New York Story

I live in New York City, of which it has been said: " is the (insert hyperbole/superlative here) city in the world"
Without so much as just noticing that I'm having one... I think I can reasonably endeavor this ratio:
1 adventure/ 1 week.
One to One.

I'm going to write about these adventures and post them here because:
-I'd like some instant accountability that having made this claim, I'll actually follow up on it
-facebook/twitter has taught me that no experience is valid until shared with every single one of your friends, family, acquaintances and that guy you're pretty sure you met at that party that one time
-maybe some of these friends, family, acquaintances and party guys have suggestions for adventures I should/could go on in NYC. Maybe some of these friends, family and acquaintances... not so much the party guys... will want to accompany me on one of these adventures.

So. There it is. My adventure gauntlet. Thrown.

P.S. As a bonus I may include something I have learned in the week.

Saturday, April 18th - Brooklyn (Ft.Greene/ Brooklyn Heights/ The Promenade) Manhattan (Union Sq.)
Attendees: Gabriel Baron, Jess Smith

A summary:
Met a guy with an eye patch.
Ate some amazing dumplings, some even more amazing plantains.
Went to a "flea" market.
Got pooped on.

After a walk in the park in my neighborhood and some fantastic diner breakfast, I took an hour train ride out to Brooklyn and went to the Brooklyn Flea Market. There is no 'flea' to this market... grandpa's old cowboy shirts for $120, 'vintage' (read: "old and kind of yellowing in your sweaty places") frocks for $90, and other necessaries like broken super 8 projectors and watches you have to wind. Really, I love digging through this stuff. I feel like I'm settling the estate of some great uncle I should have taken the opportunity to get to know better while I had the chance. But I'm not going to buy any of his crap.

Walking out of the market we saw this big yellow house that looked like it had been transplanted from some salty bluff of Maine circa 1852. Those of you who have lived here know how rare it is to see a house in the city, a free standing, single occupancy structure is unheard of... much less one that looks like the set for The Lady in White. Wow, do you remember that movie? 1988. 10 yr. old Lukas Haas. And ghost mom would wander the cliffs yelling for her dead daughter, Melissa. Bad 'ghosty' graphics and all, still gives me shivers.

This older gentleman saw us looking at the house and made us cross the street so we could see the roof. Now, this guy looked like a lunatic. Eye patch, limp, ratty and toothless. With two dogs named Peggy Sue and Lola. I couldn't make this shit up. He pointed out the cupola on the roof and the tiny walkway around it. At one time you could see the harbor from this perch and the wives would know if their husbands had come home or not. "For those unfortunate ones whose men did not come home", the lunatic says, "this is called a 'widow's walk'." He also told us about a sibling rivalry that drove one brother to donate his mansion to the Masons and the other, adjacent mansion to the Catholic church, which "if you know anything, is pretty much the antithesis", the lunatic says. Now, if I learned anything today, because really, who cares about the house... it's that sometimes you have to give a likely lunatic a 2-3 minute window to demonstrate that they might just be an eccentric old man with one eye and a lot of interesting things to say.

After the flea market we headed out to Brooklyn Heights and walked down toward the promenade. We stopped on the way at Jack the Horse Tavern, which was as much 'tavern' as the market was 'flea'... but a very cute place. The bartender must part his hair with a ruler. He wore a white apron, a high collared shirt and vest... I kept expecting him to slip into sepia and shout "Extra! Extra! Read all about it!". He had an extraordinary sense of economy and showmanship and he served Gabriel's Rye over a perfect 3x3 cube of ice. Beautiful.

And then... I got pooped on.

Walking to the promenade as the sun was setting and bloop... poop. or something. I'm really not sure what, who, how. I think it best to not imagine for too long. It was dark up in that tree/ building and stinky in my hair/ hand/ and I'm sorry to report, a little face. Thankfully, and amazingly, I had a moist towlette in my purse which I put to some frantic use. It had never occurred to me to be surprised, it had never occurred to me to feel lucky to have lived as long as I have without being pooped on... but I suppose it was just a matter of time.

A great day... rounded out with some amazing dumplings and an overly sweet lychee sake at Laman (13th and University- Union Sq.)
Also of note- the sauteed fish tacos with chipotle mayo and the black bean and plantain quesadilla at Pequena (86 So. Portland Ave. Bklyn)
Jack the Horse Tavern (Hicks and Cranberry) way too swanky, but good for one drink if only to watch the newsy behind the bar crush a mint leaf like he was delivering Shakespeare.

And now... a bonus.
My mom wrote me this week to ask about the neighborhood NoHo and if that was a take-off on SoHo.
I just, very recently, realized that SoHo means SOuth of HOuston ... and NoHo of course is NOrth.
also
TriBeCa means - the triangle below Canal St.
NoLita means - North of Little Italy.

This got me wondering about the origin of "Soho" as a neighborhood in London...
According to Wikipedia:

"The area which is now Soho was grazing farmland until 1536, when it was taken by Henry VIII as a royal park for the Palace of Whitehall. The name “Soho” first appears in the 17th century. Most authorities believe that the name derives from the old “soho!” hunting call (“Soho! There goes the fox!” etc.). The Duke of Monmouth used “soho” as a rallying call for his men at the Battle of Sedgemoor, half a century after the name was first used for this area of London"

As for the Soho district in Hong Kong, it apparently means South of Hollywood Road.

There is also a Soho in Tampa, FL. and one in Pittsburgh. Who knew.

I'm planning on bringing this into my daily vernacular as a rousing greeting, no foxes required. It should be belted, full throated into the winds as kind of a Hoka Hey. What has gone before has been enough and today is a good day to die.

And on that...


SoHO!