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Like good ole’ English Tarka sings in a favorite song, Lovely New York (please, please have a listen here), I’m easily able to retrace my steps on the best linear block in New York City. Period. I’ve walked it a million times.
image: fashionista
My walk is a walk over a long period of my time in New York. It’s a walk with ghosts. It’s still a nice walk.
I kick off at the New Museum perched a top the Bowery before I make my way onto Spring. I hit the After Nature exhibit and opt for the stairs. It feels good to walk. I feel much excitement even as I’m out of breath climbing….climbing forever along the steep concrete steps. The building smells new and white. I count the stairs as I curve around. You see, I need the exercise and elevators always make me feel awkward. I’m wheezing by the time I’m reach the top. Boy…am I out of shape or what? This particular exhibit hangs a large taxidermied horse sawed right at the head with its long tail in my face.
The irony.
I’m the ass.
Maurizio Cattelan, Untitled, 2007.
I finally arrive on Spring Street, passing Jay Maisel’s (190 Bowery) massive photo house/studio. I smile. I love the fact he hasn’t sold out; it’s 35,000 square feet of an old Germania bank building and proudly maintains its wear and tear. Good for him. I catch the bus boy (one of Jimbo’s new guys) hosing off the sidewalk in front of Sweet and Vicious (5 Spring) and zigzag across the street to visit Jen Bekman (6 Spring) and her perfectly astute gallery. Hey, I just passed where I used to dwell (someone else has the 5th floor apartment). Yo, Nicky Fresh. Looks the same except for a new paint job. My attention turns as the loud guy barks from across the street, the one that hangs out the window-smoking butts all day. I once watched him lower a bucket to collect …something. So I visit next door, the natty bespoke shop, Duncan Quinn (8 Spring). The Beatles music (Help!) is playing loud and it smells like pricey cologne. I almost buy a hankie or a bright tie (from good ole’ Teddy) for “my man” but I still hold the money tight.
ahhh...good day mates at DQ.
Walking…past Wylie Law (hey, Wylie) and the Vig (12 Spring–no love lost here) SANS the one time I made Rory and Robin join me (on a mission). I glance over at the old Horse Stables where the inventor used to live (he kept the place as ratty as Maisel) with lit candles in each window. Long story short…he sold out to Rubert Murdoch’s kid who in turn sold out to a developer who came up with the Candle Building (11 Spring) which just sold for $26 million (originally $40 large).
It’s lunchtime and I sneak into Bread (20 Spring) before the rush, the annoying tatooed guy and fashion chicks arrive. I sit at the white tiled bar and order the “Special Salad” with mesclun cherry tomatoes olives fennel Sicilian tuna and avocado in house dressing. It is indeed special. I leave just as a Louis Vitton bag plops down by my Chuck Taylors. Back on the road again. I pick up two packs of my favorite anti-oxidant Superpac vitamins from the corner Bodega (Spring + Mott). Back outside, I notice the line getting long at Lombardi’s and think of the fun times with Kerry drinking a Heineken and eating a pie (with olives). Gee, I miss delivery. Wow. My mouth is watering and I’m full. Still, it’s good NOT to be in that line. I detest lines. Soon, the designer ice cream shop with the Vespa will own another line. I don’t like that side of the block.
The kids scream and play outside at the DeSalvio Playground. The Chinese guys play chess. The pigeons look for scraps. The garbage stinks. I think I hear birds chirping. An older man is working on his Tai chi. Good for him. He’ll live to be 100.
I wave to the bartender (Michelle hasn’t arrived yet) at48 Spring, now that’s a landmark. The Spring Lounge (aka Shark Bar) where I met my (now) husband seven years (and some change) ago. He would now say ”Spring Street is dead…”. NO it’s NOT, I counter. Well, maybe you can’t go home again. (Tarka sings: “I want to go home…I just can’t go home. I want to go home.“) Stop singing. Stop thinking. Still, I love those low tables and little stools. I love the juke box, even if it’s electric now, even if the Schaffer is a dollar more. The lounge doors are open. Always tempting that Spring Lounge. My wedding picture is hanging behind the bar. Hey, there’s Vinnie watching the Yankees. Michelle must not be working today. Ho-hum. I wave again and move along.
I crave carbs. What about a slice of pizza at Pommies (Pomodoro’s )? Nah. I drop in Nails by Deca (50 Spring) for a pedicure. It will last 2 weeks and I always dig the happy ending neck massage. I cross the street to Ceci Cela for a cup of Americana. I think of Tarka again… glancing next door at Gatsbys. You know, the pub which plays all that bloody footie.
Spring Street still has its ghosts.
I’ve made it to Layafette. I’ve been on the block over 2 hours. That’s right, I haven’t left Spring Street yet. You know a street is special when you can spend an entire day kicking it. I pick up the Post and pretentious glossy magazine at the corner magazine shop which smells like rolling paper and tobacco. Outside, I smell a blast of the subway down under. Moving…always moving, I pass Kates Paperie (72 Spring); do I really need my favorite pen? I crisscross over to MoMA Design Store (86 Spring) to purchase some postcards and Muji. I love Muji. I run up to MZ Wallace (on Crosby Street). Bummer, they don’t have any of my favorite totes anymore. Oh well.
Back on Spring, the streets are bustling. I take a seat on the benches in front of Balthazar and read the paper.
I’m only forced to leave when an annoying bike messenger irks me. At first, I’m friendly but then he turns unnecessarily strange. Get off the meth, dude. I leave my Post behind for the next person who pretends to read and instead watches the people under their darkened designer shades.
I cross Broadway, making my way into Soho where retail lives. I love walking into Chanel (130 Spring) with it’s fancy bags and shoes and all that glitters. At this juncture, I might wander off the beaten path and visit Barneys Co-Op, Patagonia, Morgan Le Fay, DWR’s Tools For Living, Knoll and Adidas.
By now, it’s 4ish and I’m stopping in on my friend Kim. She just got a killer 10 minute back massage from Spa Belles (202 Spring) and I visited the Spring Street Wine Shop (187 Spring) to pick a bottle of Louis Jadot Pouilly-Fuisse 08. I pass Aqua Grill, (210 Spring) it’s been there a long time. I always like their raw bar. Good brunch, too. I pass the fire station and those brave souls. Smack in the face to the new Trump building (I detest Trump and his gold shrines). I feel invaded but move on. I’ve almost made it to the end of Spring Street, but not before I have some suds at the Ear, a bar so old it slants not to mention you can talk horse racing with the patrons.
And, if Im lucky I’ll have a warm dinner over at Giorgione with the , Tonno con Avocado e Rugola, tuna tartar, avocado, arugula, the Tonno Alla Griglia grilled yellow fin tuna, braised green lentils, roasted tomatoes, zucchini and some of that Super Tuscan (the other KD showed me that rope). And Donna, who shared a wood oven pizza with me.
I wish I had time to walk across the West Side Highway and stroll along the path. I’m tired.
My day on Spring has come to an end…the night is fading and still yet, “I have miles to go before I sleep”.
the candlelight glow of the Room.
sitting here on a rather gray day, i think about the Room. The first Room concept opened it’s doors in December 1995 and spawned four other spots, aptly named, The Other Room (in the West Village), Another Room (in Tribeca), The Room (Miami Beach), the Other Room (Venice Beach)…although I’ve not had the pleasure of visiting the latter two.
The Room is one of those dark, sexy places with thick candles offering up a warm hue against the brick walls. It’s a great spot for a glass of vino or a beer (long list on their chalkboard). I was always quite impressed with myself after taking out-of-town visitors to this spot. They thought I was cool. In turn, I felt cool.
During the fall, the windows open onto Sullivan street. When it’s cold, it’s a warm winter spot to chill out and talk.
I always liked it.
“My man” (old New Yorker/Old UK’er) sits here and wishes he could work on the computer all day. I know… that’s just bollocks.
What I do know also that it’s sad to hear that Zoe Restaurant is closing. It was a Soho staple…eighteen years old with inviting open doors and windows. I probably haven’t been in in a decade, but it brought in tourists and locals a like. The food was good…reliable.
Dang, what is left on Prince? Seriously…where does one eat? Jerry’s is toast (on the road…check Tribeca). Now Zoe. What’s next…Fanelli’s? That would be the LAST of the Mohicans re: the SOHO artist bars unless you want to tool down to Milady’s SOHO where you might end up throwing a punch or two. Read this from New York Art World: In 1697 the block bounded by Prince, Spring, Mercer, and Greene Streets (on which Fanelli’s is located was deeded to Nicholas Bayard (1644-1707) by the British colonial government and became part of his farm. The English had taken over New Amsterdam from the Dutch in 1664 and renamed it New York.
Let US hope it doesn’t come to that. Pray no.
taschen soho shoppe
excellent friend (and old new yorker) John (oh, did I mention he lived in London too; just in case I forgot) just returned from the Taschen Store in SoHo with a gift for yours truly. A perfectly smart albeit useful Keel’s Simple Diary. I want to thank him publically but also shout out this fantastic prize and great gift. Granted, I would have chose the Orange (per my Hermes love), yet, Johnnie knows… I need to accept Red (as a colour).
My good friend, a New Yorker rcentecalled the landmark soho staple, Jerry’s Cafe the other day, reminding me “it just wasn’t the same” via it’s new spot in Tribeca on Chambers Street. in it’s place, of course, the fashionable Michael Kors. yawn the big one…how many times did you stop for brunch here? a quick drink? a cobb salad? a burger? you know you stopped in here for something. even walking by felt good.
wow, another retail shop. image via the shophound.com
Luckily, you can still get the Jerry’s fare, you’re just going to move further down the road.
image one: mike rogers/ny mag
new york.
cafes.
Over my recent sojourn, I considered my many grievances re: the new, new york. This bothers me…oh, that’s too bad. Yet, one cannot always be a down head. No. I set myself to think about the good old days. Yes, I would think about the memories and what once inspired. Thus, over the next few days, I will delve into what I still loved… simply because it did NOT threaten to change.
This doesn’t mean I’m going to stop digressing about the change (and this includes my rebuttal of Frank Bruni‘s recent banner review of Manetta Tavern) Um three stars?
No.
Yes, I love Keith McNally but this was over-rated in my world (and critics of his ilk are usually gospel). Yet, sometimes one needs to recall what made them love a city to begin with.
outside pastis ...breakfast. image by KBD.
So I begin…in no particular order. Balthazar and Pastis; my perennial favorites whether it be a table for one–shrimp cocktail, arugula salad and glass of blush or a platter of oysters, bar steak and glass of red. It’s the same, old KM and the same old standbys. Warm lighting and always boisterous. I always collect the matches, postcards and most importantly, memories of great meals with friends.
yes, to town, to new york city proper…i waited for something to jump at me; stop me.
i wanted to complain more. make the cab pull over (he was so nice)…
it came quickly.
Tomorrow I will document the demise; what was once the iconic “bulletin board” of New York City (sans the Marky Mark/Kate Moss photo on T Square) and show it’s replacement with my own lens.
Yes, this is the last you will see of an icon …in favor of a sports/Californiazed look ( a soon to be emerging theme).
Off to NYC with new observations.
