike to varying degrees. What really counts isn't language, but soul. New York and London are kindred souls; they feel right together. If you ♥ one, I can't see how you wouldn't ♥ the other.

And then there's Richard. He's London, I'm NY.

We met in 2012 at Cycling for Libraries. I came from NY, he came from London, and we cycled through Lithuania, Latvia, and Estonia with 100 other librarians from all over the world. Two months later, we got married. One year later, he got his green card and moved to NY, and we've been here together ever since.

NY♥London, going strong.