ways of seeing.
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Top: Game 7 of the 2011 Stanley Cup finals | Pacific Standard, Brooklyn.
Above: Paraguay-Spain quarterfinal match, 2010 World Cup | Clandestino, NYC.
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accumulation.
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Sick at home today, which pretty much means that I’ll be oscillating between naps and Nesbø. As there’s no food in the house, I might drag myself out into the wild long enough to find some soup. This is the sort of day I wish I lived much closer to Chinatown. A big bowl of noodle soup would do me right, right about now.
But, yes: this is my room. Or at least the most photogenic part of it. The Vespa poster was a gift from my friends Matt and Robin, a birthday present from 8 or 9 years ago. They’d tracked down the vintage ad, back in pre-eBay days, and had framed it themselves; I love it dearly. Then there are all the cameras — most of them are quite old and the film they use is no longer made, so they’re mostly decorative, as are the vintage Pepsi bottles (I’ve long preferred Pepsi over Coke, which infuriates just about everyone I know). And I wouldn’t be a child of mid-90s indie and college rock without a Steve Keene painting, this one a housewarming gift from my friends Nancy and Rosten.
Let’s not get into the books, though, shall we? There’s just …. so many of them. I can’t bear to part with them, even though many of them are from my dissertating years, which I’d mostly like to forget about. (Aesthetic theory! Oy.) Though I’ll say this: yes, I’ve read them all. No, I can’t remember half of what I’ve read.
There’s a great little story behind the Radio Citta Future poster, or at least how I got it: back in 2004, I was in Italy with Sasha for a friend’s wedding, which took place in this tiny town nestled high along the Sorrentine Peninsula. After lazing about the town for a few days following the wedding, we made our way to Rome, where of course we did much wandering around ruins when we weren’t stuffing our faces with glorious Roman fare. (Our first meal in town included a chickpea soup that I still think about every other week or so; it was extraordinary.) One afternoon, we wandered past a bookstore with this odd, but quite fascinating, poster for some local radio station, featuring illustrations of Bjork and Pasolini as city maps, their faces crisscrossed with ‘streets’ and plazas — the City of Sound and Words. I wanted a copy of the poster, or at least wanted a closer look, so we ducked into the store, hoping that maybe it had some extra ones for sale. It took some time before the bookstore could locate its lone English-speaking employee, who told us that the poster in the window was the only one in the store, alas — BUT!, the radio station in question had its offices just around the corner, and maybe we’d have more luck there.
After a few lefts and a couple of rights, in and out of tiny little squares, and up one dusty flight of stairs in the late-June Italian heat, we found the main office of the station. The guys in there were pretty amused — I don’t think they were expecting visitors, much less two random Americans inquiring about a poster they’d seen in a bookshop display. But as luck would have it, they had smaller versions of the poster available, and would we like to have a couple? For free? Yes! So we came back to the States with two posters, one of which we gave to our friend Malav. I’ve long wondered what sort of radio station features both Bjork and Pasolini, but I bet it’s a pretty amazing one.
I’m a borderline hoarder, I suspect, but I only hoard the good stuff.
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the magic: sullivan street bakery.
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My friend Brendan has worked behind the scenes at several of my favorite bakeries in the city, most recently at Co., where he brought wondrous pizzas into this world and into my belly. I’ve even been lucky enough to see some of what goes on in the kitchen there.
Nowadays Brendan’s at Sullivan Street Bakery, the original bakery run by Jim Lahey (who also owns Co., and who is the man behind the no-knead dough recipe that’s all the rage (and it totally works, by the way)). I stopped by there on Saturday before my Highline/West Village walkabout with Shannon (more on that in a post to come). Brendan took me to the back, where some pizza bianca dough had been proofing and was just about ready to go into the oven. There’s a skylight in the back baking area, one that fills the center of the room with gorgeous light, right on top of the main table. Inadvertently mis-metering, the impromptu photos I took ended up underexposed, but to lovely effect: the dough almost has an aura around it, a wondrous glow, while everything in the background just fades away. This is kind of what taking a bite of the finished product feels like, too.
The bakery produces my favorite bread in the city — seriously, find a reason to be around 47th between 10th and 11th avenues one of these days, and pick up some pizza bianca or any of the room temperature pizza slices, or maybe a sandwich: they have one called the PMB — pancetta, mango, basil, with a wee sprinkling of cayenne for heat — that is an incredible combination of salty, smoky, spicy, and sweet. And if you’re there before 3pm on most days, see if Brendan is around, and tell him I sent you.
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sunday in the park.
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Spent late yesterday afternoon at Prospect Park with wee lasses Minna and Maya and their ever-underslept parents. Also took the opportunity to test out Fuji Superia 400, which weirdly has less range and leeway than its 200 counterpart, and which also sadly (and again, weirdly) simultaneously saturated and flattened the tones. Not sure what’s up with that. I’m posting some shots taken on Superia 200 later this week so you can compare for yourselves.
Then again, nothing –not even subpar film stock — could possibly take away from the awesomeness of the ladies at play. Maya’s nearly standing up on her own, and Minna is hilariously exhibiting signs of early onset hoarding syndrome. It was so great to finally meet the cuties in person, and to laze about on a pretty lovely Brooklyn Sunday.
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the long walk home.
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On Wednesday night, I decided to forgo a post-work gym outing, and instead opted to walk home. All the way home. Here’s what I saw, in chronological order, from near-start to near-end. As much as I love living in Brooklyn, walking through Manhattan in the late afternoon in June, when it’s not impossibly hot and everyone’s still relatively not sweaty from the heat, is a singular delight. So many different street scenes. So many people in the city parks trying to find inner peace. So much gorgeous architecture and light. So much fruit!
Nearly six miles and two and a half hours later — there may have been a couple of pit stops to, er, quench my thirst –I made it back into Brooklyn as the sun set on a beautiful day. I’m going to try to do this walk again, only next time (and every time thereafter) try a slightly different route before I hit the bridge. There’s so much of New York that I’ve never seen, so many streets I’ve yet to walk down. Beats going to the gym any day.
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the backdrop project, former roommates round.
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On Mike’s last day in town a few months ago, he had a going-away drinks night at Heathers, a bar he and I used to frequent back in 2007, before he moved out to Seattle. Back then, we’d take advantage of their 2-for-1 happy hour, and then tipsily wander across Avenue A to Muzzarella Pizza for a couple of slices, before heading to our respective homes. And back then, Mike lived on the border of Carroll Gardens and Red Hook, a minor shlep that involved a post-subway walk on an overpass above the BQE. Mike’s roommate at the time was his friend Justin, and together they threw some pretty hilarious parties, including a birthday party for Mike that somehow devolved, albeit briefly, into shenanigans like this.
Though this recent night at Heathers had no shenanigans to speak of — well, then again, I did leave on the early side — I did manage to snap a few photos of the former roomies for the Backdrop Project, and one of a relatively calm Heathers before the later-evening swarm of bar-goes made their way to Alphabet City. It was a good night, all in all, with Mike and his friends and wow-we’re-not-quite-so-young-anymore-but-look-at-us-drinking-the-neon-blue-drinks-with-aplomb, and a night that I hope is an augur of things to come. (Cough cough Mike move back to NYC already cough cough.)
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gentleman farmer.
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A few Sundays ago, my friend Peter invited me out to dinner at Gentleman Farmer, the French-American spot on the Lower East Side that had just received a very favorable writeup in the New Yorker. Peter was intrigued by the description of the bison tartare, but in the end, that dish proved to be the only disappointment — the bison meat was cut a bit too thick for tartare purposes, and so ended up a touch chewy. Everything else, though, was great, from the french onion soup, to the venison sausage with blueberry (!) reduction, to the ostrich steak with rosemary potato gratin — all interesting and nuanced preparations that didn’t feel heavy or autumnal, despite the potential gaminess of it all. And the glass (er, maybe two) of Gruner that I had was just short of spectacular. It’s a tiny space — 25 seats, tops — so come early or be sure to make a reservation. But it’s totally worth it.
Afterwards, of course, one more photo had to be taken.
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late afternoon tipple.
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Last Wednesday afternoon, as the skies grew dark and the clouds suddenly unleashed a brief but torrential downpour, Kits and I took refuge at Marshall Stack; his wife Anita joined us soon after, having narrowly escaped the rain by ducking under various awnings on her walk over from Soho. In the relative darkness, what with the stormclouds and all, we discussed Malick, modernism, and how much we — Kits and I, though not Anita — quite profoundly disliked Punch Drunk Love.
Also, Kits gesticulates like nobody’s business.
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lady pim.
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A few weeks ago, my friends A and June were in town with their baby daughter, Pim. At a birthday celebration for June in Fort Greene Park, I took a handful of photos of darling Pim, pinchable cheeks and all. My failure to notice the smudginess of the lenses on my Yashica resulted in less than ideal (read: hazy) results, but I think Pim shone through it all anyway. The Nikon ended up doing a good job of capturing her remarkably steady gaze. (And those cheeks! Have I mentioned those cheeks?! Here are the cheeks earlier this year.)
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kitty.
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This is my dear old friend Matt. For nearly as long as I’ve known him — 12 or 13 years now, goodness me! — we’ve had a shared nickname for each other: Kitty. (Probably best not to ask.) Anyhow, Kits is finishing up his phD in cinema studies at Brown, and is down here in the city this week with his lovely wife Anita. Last Friday evening, we got together for some whiskey and fried chicken, the former at the local and at Dram, and the chicken at Pies n Thighs. And the Kit very happily took part in the Backdrop Project as the sun hit a fairly optimal, low point near the horizon.
It’s been a whirlwind couple of weeks, with so many old friends coming into town as the academic year ends and holidays start up. Makes me realize just how many friends I have out there, away from the city, and awfully sad that we can’t see each other all the time, or at least more frequently. If nothing else, though, all of these visits means that I get to take my out of town friends to my favorite dining spots, or sometimes try out new spots. As the weather gets nicer, I really ought to make better use of my front stoop — what better way to laze away a late afternoon than with friends and cold drinks on a shady, mostly-quiet Brooklyn street?
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hong-an tran 