Lupa is one of those great joints for shaved meats and cheeses. I love it for lunch. It’s Batali at his most chill read: accessible. Beyond one meal when I over-dosed on carne, in this case cow’s brain. Otherwise, I’ve left with the most satisfying feeling. The pastas are al dente and perfectly seasoned. Sardines and tuna with cannellini beans. Rabbit sausage. Need I say more? The catch of the day, a whole roasted insanely fresh fish (bone in). If the Tomoe line is too long; please know you can always drop by for a glass of vines. The smell alone inside …I like to sit upfront at a communal table. Sneak in; sneak out. I’ve always had great meals with great friends at Lupa.
Dear New, New York:
You are officially breaking my heart. Your vacant, lights-out face further documents the nature of what I’m searching to understand in my site ilovednewyork, primarily about what has always made New York special is slowly dying.
Things are looking bleak (and bleaker) on Bleecker Street or rather Marc Jacobs Row (take that Jane Jacobs) where the once great, beloved Biography Bookshop last stood–a final independent utopia. The same Bleecker Street where Paris Commune (pre-Bank Street), and Miracle Grill with many a gossip-fueled brunch now sits empty. A few blocks over, where just last week, Baby Buddha closed to high rents.
The bright, red signs of RIPCO lift prime real estate to its peak level. As AKP points out, RIP stands for Rest In Peace, so it makes sense the demise of small mom and pop shops, landmark institutions and the fabric of what I knew as New York, is held in such esteem by a real estate firm.
Back in 1998, I hit the streets of New York out of curiosity. I looked for vibrant energy. People. Life. Humor. FOOD. I wandered the streets because I liked the possibilities and not knowing who I might bump into down the block. Everything is so predictable now. The closings of great places feel organized, in the vein of a rally, thanks for your 30-year patronage, and finally we cannot afford our rent but nice knowing you varietal.
Down citizens! DOWN! Banks replace Chinese restaurants, nuevo riche restaurants (and greedy landlords) kick pioneers like Florent to the floor, Ralph Lauren and Marc Jacobs row sits prominently on Bleeker. A slutty, burlesque tried to take over the shuttered Little Charlies Clam House. Go figure. A few blocks north, NoLita’s on life support. A long ago adios to Find Outlet, Nancy Koltes and the chic Tracey Feith–memories in the corner of my mind. Yo, Rice needs to relocate. Move away decades old Me Kong. Don’t call us, we’ll call you Kitchen Club. You too, Chibi. Sorry El Teddy’s , your kitsch just didn’t fit into Tribeca’s architectural scheme.
New York doesn’t just break the hearts of the little guys…it’s those bigger names too. Chanterelle we loved your food but ’tis a bad economic climate and you just couldn’t hang nor could Café des Artiste or Tavern on the Green. Family run bodegas have lost to Walgreens or that third Duane Reade in a mile radius. Boutique hotels spreading like wild fire, something like those pop up shops with latest Gucci sneakers. A new wave of rich hip-funks and faux B-to-C plus celebrity siblings are weed-whacking what’s left of downtown with Indochine wanna-be establishments in a new Max’s Kansas City format. Ho-hum. Fashion trend alert: The Bowery goes wide spread panic with of apparel lines showing up at Macy’s…it’s true Montauk’s own “The End” and “Ditch Plains” are California-based Hollister shirts, which conveniently took over the DKNY Emblem on Broadway and Houston. The Liquor Store is n0w a J.Crew production currently showcasing Bowery Pants and Ludlow Suits. Man, those savvy marketing kids are having a blast.
On the LARGE scale! Bloomberg x3. Gay marriage… on the back burner AGAIN um, heartbreak. Historical graffiti and what’s left of artistic tags erased by the city’s own Anti Graffiti Squad. Wait, this is NEW YORK! Isn’t it? Wasn’t it? At least the Yankees won the World Series. I just couldn’t afford to see it… live.
I see it but I don’t get it. Now as a visitor, I’m walking past the same Mall of America I desperately attempt to escape. New York was once escape. Now it’s gentrified vanilla ice cream.
Bloomberg has done a nice job with the parks and cleaning things up (my golden retriever voted for him twice.) I feel warm and safe and fuzzy. During the process, the Mayor’s managed to move out the hoopla and creative vibes which shook the city. My friends have moved away, only a few remain not because they wanted to because they had to. The greatest city in the world which was once so achievable with hard work and a bit of luck is moving further out of my grasp. The city that never sleeps turns its lights off early. Just like those darkened shops along Bleecker Street. Marc Jacobs; are you opening a library too? A post office? A bar serving frothy MJ beverages with plastic cherry keychains?
Hello world, I started talking to you while spending more time in a trendy boutique hotel room over streets I used to love. Am I worthy? Sure the view was better and the HDTV rocks…yet I felt isolated. Funny, I never felt alone in a city like New York. And while I’m a cynic, it breaks my heart this New, New York with its empty buildings and storefronts is what now exists.
RIPCO, I know you’re just doing your job, but you break my heart.
New York, mostly, I just miss you.
LCD Soundsystem…please take it away “New York I Love You But You’re Bringing Me Down.”
MAR tr.v. marred, mar·ring, mars
1. To inflict damage, especially disfiguring damage, on.
2. To impair the soundness, perfection, or integrity of; spoil.
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Per the New York Mag’s Grub Street it pains me to tell you Paul Sev and the boys are opening their venue SOON! Too SOON! (read the latest here.)
Direct quotes: Don’t let the Fashion Week folks fool you, though; this isn’t the second coming: “It’s not a new Beatrice,” Sevigny said.
“We’re working on that. But first, there’s never going to be a new Beatrice. We never planned for there to be a Beatrice. Beatrice is not a franchise. Kenmare is a small neighborhood restaurant that’s going to cater to people who are hungry. That’s obviously something different than the Beatrice, I think.”
Note to Paul Sev: Of COURSE you cannot replicate that little dungeon of chic. Never never, smarty pants. The Beatrice was it’s on den. Plus… now you’re serving food to all the skinny bi-atches; yo, keep a clean toilet or better yet hire an attendant to clean the up-chucking (which will find it’s home in the Hudson River). Ditto the smoking-room you’ll need to provide unless they’re reading poetry at which point everyone should light up. Note to Ollie @ the Purple D; get off the slopes STAT and get back to photograph the big unveiling.
(Getty Images)
Spoon’s ‘Transference’ has been playing non stop in the car, on the ipod, and in the apartment since its release. As if I ever doubted that this would deliver in spades. Spoon again prove to be the most consistent and interesting bands of the aught aughts. Transference is full of hooky songs, fried out grooves, and super interesting textures. Yes, some how they make music you can actually feel with your hands. Don’t ask me how. It is an early front runner for the best of ‘10 list. If you want to start a dance off at your next house party throw “Who Makes Your Money” on repeat, drop the mic and start boogieing. Speaking of dance parties, I have fond memories of marching through the streets of San Francisco during Bay To Breakers 2008 with a boom box strapped around my neck pumping Tigercity’s debut EP ‘Pretend Not To Love,’ inciting dance riots at every turn. This unheralded deep Brooklyn quartet returned to the fold in late 2009 with their first full length ‘Ancient Lover’. It was released to (tragically) little acclaim. In another world their songs are blaring out of car stereos and dance club speakers every Saturday night. While the album as a whole does not deliver the promise of their debut EP, its standout tracks (Mallory, Fake Gold, & James Iha) certainly do. With all of the nostalgia for the 80s in pop culture right now I am flat out amazed that they not been able to float above the garbage. They are the rare 80s revivalists who get it right, writing instantly danceable songs with big fat meaty falsetto laden choruses that will have you reaching for the ceiling. Fans of Chromeo, Passion Pit, and Phoenix will not be disappointed. Do yourself a favor and grab the EP and the album and prepare to cut rug.
With all of this gloomy weather in the Bay Area (fuck you El Nino), it has definitely not all been dancing and fist pumping, as much as The Situation may have had me convincing myself otherwise. The majority of 2010 has seen me growing a winter beard, getting fat and listening to winterized music. So in honor of the lashing rain and the lack of sunlight, I leave you with my 10 song Winter Beard 2010 Playlist:
1. Lissie-Little Lovin
2. Jim O’Rourke-Ghost Ship In A Storm
3. Palace Music-West Palm Beach
4. Teenage Fanclub-Empty Space
5. The Bees-Punchbag
6. Gerry Rafferty-Right Down The Line
7. Sam Prekop-Between Outside
8. Starling Electric-Camp Fire
9. John Cale-Please
10. The Low Anthem-To Ohio
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Tony lives in San Francisco with his girlfriend and his brother. He enjoys music and fresh-baked cookies. He will not apologize for being a fan of Crowded House. Follow him at twitter.com/tonyvontz .
More general house confusion sets in as I type this after reading EV Grieve’s site which highlights more mass apparel. This time (again) we find J. Crew in the mix. They certainly turned the wheels on the old Liquor Store (which you can refresh your mind of Pam Zimmerman’s homage here.) We have a movie type poster with a sleek Euro type guy walking on cobbled streets. Looks a bit like Italy? Yo J Crew …did anyone in the research department recevie the memo? Do the research? Walk the walk? The LES and Bowery are both on the edgier side of things. For $69.50 those pants are yours. Couple it with a Bowery Pima tee from John Varvatos. As previously mentioned, The Bowery is For Sale…everywhere!, you know these sacred New York neighborhoods now belong to big money and big ad money. I predict Urban Outfitters to follow suit (after seeing Supreme Sweatshirts on $19.99 clearance) I can only see a pencil thin rock star type working that J. Crew Ludlow Suit at Pianos.
(image: EV Grieve)
Baby Buddah was surprisingly orphaned a year and change ago when Mother Buddah morphed into a branch bank. Now the unthinkable (yet too common) has happened and thanks to the avarice of infamed Gottleib heirs another neighborhood institution has bit the West Village’s cobble stoned dust. If only the young guns held the preservationist honor of their uncle….Such neighborly staples as The Hog Pit and Buddah would remain as savory solutions to our greasy regional cravings. Our sidewalks are lined with giant Ripco billboards screaming, “PRIME RETAIL SPACE AVAILABLE” like etchings on cemetery tombstones. Bye Bye Baby Buddah. So long to your bizarre window topiary, your orange wedges, your General Tsao. We salute you.
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Abbie Kunath Park was bred on cheese steaks in center city Philly and spent her younger years on the shores of Lake Michigan. She landed in suburban NY just before the 80s hit. Post grad she hopped to the big city landing her first low rent apt on 6th Avenue just across from the famed 4th Street basketball courts and above Dallas Jones BBQ then onto spring and Thompson and her final low rent score on Mott street before marriage, pregnancy and current residence whereTortilla Flats serves as mess hall and childcare center to her two young children.
(image Abbie K Park)
I’ve always been poor and only recently has that started to really bother me. The summer after my Senior Year in High School, I moved home from Ohio to Keene, New Hampshire because my Dad had married one of his students and they wanted the apartment to themselves. I worked two jobs that summer, at Papa Gino’s and at Friendly’s. I wore polyester uniforms for both jobs, and rode a bicycle to work. I saved up almost 500 dollars to bring to college with me in New York City in the Fall, the bulk of which consisted of coins wrapped in paper rolls, and that seemed like a lot of money. So it’s hard for me when my rich friends talk about troubles and pain, I know I could be really happy if someone else blow-dried my hair for me every day. I just know it.
My Boss finally approached me at work about buying my Internet column to develop it into a television show. Because I talk in my Internet column about being a terrible negotiator, I have a feeling my Boss has the upper hand in this conversation. He talks about being on a limited budget, how it will be a cable show and those pay less, but since my life is R-Rated our options are limited. My eyes glaze over during talks of monetary reimbursement, as I’m convinced I will never be rich, but I’m at full attention when my Boss talks about his vision for the show, which is a kind of Mary Tyler Moore Show, set in Hollywood, except Mary sleeps with everyone. He says on my show it would be as if Mary hooked up with Lou Grant at a party and it’s awkward at work the next day, and I suddenly wonder if he knows I was sleeping with my dead ex-boss.
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D-Girl Diary tomorrow!
(d girls image artist Tashina Suzuki)
Wednesday’s posts are turning into food related extravaganzas. I like it. A Saturday was always incomplete without someone eating Parisi Deli (209 Elizabeth Street). The amazing bread, thick and generous cuts of meats and cheeses. The main figure and family legacy, Joe tells jokes to the older Italian women while everyone laughs, the firemen come over in the morning and if you don’t arrive by 2 o’clock the bread is probably already gone.
+Read an earlier post mentioning Parisi + Lunch spots here. And if you are still hungry, check out my Dinner scene.
Keeping in the spirit of LES dirty-good Mexican food, I would be wrong not to give honorary shots to The Hat (on Ludlow). I’m certain we all have a Hat story. The one that’s fuzzy and grainy and running in your mind. You can have a little meal there or sip a margarita or two or three. It’s been kicking since 1984 and locals and hipsters alike hit it. The portions are big,cheap and standard but its old school and ambience which keeps the crowds coming. Even a guy like Joey Little Italy.
(image: Flikr)
If there is one thing I love; it’s a taco. But at the house of San Loco; it’s the Gauco Loco which keeps me missing that LES location. Great party and hangover food too. Since my departure from NYC, we have authenticated our own version of the Gauco which includes a taco shell with the fixings and wrapping a whole wheat flour tortilla loaded with Gauc around the hard shell. Absolutely insane!
Ahhh…the oyster. As I sit at my desk; these lovely gems are on my mind. Last Spring, I read the book The Big Oyster: History on the Half Shell which gives ample history about these tasty nugs. The history is deep as the sheer pleasure of the salty sea. The oyster is alive until it hits your mouth. I pucker as I think of the various types, my favorite of course being East Coast delights such as the Blue Point, Prince Edward and Malpeque. I’m more of a meaty oyster eater and while I’ll throw down an occaisonal Kumamoto, I appreciate the tenderness of larger shells. Regarding that East vs West Coast oyster rivalry; I would read a fun piece from Esquire here.
Healthy too! Oysters, especially ‘wild’, are excellent sources of several minerals, including zinc and selenium. Oh, vitamin D–which I seem to be lacking in copious amounts these days.
Because I’m working on my music literacy; I must recommend a very chill band passed along to me by a Pacific Northwesterner…Beach House. While it’s been some time since the album has been out and yes, they are touring but not in my woods. Still, it’s a must for a post work wind (wine) down.
Random note: I must say the guy in the band looks my brother a la his post bohemian Paris days circa, 1998. Hey, Racks. Como?
