Where the Streets Have No Numbers

Saturday afternoon, Katy worked for a few hours, which gave Erik a chance to do a bit more exploring around the neighborhood. Three major discoveries:

1. Local Ace Hardware store --- not a spectacular hardware store in the traditional sense, but they have everything from miter saws to matzo, falafel to frames, and bolts to bath bubbles.

2. Agata & Valentina --- yet another fine foods market nearby, and today's source of breakfast sausage, orange juice, scones, smoked salmon, and cheese & crackers.

3. 67th Street branch of the New York Public Library --- went ahead and put that new library card to good use, checking out Chip Kidd's new novel, "The Learners," sequel to "The Cheese Monkeys."

Saturday evening, we traveled to a scary and mysterious land where the streets have names instead of numbers. See, the great thing about most of Manhattan is that all the streets and avenues are numbered sequentially and arranged in a simple grid, so you can always get your bearings. But, once you get below 1st Street, you enter a topsy-turvy world where the grid disappears and a tangled web of randomly-named streets takes over. Even long-time New Yorkers carry a map down there.

Anyways, we met Tom and Jen (old friends from Duke) for an excellent dinner at Essex, after which we were joined by Jen's husband Gil for drinks at The Back Room. The Back Room is a pretty interesting place, posing as the abandoned Lower East Side Toy Company on the outside, faux-Prohibition Era speakeasy on the inside. Rather than try my own description, I will quote an online profile from nymag.com:

"Don't even think about getting access to the hidden back room of gorgeous copper ceilings and Art Nouveau knick-knacks unless you're friends with the owners, one of whom is Tim Robbins. (His pals Penn, Pacino, Pesci, and DeNiro all dropped in together one night.) Instead, simply enjoy the main room, a speakeasy of sorts with the faux facade of a toy store. The giant fireplace and mirrored bar are leftovers from former occupant Lansky Lounge, but Robbins' co-owner Johnny B. has added period-perfect chandeliers, velvet paisley wallpaper, tin ceilings, a candlestick phone, and sundry Victoriana. Booze is served in teacups, a throwback to clandestine drinking during Prohibition. As a blast from the more recent past, this hot spot bypasses super-cool D.J.s for simple CDs by stand-bys like the Cars and newer favorites like the Killers." - Veronica Cooper, nymag.com

After enjoying a couple cocktails served in teacups and bottles of beer served in brown paper bags, we found our way back north to Where the Streets Have No Name. Today we relaxed. And ate. And relaxed again. Then ate again. Eat, Relax, Repeat.

With love,

Katy & Erik