City Holiday

Dashing through the snow in a one-horse open sleigh is all very well, but nothing gets my holiday started quite like the twinkly lights and window displays of a downtown shopping district. Call me consumerist, but for me it's an inevitable byproduct of having grown up in a big city.

We needed to go to New York for a couple days last week, and I got to spend an afternoon wandering up Fifth Avenue admiring all the commercially produced cheer. That's Saks, above, with its big sparkly snowflakes. Lord & Taylor had a sort of international holiday theme going: this window was its Parisian patisserie. I especially like that pyramid of croissants in the background. The big fluffy poodle is pretty terrific, too.


The downtown department stores in Boston are kind of sad and deserted, but the New York Lord & Taylor was positively bustling, and had big tables laid out with vaguely archaic goods, like opera-length leather gloves. Most of the women milling around the cosmetics and accessories floor wore real, structured hats and long wool coats, with nary a sneaker in sight. No distressed low-riders and teenybopper tees here. For such a modern, frenetic, moving-and-shaking city, New York sometimes feels as though it inhabits a bygone era.

Rockefeller Center was a madhouse, even on this prematurely dusky December weekday. Here are the skaters gleefully whizzing through the gloom.


Before I headed home I continued up Fifth to the bottom of Central Park to see the Plaza, as I like to do when I'm in this part of New York (my parents got married there). Flags were flapping along the avenue, the sun was going down, and the smell of hotdogs, pretzels, and roasted chestnuts wafted through the jostling crowds. It all looked exactly like the cover of a 1950s issue of the "New Yorker," a place where you might still need to wear a real hat and a pair of leather gloves, though perhaps not opera-length ones.

Shopping with the Stars

When I go to New York I always look up a few places I've been meaning to visit, stores or restaurants I've read about, stuff like that. This time I spent an afternoon in Soho checking out the knitting shop Purl, and also Global Table, a kitchen and tableware shop that seems to be referenced in every issue of every home design magazine I've ever read.

Both turned out to be small, appealing, packed with carefully selected goods ... and a little disappointing. Perhaps a bit like seeing a beloved celebrity in person and discovering them to be a lot smaller and normal-looking than they appeared on the silver screen. Each of these places is name-dropped so often by the style cognoscenti, my expectations had been built up for something more.

True, the Purl storefront glowed like a happy rainbow on the gloomy, rain-spattered afternoon that I stopped by, and the fibers filling its cubby-lined walls were brilliantly colored and exquisitely textured to the last skein, but I can think of three or four other knitting shops off the top of my head that offer an equally scrumptious selection of yarn, with more to choose from, more inspiring books and gadgets, and a more comfortable setting. There was nothing wrong with Purl, but I don't know that it deserves all the special attention it gets.

As for Global Table, while it does bring a lot of interesting items together in one place, it felt kind of cluttered and messy, and didn't have much that I hadn't already seen elsewhere. Though it's possible it was just spoiled for me from having seen all the goods before in those endless "what we want NOW" magazine spreads.

I think the bottom line is that the people who work for these magazines mostly live in New York, and they've got to dredge up ideas for their stories the same as any journalist. At the end of the day, it's easiest to scout for merchandise within walking distance. And while these two stores (along with the rest of the editorial darlings) may be perfectly good, or even great, it's always going to be difficult to live up to the hype created by all that shiny editorial language. You know, kind of like when you read that a store "glowed like a happy rainbow."

Of course, knowing it's all marketing and spin won't stop me from hunting down the little hot-list boutiques, any more than it will prevent me from keeping my eyes peeled for famous folk, however small or ordinary they may appear in the flesh. It seems that as long as you pay attention, and particularly if you visit one of the trendier neighborhoods, you're sure to see somebody, though there's no guarantee it will be someone you care about. I enjoy how random this is - unlike a movie, where you know going in whether it will be peopled with stars from the A, B, or D list, the New York streets are not delineated by velvet ropes ... at least not yet. Everyone's just out there milling around and doing their thing, just like you or me (but with more money).

I suppose I should try to be blase about it, but I can't help it: I'm totally star-struck. I haven't run up to talk to anyone (so far), but I do tend to sidle around looking out of the corners of my eyes in a really obvious way, trying to take in the presence of the mythical celebrity beast in my own humdrum reality.

My cousin and I saw Anna Paquin shopping in Nolita last fall, and this summer Daniel and I passed Jimmy Fallon walking along with his head down and a "please don't notice me" expression on his face, but my most random and amusing "star" sighting was this last visit, and was the best because it was such a non-event: I noticed Ken Burns at the J. Crew in Soho, into which I had ducked to get out of the rain. Now, I am aware of the work of Ken Burns, respect what he does, and even watched a good bit of "The Civil War" many years ago, but I am by no means a devoted fan, so mainly I just found it funny that I recognized him at all, much less instantly. Also, because as he walked through the menswear department he gazed at the chinos and sweaters with the same slightly creepy, wide-eyed intensity you see when he appears on PBS, and pointed out various articles of clothing to the people he was with as though they were researching a documentary on the history of preppy clothiers in America. And who knows, perhaps that is his next project.

It's unfortunate that there isn't some way to sign up in advance for celebrity sightings, perhaps via Gawker Stalker, so the person glimpsing the celeb fully appreciates the experience. (No offense, Jimmy Fallon, but while I was excited to recognize you, you were otherwise wasted on me.) Maybe we could somehow barter them, à la craigslist ... let's see, on the day I saw Ken Burns, I could have swapped him for a Kristin Davis or a Jennifer Garner (with Violet) sighting. Though the mere fact that I consider Ken Burns a "celebrity" probably indicates I was the right person for the job.

Pizza Chronicles: Lombardi's

After our gastronomically happy experience last winter at Grimaldi's Pizzeria in Brooklyn, we thought we'd try out another old-time coal-fired pizza oven place, this time the Little Italy establishment Lombardi's. It's described in somewhat equivocating fashion as the country's first "full-fledged" pizzeria, and was recommended to me awhile back by a friend and former New Yorker.

On the night we visited, we walked right in and got a table, but we could tell the place is used to dealing with crowds. The hostess greeted us with rapid-fire efficiency, then spoke into a headset like Madonna of the pizza ovens, summoning a runner from the back of the restaurant to guide us through a warren of dining rooms and food staging areas to our properly checker-clothed table in a narrow, brick-walled room. The service continued with swift proficiency, but with so little personality and face-time, it almost felt as though we were ordering food out of thin air.

All this streamlining had me a little worried that the quality of the pizza might be compromised in the name of efficiency, as well, but the simple cheese pie we ordered manifested itself with the same humble honesty of any non-famous old-time pizzeria, and we made it disappear with an efficiency to rival that of Lombardi's staff, though in our case aided by many diminutive glasses of house red.


I was interested to see that Lombardi's, like Grimaldi's, uses fresh mozzarella as its all-purpose cheese base. Maybe that's a common thing for traditional New York pizza, but for me it's a novelty (and one I enjoy). If memory serves I think I liked Grimaldi's a bit better, but Lombardi's crust stood out as particularly crisp and flavorful. If I go back, I'd probably order it with extra mozzarella to maximize the potential of all those lonely patches of sauce. Each one is a lost opportunity!

Under the Bridge: Pizza Chronicles

We made a journey to Grimaldi's Pizzeria (the Zagat Guide's "best pizza in New York") in Brooklyn Heights this weekend, continuing our extended tour of some of the East Coast's most storied pizza places.

It is charmingly located pretty much directly under the Brooklyn Bridge, and while from the outside it looks like a charmless by-the-slice sort of place, inside it was bustling with activity (this was Saturday lunch) and made cozy by the requisite pizzeria red-checked table coverings, and lots and lots of pictures of Frank Sinatra on the walls.

I'll say up front this wasn't my favorite thin-crust pizza ever - I think that honor still has to go to the magical first slice of Santarpio's pizza I had last spring. Where Grimaldi's blows away the competition on crispness of crust and freshness of ingredients, it lacked, for me, a certain intensity of flavor. Maybe they just don't overdo it on the salt, and I'm betraying my palate's lack of sophistication; who knows. However, this is not to say I wouldn't happily consume a Grimaldi's pie every week for the rest of my life if it were in my neighborhood. Here's what sets it apart:

• They only use fresh mozzarella, which we read they make there.
• Their brick oven is coal-fired, which is apparently unusual these days because some cities don't allow new ones to be built. (Grimaldi's founder Patsy Grimaldi describes the superiority of the coal oven-fired pizza in this article if you're interested.)
• The dough and all the ingredients are super fresh. I could certainly taste that difference. It was like a little farmer's market on my pizza slice.
  

You can only get whole pizzas (also calzones) here, no slices, so if you go be prepared to eat. We handily consumed a large cheese pie between the two of us. "Let's get the large and have leftovers," we said when we ordered it. Ha!

Millerton: From Clocktower to Rail Trail

In recent months, the Somervillain has been spending a lot of time in the rural hamlet of Millerton, NY, moreso than in her adopted Somerville, it has sometimes seemed. So let's take a little tour, shall we? It is a bundle of contradictions, for such a small town.

Here is the cute main street, notable for its clocktower building. The vehicles that cruise it are pretty evenly split between local pickup trucks and out-of-town city-person BMWs.


Dutchess County is horse country, and horsey types shop at the Salem Saddlery ...


... but Dutchess County is also near the Berkshires, land of James Taylor and Deadheads, so for the hippie types, we have Healthy Being.


Those who need workboots and flannel shirts go to Saperstein's ...


... and those who need a $70 chocolate torte go to Millerton Market. "Great food," indeed. Let them eat cake!


There is a lot of high and low in Millerton, and not a lot in between. As the volunteer lady at one of Somervillain & Co.'s favorite shops, Thriftique, told me, "I have to drive 40 minutes just to get a spool of thread!" (Thriftique currently sports a lovely window display for St. Patrick's Day, by the way. See all that green?)


The Harlem Valley Rail Trail: a 15-mile paved bicycle trail that cuts right through the heart of Millerton. This, as I understand it, is part of what drew all the Weekend People up here in the first place.


Here, for example, is Oblong Books & Music, which I once saw featured as the setting in a New Yorker cartoon. You know a place has become part of the Manhattanite's universe when it shows up in a New Yorker cartoon.


Irving Farm coffee house is an actual spin-off of a Manhattan cafe - the original is located on Irving Place near Gramercy Park. But it doesn't matter that it looks like the ultimate weekender hang-out - everyone in Millerton goes to Irving Farm. Coffee, the great equalizer.


But if coffee is not your cup of tea, try local tea-maker Harney & Sons:


Or pick up your papers, tackle, ammo, and Pendletons at Terni's (a.k.a. "Phil's," for those in the know):


Don't eat at "Coach Ali's" Diner unless you like your food stuck on your silverware. Sorry, Coach Ali, we want to love you but them's the facts!


And finally, Somervillain's favorite spot in Millerton, the Millerton Moviehouse.

It may have a crummy sound system and uncomfortable seats, but it offers a surprisingly good selection for a place that only shows three movies at a time, a nice mix of mainstream and arty, and most important of all, at least it is there!

In a town where you can buy a $70 cake and a new shotgun but not a spool of thread, that is saying something.

Crossing

I love great big iconic bridges that you can cross on foot. I've walked across the Golden Gate (and back), so this time in New York with some extra time on my hands after wandering around in Brooklyn, I thought I'd walk back to Manhattan via the Brooklyn Bridge. It's so enticing when you see it from the Brooklyn Heights Promenade.


While the bridge itself was easy enough to locate, it was surprisingly tricky to find the pedestrian entryway. Lucky for me, someone had posted several homemade signs like this one to help along the hapless newcomer.


The walkway runs along the center of the bridge, suspended above the auto traffic. It's made of wooden planks, like a beach boardwalk. Pedestrians kept spilling into the bike lane, causing the occasional speeding cyclist to swerve and ring their bell madly. There were more tourists closer to the Manhattan end of the bridge. A Russian girl got her stiletto heel caught between the planks.


Afternoon light on the stone support. Probably there is an official bridge name for it, something more specific than "support."


The reward for crossing, one of many splendid views.

Took a Quick Trip to NYC ...

... and here are some things I saw ...

Shooting stars over Union Square:


Leafy streets in Park Slope, very "Squid and the Whale." (Also, noticed that "The Squid and the Whale" was playing at almost every movie theater I passed in Brooklyn and Manhattan.)


Pretty things from Brooklyn boutique (and Lucky magazine favorite) Castor & Pollux. For other Lucky readers, here's the scoop, girls: cute shop, great stuff, but mostly really pricey, and one of those tiny places with like two racks of clothes. Also, as far as I could tell it's sort of on the fringes of Park Slope gentrification, so I felt a bit self-indulgent shopping there. It's across the street from a Salvation Army store that's posted signs saying, "No shoplifting - the police station is right around the corner." Let's just say it's a little hard to picture Lucky editor Kim France making the subway pilgrimmage to hit the racks as she claims to.


Night skaters at Bryant Park:


Ciao, New York!