Tag Archives: New York


14 Nov

I can’t ollie like Elissa Steamer (or like anyone) but I think it’s still ok for me to love the ONLY guys. Apart from their herring-spangled chapeaus and photo deli, their website also features snaps of NYC from the gold-old-olden days: the 70’s and 80s.

They love New York. You love New York. We all love hotdogs. Whatever. These pictures are cool.

Peruse at your leisure at ONLY. And pick up a mushroom hat for me.


Please Don’t Tell

10 Aug

YOU try not telling.  I’m no Peter Pettigrew, but it’s hard not to get a little razzle-dazzled by a suave secret bar hidden in a hot dog joint.

How do you get in?  Try Crif Dogs at St Mark’s. Try the vintage phone booth in the corner.  Try dialing a number on the old-school phone and try NOT squealing when what you thought was the wall swings open to reveal a low-lit bar full of cocktail-swillers.

Speakeasy gimmicks aside, Please Don’t Tell is a sexy place. The cocktails, while steep, are a delicious take on Prohibition classics (Old Fashioned made from bacon-flavoured bourbon, anyone?) and they look pretty-as-hell. And the menu features Crif Dog’s deep fried and sour cream-schmeared classics, as well as a tasty miniburger and the momofuku tribute Chang Dog. Extra kimchee please!

Who comes here? Not the hipsters, thank God, ’cause this place is old news.  Duh. But if you want to impress the out-of-towners, or, um, yourself, then get your ass here because unless you’re stupid, you know that drinking cocktails and eating hotdogs is a Good Thing.

Image courtesy of Please Don’t Tell.


14 Jul

Inoteca brings to mind that age-old addage: ‘What they lack in manners, they make up for in gorgonzola and fig bruschetta.’

To be fair, it was only the door-bi…girl who was bossy.  The spunky waiter (actor?) who served us was chirpy, patient and didn’t let us over-order — an admirable trait in a world of small plates and sharing menus.

Figs aside, it’s hard to resist the fritto, and while the tramezzini are tempting it’s the crisp panini that the hordes of hipsters come here for. (The ones that made mama ‘ino famous.)

But I say: GET YOUR SALAD ON.  What could be better than juicy beets, slithers of orange, sharp pecorino, and fresh, fresh mint dotted with crunchy hazelnuts on a hot summer night?

Maybe a chilled glass of rosé, you say?  Ok, you can have that – or one of the 23 other wines available by the glass.

Like most four year olds in New York, this place has edge.

Images from inoteca and It Started In New York

Henry V – New York Classical Theater

13 Jul

Really?  You don’t think this looks like theatre?

Ok, that’s fair. The River to River Festival and New York Classical Theater have raised the Shakespeare-under-the-stars bar so high up that not even the BFG can see it.

Their choose-your-own-adventuresque production of Henry V begins outside Castle Clinton, where the audience is invited to follow Harry and his subjects around Battery Park as they prepare for battle.  They even join in sailing across the ‘Channel’ to wage war on Governors Island. FRANCE, I mean, France.

It’s a quick-and-the-dead kinda production.  The cast actually RUN from scene to scene, and while there’s a noticeable absence of fake blood in the battle scenes, it’s still pretty dramatic to see a cast of 40 charging across the rolling lawns of Governors Island, sword-in-fist.

Scenes have been sacrificed and French accents butchered — but this is war, after all. It’s free, fast-paced and playing until July 24th.

Second image from nyc loves nyc.

Warm Up – MoMA PS1

12 Jul

Sure it gets hot in Ahvaz. But PS1 did its best to compete last weekend with the likes of Fourtet, Subtract, a mini sound-stage and an outdoor hall of mirrors in the afternoon sun. In the absence of any Khuzestanis I looked to the sweaty crowd-surfers for confirmation, and it’s true. It doesn’t get much hotter than this.

Now in its fourteenth year, MoMa PS1’s summer concert series, Warm Up, has established itself as one of the city’s most iconic summer parties. Well, duh. A beery, experimental music DJ party in the courtyard of a MUSEUM?

The novelty of dancing and shrieking at a place where you’re normally hush-hushed is reason itself to go — but the best part is, you’re even allowed INSIDE. What better place to take some respite from the churning dancefloor than in a cinema playing a bloodthirsty satire about Jesus? And who needs a shade tent when you have a room full of leather heads?

Outside the offerings are thematic and bountiful: mini wooden paddly pools, smooth white sun lounges, tiny sandpits and both kinds of drink: beer AND water. This is hallowed turf for art aficionados, old-time ravers, toddlers and hipsters alike. Nothing like some doof-doof and an interactive art installation to bring the city together.

It’s on until September.  And it’s so much closer than Iran.

Rainbow City

22 Jun

Hells bells and tortoise shells!*  This is Rainbow City: a towering garden of blow-up happy.  By that I mean huge inflatable mushrooms smiling down from on high, super-size hot air balloons floating in the summer breeze, oh-so-tall stripey cylinders leaning towards you for a pillowy hug…

It’s kind of like super Mario on drugs.

This 40 piece installation from Miami-based artistic collaborative FriendsWithYou is currently plonked below the new section of the Highline.  The inflatable magic garden is apparently designed to awaken the inner child – which means there are quite a few lost-looking suits pawing the playground floor nervously.  (Or maybe they were just looking for the private Wall Street Journal event next door.)

When the sound loops start to verge on creepy and the kids in the jumping castle tent start to look at you like YOU’RE creepy, it’s probably time for a beer.  They’re only (ahem) $7 at the temporary outdoor bar next door, The Lot on Tap.

Collichio & Sons is the order of the day at this giant concrete summer ‘plaza.’ To be honest though, it’s probably not the place I’d rush to if I were looking for an outdoor wristband experience.  (Yes, you need one.)

For that I’d go here.

If you too are short on trans-Atlantic airtickets, Rainbow City will be floating about until July 5.

*What do you think?  Could this turn into a WIDELY-USED EXPRESSION?

I forgot my camera on this excursion, so thanks to Arrested Motion and Geoffry Gertz for letting me use their awesome pictures.


20 Jun

If I were all leggy and had glossy dark hair and a sultry pout and maybe some sterling silver hammered cuffs, a pretty tattoo on my wrist and a growing penchant for skulls, then I would wear Oak stuff ALL THE TIME.

As it is I’m the blonde, gawky type so I kind of look like an imposter in clothes this cool.  Doesn’t mean I can’t try though.

(That’s not me.  Damn.)

Black and white, geometry, long tops, high waists, leather, rockstar jeans – these are all Oak’s strong suits. Most delicious though are the SHOES — and I’m not even one of those shoesy types.  Really I’m not.

Aren’t you glad someone called GeeWaWa designed those?  If that’s not cool enough: their Williamsburg store is behind an unmarked door on North 8th Street, which means there are no crowds to brave and you can eavesdrop on the sales assistants’ gossip… because there are no customers to serve.  No brunette, sexy ones anyway.

Images from Shiny Squirrel and Oak.


10 Jun

Is it ok to write about a place when you’ve only tried one, very delicious item from their menu?


What if it’s the cheapest thing in the whole place?

Definitely not.


Well… maybe.  But only if you’ve eaten it twice.  No, THREE TIMES. No, three times in THREE DAYS.

In that case, shut up.  Pop’s is the best vendor of BLTs in the whole land.  Yes, I’ve tried the BLTs at Redleaf.  And the ones at the Russian River Microbrewery – I think the river views might have made the bacon seem juicier there, by the way.  I hear a place in Port Douglas does a brilliant crispy-bacon version too.  But I’m just going to say it: Pop’s BLTs are better than the ones mum used to make for the F1 final.  (That’s a normal family tradition, right?)

As we all know, BLTS are the easy lover you can call on day or night and, seemingly, there’s not a lot more to the acronym than meets the eye.  But to explain the culinary genius behind Pop’s creation is to diminish it, and so I won’t.  All I’ll say is: chipotle mayonaise. It’s so good it’ll make you want to have imaginary conversations with yourself.

To get your hands on one of these tasty, meal time bridge-gappers, it’s imperative to ignore the nerdy, bearded white guys awkwardly bopping to the (admittedly kind of cool) beats oozing from their customized playlists — they might put you off your food.  Keep your eye on the bacon, my friend.  It’s worth it.

Pop’s has other stuff on the chalkboard too like chilli dogs and cheese fries and hefty angus burgers.  But for a sensual $2.75, why would anyone stray from the BLT?  It’ll love you back.  Thrice over.

Pop’s, 167 North 8th Street, Brooklyn.  (718-486-3663)
BLT image from Good Magazine

Orchard Beach

9 Jun

Rightly or wrongly (ok, wrongly) it’s been described as the Riviera of the Bronx.  Which might give one the impression that Orchard Beach is a dainty morsel of uptown beachside glamour.

Au contraire.  In biscuit talk: Orchard Beach is a rock cake.  A tooth-snapping, currant-studded, chunky little number.

Don’t get me wrong — there’s definitely a place for tooth-snappers in the beach biscuit tin.  It’s all about boy scouting.

This is not the white sandy, salad rolly, ripped surfer chesty kind of beach you might expect if you’re an Australian unaccustomed to the 6 Line.

I know what you’re thinking. All the key ingredients are here, right?

  • Semi-naked bodies
  • Water (albeit verging on fetid)
  • A smattering of flirtatious teenagers (with extra attitude)
  • Police presence

But it’s all in Orchard Beach’s secret special sauce:

  • Rowdy hot dog vendors
  • Crowds (Like musical festival crowds.  The sweaty and pushy-shovey kind.)
  • American flags strewn over brick walls
  • Boom boxes screaming hip-hop salsa beats
  • Big-lunged ladies screaming at their brood
  • Fleshy, tattooed fists crushing Budweiser cans

Told you – nothing continental about it.  But it’s probably the realest slice of New York you’ll ever get.

Feast on it.


8 Jun

Polo horses and swear words and soft, soft silk?  Yes please.

Loquita is Hermes’ cooler, more badass little sister.  The one with a silver hipflask of bourbon in her handbag at Ascot.  The one with a tattoo just above the hemline of her little black dress.  The one who would play death metal at her wedding – if she ever deigned to marry.

Maybe the ultimate NYC slashy, Loquita founder Sara Rotman turned her hand to fashion design after dabbling in art directing (at Saatchi), album cover design,  interior design, and the odd equestrian sportHamptonites and sartorialist-posers are unanimous: her stuff kind of rocks.

You definitely want to be her friend, and you definitely want to wrap yourself in her wares.  Or, you know, your horses.

Loquita Showroom, PLV Studio, 10 West 33rd Street, Suite PH1, New York. (646-723-9200)


All images from Loquita