brooklyn with f.r.i.e.n.d.s | the one with all the photos

I'm still surprised at how easy it was to gather eight of my closest friends in New York for a weekend in September. It helps that it was the weekend sandwiched between my birthday and my long-time, childhood best friend Mel's birthday (we're a year and 10 days apart, this is nonessential information that I had to share, anyway), and that everyone was within 4-5 hours of the Big Apple. It worked out even sweeter that it somehow, someway ended up as four couples - Mel and Mike, Matt and Ryan (my roommate and best friend since way back in high school & his boyfriend), my college roommate Ellie and her boyfriend Andy (who live in Brooklyn), and Zander and me. It was the first time Zander and Mike met, and they hit it off right away, which sort of melted me - I think you maybe never think about it purposefully but always just know that someday your significant other and your best friend's significant other will be best friends. Or at least, that's the way you dream life will turn out.

This weekend felt like three whole days of reaping the fruit of the labor of all that childhood dreaming. Six of us shared an AirBNB apartment in Clinton Hill (minus Ellie and Andy who have their own pad!), and we trudged up a four-story walk up every day, one after the other, laughing at whatever jokes we'd just made and all pretending we weren't gasping for breath at the end. We shut down a new craft beer and artisan wine bar (best. bar. idea. ever.) on the Lower East Side at 4:00am, and I think even then the only reason we finally left is because we drank the bartender out of stock (story has it that Zander ordered another bottle of Champagne at 2:30 in the morning). We stayed up late on Saturday night drinking wine in the apartment, sipping slowly, still recovering from the night before. And we -- okay I -- hungover shopped at the Brooklyn Flea - a five-minute walk from the apartment - until there was nothing left to buy.

We stuffed ourselves silly with bagels and cream cheese from Bergen Bagels, just down the street from our apartment for the weekend, and it's my new favorite New York bagel stop - but maybe that's more for the memories than the bagels themselves? No, the bagels are that damn good, too.

But maybe the best part of it all was our impromptu decision on Sunday morning to walk across the Brooklyn Bridge. None of us could say no to the thought of one more outing, one more subway ride into Manhattan, one more morning spent under that impossibly blue sky before heading back to our respective cities and regular lives. I've walked it before at night, but it was a whole other kind of beautiful during the day. We had the world's most perfect weather - sunshine hitting our shoulders and turning our noses pink with breezes cool enough to remind us that fall is coming, it's almost here.

I bought a print from an artist drawing them in the middle of the Bridge. It's of New York in the rain, and it felt touristy and just right, and it's really beautiful - I can't wait to hang it. We took too many pictures, and I convinced everyone to jump - let's get that silly tourist jumping picture. They're so imperfect, and I think that's why they're my favorite photos from the weekend.

We ended our whirlwind weekend that felt like years we'd spent together with a stop at Smorgasburg, the Brooklyn Flea Food Market, at DUMBO, near the Brooklyn Bridge Park. The food blew us all away, as did the view.

It maybe seems cliche and a bit 1999 of me to say, but it felt like a Friends with a capital F - like the ones who hung out in Central Perk and on my TV for 10 years - kind of weekend. Eight of us in the big city with nothing better to do than make memories.

if you go...

old man hustle 

(a gigantic hell yeah and thank you to old man hustle, where the drinks were great, and the bartender practically knows our names) 

*thanks to mel for use of the last 6 photos shown above. photo credits belong to her. visit the things they made for more of her photos and other good things. 

red hook winery might be brooklyn's best kept secret

When I was six, I begged my mom to take me to church. We'd just moved to Newnan, Georgia, and all the new friends I'd made went to church. All of them. But we didn't. My mom didn't seem too keen on the idea. My brother joined the begging, too. We didn't beg like normal kids, though - with "please, please, please" pleading. We were calculated. We listed reasons it would serve our emotional growth and help us adjust to life in a brand new city. We made moral arguments. We went as far as to convince Mom that she, too, needed friends and what better place to make them than in God's House? 

We tried out a Catholic church, and it was the actual worst. My Mom was raised Catholic, so it was a natural first attempt for her. We were forced to dress up, and there wasn't a kid's oriented class so we suffered through what I suppose was a Mass? I don't know - ever since I nearly died of boredom that day, I've subconsciously blocked out Catholicism entirely. 

The second try was a charm. My brother's buddy Joseph said we had to try Crossroads, a laid back place of worship that was fun. (Our friends really had us convinced that church was practically a dance club it was so cool. Peer pressure is very weird in Southern Baptist Georgia.)

The next Sunday, we drove less than a mile from our house and turned left down a quarter mile dirt and gravel road. As we wound through a lane of trees, a concrete warehouse came into view. Surely we were lost. We looked for an address or a sign on the gray building. It wasn't until we hit a makeshift parking lot and saw smiling faces on dressed down in jeans church-goers that we knew we were right at home. 

Fast forward 22 years later (holy shit when did I age that fast?), and I experienced the same wholly happy and perfectly-at-home feeling when Zan's, Andy's, and my cab turned down a street that started off Brooklyn chic and dead-ended into warehouses, small urban gardens, a grungy pier, and makeshift signs with giant arrows pointing to various small businesses.We'd found our way - a no easy feat - to Red Hook, Brooklyn, home of Red Hook Winery, my new religion in this very strange church-winery comparison. 

Zan has been an urban winery enthusiast for some time now. He's such a big city guy - down to his very core - and sees the genius in bringing grapes and wine-making to concrete patches and small garden swaths. After taking in Red Hook Winery - located on a pier in an old warehouse, I fully agree. While the winery grows its grapes in Long Island, wine-making happens on the premise. The open space feels like a loft with urban chic influences, tons of cork, and a barrel room in plain sight. The wines are reminiscent of the Finger Lakes and even the ones we tasted in Niagara - regions where cold-weather grapes do well. 

Red Hook opened in 2008 and has cultivated a loyal following. Two Napa wine makers run the show - Abe Schoener and Robert Foley, both really interested in eclectic, unique wines. But they don't run it in tandem... instead, each makes his own wines with separate labels. It's like two wineries in one. It'd be so rad to be trained and experienced enough to do a blind tasting and be able to pick their wines apart - is that just me? 

I thoroughly enjoyed the Reserve Tasting of 6 wines. It was laid back - just the three of us with the general manager and one of the wine-makers coming in and out telling us tidbits about one wine or another. After, we wanted to continue to enjoy the view and the day on their comfortable pillows and couches with a full glass, but they aren't allowed to serve full pours, only tasting. It's interesting - and a bit strange. But they are generous about allowing you to re-taste wines until you figure out just the ones you might want to purchase.

The entire Red Hook neighborhood experienced significant damage from Hurricane Sandy over a year ago. Impressively, the entire place felt rejuvenated, nearly completely rebuilt, and ready to keep growing. We wandered into a handmade chocolate shop and distillery, where tours are offered, and tastings are up for grabs. After, we grabbed sandwiches at Defontes, one of Brooklyn's best. 

Industrial neighborhoods with character and style get me every time- from a warehouse church when I was 6 to Red Hook - Brooklyn's best kept secret. 

if you go...

red hook winery

regular tasting: $5 (3 wines)

reserve tasting: $12 (6 wines)

my pick: 2010 seneca reisling (dry, fruity nose, complex)

get there: ikea ferry from manhattan

cab, bike, or bus B61 from brooklyn heights/downtown brooklyn

the time it cost $100 to go to coney island... from brooklyn

I did some quick mental calculations. It was going to cost us over $100 to cycle from Brooklyn to Coney Island, New York using Citi Bike NYC, New York's new bike sharing program. Zander and I looked at each other and shrugged. "We're too close to turn back now." 

Zan and I spent the weekend in New York with friends to celebrate Mel's and my birthdays. We drove up on Thursday night and planned a grand Brooklyn takeover for Friday. We woke early and cemented our plan to find bagels (most important) and then rent bicycles.

Brooklyn to Coney Island, New York is one of the nation's most iconic urban bike rides. I read it on multiple websites, and the internet only tells the truth so I know that to be fact. After having done it, I can attest to its veracity, although I'll be honest - I don't have a lot of iconic urban bike rides to which to compare it. I do know that it's stunningly beautiful with views of the Manhattan skyline, Prospect Park (Brooklyn's Central Park), tree lined streets, diverse neighborhoods, a beach, and the famous Coney Island boardwalk. It's mostly flat, around 12-14 miles roundtrip, and whole lotta fun. 

As we walked out of Bergen Bagels, home of my new favorite New York bagels, I mapped our way to the nearest bike shop. It'd be a mile walk, and after spraining my ankle on a yoga hike (I'm still embarrassed about that), and failing to properly wrap or ice it for days, Zan was trying his best to limit how much I was walking. As we crossed the street, he pointed out Citi Bikes, the sister program to DC's BikeShare. I hemmed and hawed. This wasn't the plan. 

"Do they even have gears?" 

Zan checked. "Yes, they do." 

"Yeah but they're not meant for trails."

"We're in New York. Everything is paved," he countered.

"But they're way more expensive!" I saved my best argument for last. 

He leaned in to check the pricing. "A 24-hour pass is $10." 

A bicycle rental was $35 from the bike shop. 

And just like that, I was sold. The idea sounded great. As he inserted his credit card for our $20 ride out to Coney Island - for both of us - I read the fine print. The 24-hour pass is good for unlimited 30 minute rides. Every 30 minutes, we'd need to dock the bikes or pay late fees. 

"STOP DONT DO IT!" I animatedly yelled, my arms flailing, trying to pull him away from the machine. 

"Oooops," Zan said as his receipt popped out with codes to unlock the bikes. 

We paused, staring at each other. 

"Let's do it," I said with a shrug. "We'll find stations along the way. It'll be an adventure!" 

The full ride starts on the Manhattan side of the Brooklyn Bridge, allowing cyclists to see the Statue of Liberty in the distance, Governor's Island, and Manhattan behind you. We started closer to Prospect Park, about 2 miles into the ride. We breezed through the city streets, thankful for fairly consistent bike lanes. 

When we reached Prospect Park, we watched in awe as serious cyclists zoomed past us, bent in perfect posture over the handlebars. Runners kept pace on the trail by the road or on the paved lane itself. The tree-lined lane with large, manicured acres of green curved around a small pond on one side and a lake on the other. We stopped to take in the view and take a few photos. We heard music jingling from a carousel nearby.

Out of the Park, we swerved around a traffic circle onto Ocean Parkway, which took us over the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, through a Hasidic Jewish neighborhood, down into an old part of Brooklyn with houses that looked out of place amongst the brownstones we'd seen where we started, and finally, when we could go no further, the ocean. 

But before we reached the ocean, people kept honking at us. Young men and old women and teenagers and everybody in between stopped us in their cars and on the streets to ask us, "Where'd you get those bikes?" About five blocks from Coney Island, we started to feel uneasy. More and more people were approaching us, so incredibly excited, about these bikes. I pulled out my phone and motioned Zander to stop.

We hadn't seen a station the entire way, but we figured - we're only 30 or 45 minutes over time, and the fees at that time range aren't too big, and we'll be able to re-dock them on Coney Island. I looked at the Citi Bike's website and found the station map. I scrolled... and scrolled some more. 

"It must not be loading right," I said to Zan, confused. "It's not showing any stations." 

I scrolled up all the way back to where we'd started. And there, a little dot appeared. We had rented bikes at the last station in Brooklyn. We would have to get back to where we started to dock the bikes. 

I looked at the time. We'd rented the bikes at 10:15, and it was now... 11:20. After the first 90 minutes, late fees cost $13 for every half hour. I did quick math and guessed that for both bikes would cost around $110 by the time we got back to a station. We were screwed. 

On the other hand, we were so close to Coney Island that it felt more foolish not to finish than to head straight back. So onward we went, cruising through the last five blocks until we hit the sand.

It was Zan's and my first time on Coney Island, and we enjoyed seeing it quiet, the rides closed down, out of season. Sunbathers still lined the sand and jet skis sprayed wake into the sunshine, and we shared an original Nathan's hot dog covered in chili and got it on our pants, and held hands and shared a kiss in front of the Ferris Wheel. 

And we did all that in five minutes because good God, we had to return these bikes. 

We pedaled as fast as we could, and Zander has thighs of steel from years of playing rugby and baseball and all of the sports in the world, and he lapped me 15 times in Prospect Park up a hill, and it felt like a race against the clock and like a scavenger hunt trying to find the closest station. When we docked the bikes, I breathed a giant sigh of relief and started laughing because the second Zan's bike clicked into place, he threw his fists in the air in triumph. 

It was the most expensive bike ride of our lives, but in a way that only some misadventures can be, it was totally and completely worth it. 

But please, don't rent Citi Bikes to go to Coney Island.

if you go...

check out ride brooklyn for bike rentals

distance: 12-15 miles roundtrip, depending on where you start

difficulty: 2/5 - mostly flat, going back up prospect park is the only real hill

directions! this detailed guide is great

i'd live in nolita | new york

Were I to move to New York, and had I the money, I've rent an apartment in Nolita. I'd have a fire escape slanting down the side of my building, just the way they do in Manhattan, with a ledge outside built just for me to sit and people-watch with a glass of wine and a good book. I'd take pictures far too often of the Little Italy sign and the adjoining streets with their string lights hanging, but I'd tire of the crowds and probably not eat or drink there. I'd get lost in Nolita's crisscrossed streets, avoiding the trash bags on one street and admiring the ivy growing up the brick buildings on another. I'd own too many kitchen gadgets I rarely use but buy for "just in case!" on Bowery Street on Saturday mornings. I'd befriend the bartenders at those tucked away bars that the tourists haven't found. I'd sip on sangria at open-air, 20-seat restaurants that I don't bother to look up on Yelp! I'd learn the best spots for hummus, if you're craving that, or for Prosecco specials, or even dinner on the cheap. I'd have a go-to carryout Chinese place and find the best hole-in-the-wall food joint around. I'd like Nolita, I think, with its boutique clothing stores and little known shops. I'd find a corner of Nolita to make my own, that feels like home. If I were to move to New York, I think that neighborhood could be mine.

Here are some additional photos that don't quite fit one single post from my weekend in New York, taken from all over Manhattan. I thoroughly enjoyed meandering from one hub in Manhattan to another, learning the neighborhood names, and wondering, "Which one would be me?" New York is a world of possibilities.

Thanks to my friends Ellie, Andy, and Noelle for housing me and/or showing me around and for an incredible weekend!

the staten island ferry | new york

The last time I saw the Statue of Liberty up close, I must have only been three years old. Maybe 4? I have an old photo of my mom with her hair wild and thick and curly in the wind, my brother standing next to her, and me - lifted up or standing on something, with the Statue of Liberty in the background. On the outside, we look like a happy tourist little family. I see that picture as an adult, and I can see the shades of conflict and emotion and nuance in it. I know now that at the time that picture was taken, my mom had recently taken my brother and me out of Florida illegally and moved us to Georgia, to keep us safe. I know that she had just cut ties with the majority of her family and friends so that no one would know our address or how to contact us, were they ever to be questioned, or worse, threatened. What I don't know, and can't remember, and for some odd reason, have never asked my mom, is why we were in New York. Funny enough. I remember the airplane ride. At least, I think I do. It was my first time on a plane. My brother and I sat next to each other, and our mom wasn't with us. I think she must have been in New York already, and we were meeting her there. If I was about 3 or 4, my brother was 7 or 8. The nice stewardess brought us headphones, and I felt excitement at the whole journey. I like to think I was adventurous, even then. I've seen the picture my whole life, but it wasn't until last weekend in New York that it dawned on me that it was taken on the Staten Island Ferry.

Pam, Ellie, Ellie's boyfriend Andy, and I hopped on the subway in Little Italy and made a mad dash to make the 4:30 Staten Island Ferry (they run every half hour). The ferry is free and draws hundreds upon hundreds upon maybe thousands of people seemingly on every trip across the waterway. The ferry not only provides transportation for workers and residents of Staten Island, it also affords the best (free) views of the Statue of Liberty. We fought our way up two flights of stairs to stand on the top deck. I wanted to sneak onto the roof, and we figured with three sets of boobs, it shouldn't be a problem, but ultimately, and probably for the best, we kept our tops on. 

I fought for a position right at the rail like a little kid would so I could ogle the view of the Manhattan skyline. When the Statue of Liberty came into view, Ellie and I held a pose for so long it became comical so Andy could get us and the Statue in the frame. When we finished taking photos, I turned to actually take in the view, and it stunned me. She was beautiful, our Lady of Liberty, with a clear blue sky above her and elegant ripples in the water beneath her feet. I was stunned, too, with the realization that this is where my family had been. I was standing right here when someone, a stranger probably, took that photo.

The Statue of Liberty grandly represents freedom the world over. But she's my own statue of freedom, too. My mom took us there, for whatever reason that I'm going to ask her next time we talk, and maybe she went for work or maybe in some way to be reminded that she, too, could be free and move on and build a new life for us? It struck me as monumental and beautiful and wondrous, that 24 years ago I was in the same place with the same view and now I can be there again because of the life she built for us. I'm being entirely too introspective and metaphorical and with the grand notions, but sometimes on a Friday, you just need to be full of gratitude. And big hair.

  if you go...

staten island ferry schedules 

operates 24/day

manhattan subway stops: j/z to broad street

1 to south ferry

4/5 to bowling green

tip: you can get off the ferry and immediately re-load on staten island (1 hour roundtrip)

where to eat & drink in brooklyn | cafe mogador & maracuja

I've long heard that DC's H Street neighborhood resembles the Williamsburg one in Brooklyn. Hipsters claim both as their stomping ground, local businesses rule the streets, and the bartenders hand out Jameson shots like candy to kids. I got my DC legs on H Street so I had an inkling I'd "get" its Brooklyn counterpart (big sibling?). Williamsburg has the same tight-knit vibe I love about H Street, with the same burgeoning restaurant scene, and some seedier underpinnings. Pam and I found a quaint restaurant on a back street with a stellar wine list and a covered ivy-laced terrace for dinner. We followed it up with champagne and Brooklyn beer at a dirty dive bar with a secret garden out back. I felt right at home in Williamsburg.

 

if you go...

cafe mogador

(one of the bartenders looks like Guillermo from Weeds & Scandal, and i did not mind)

maracuja bar

(ask for the hidden door to the secret garden. tip: charge your phone on one of the holiday lights extensions)

the american museum of natural history | new york

I'm not a big fan of museums. I'd rather be outside, trying to find living versions of the fossilized creatures in the museums. I'd rather stumble on a mysterious buried shell in the sand of a rocky beach and take pictures and google it endlessly to ascertain to what animal it once belonged - probably a crab - than to see a neatly printed sign beneath a fossil in an AC-fueled building. But every once in a while, I make an exception for an extraordinary museum. Okay, I make an exception when a friend works at the museum and offers me free tickets.

Ellie works in the Mammalogy Department at the American Museum of Natural History in New York. She generously offered Melanie, a friend of hers, and me tickets to the museum and all of its paid exhibits, as well as a tour of her department. So we spent Friday afternoon playing tourist frogger, and I can tell you this for certain about the AMNH: there is no shortage of children in that place.

And we had a really great time. We gawked at the size of the Woolly Mammoth and wondered out loud how whales mate (answer: while swimming or stationary in the water!). But the very best part is what lay behind the established exhibits: I love the museum behind the exhibits.

Ellie helps preserve and put together and catalog the mammals-related exhibits at the museum. She has jars of mice and bats preserved in alcohol on her desk... because her job is so ridiculously cool. She pulled out a mouse to show us, and I jumped back 10 feet and Melanie and Nabila got as close as possible.

She took us up a steep staircase next to a real, original dumb waiter, to the department's library. Stocked with field notes and scientific books, with a glass floor no less, it was stunning. Melanie and I wanted to move in here and live among the old books and read researchers' observations of animals from all over the world over the last 100 years.

Ellie took us into what she calls the "elephant graveyard," where the museum stores non-exhibited jaws and long bones of elephants dating back to the early 1900s, from what we saw. They're housed in an attic with a domed ceiling and enough light shining through that, had I had the time, I would have napped and daydreamed I was in Africa, studying the way these giant, mysterious creatures move.

After winding down several staircases, we came to several white-washed rooms with pull-out drawers. Series of numbers are all that distinguish the drawers from one another -- the earlier the number, the earlier the specimen. Ellie opened drawers of goat horns and skulls and various animal skins.

And then there were these cute guys. I'll confess that I jumped back each time Ellie opened the next drawer or sliding door. Professionals, as always, she chased me down with one skin to make me touch it, and I squealed like a scaredy-cat kid. I just prefer my animals alive or on my hamburger bun, is all. 

Squeamish and all, seeing behind the scenes fascinated me. To make the flashy exhibits takes hundreds of people - from the ones in the fields and jungles in Africa and India and Nebraska to Ellie, working with mice that have found their way to her desk in jars. I have a newfound respect for museums, and if you ever have the chance - the museum behind the museum is the best part of the museum.

A few fun facts I learned at the AMNH: 

+Museums in New York cost money! (The Smithsonian museums in DC are all free.) 

+Whales have penises up to 10 feet long 

+A sperm whale's heart is so large a human child (or a bendable adult) could climb through its arteries

+30% of the food the world produces goes to waste every day while over 800 million people went hungry last year

+All it takes to pickle vegetables is a mason jar, some herbs, including dill, the veggies you want pickled, and some apple cider vinegar left in the fridge for a few days

+There are more nutrients in pickled veggies than raw ones (say what? is that real?) 

+There is a thing called the "Great Canoe" that I am going to google endlessly as soon as I finish writing this 

+The incubation time for whale fetuses is 8-10 months. 

+Blue whales are up to 98 feet and can weigh 380,000 pounds

+Jane Austen had a particular affinity for ice cream, and now I adore her all the more. 

+I want to host an 1800s Rome-themed dinner party. The menu would be bomb. 

If you go...

American Museum of Natural History

general admission tickets: $22 (special exhibits extra)

we particularly enjoyed the whale & global kitchen exhibits