For Public Consumption | Racing Thoughts

LJIZlzHgQ7WPSh5KVTCB_TypewriterEveryday around 5 PM, I can hear the trains rolling through Mt. Kisco from my desk.

The aggressive horn starts off in the distance, and I can’t help but look at my desk clock. The sound comes closer, and I pack my bag. The doppler’d noise goes off into the distance, and I’m getting into a cab, eagerly waiting for my own train to whisk me back to the city.

It’s a process that I neither hate nor love, but helps me mark the time nonetheless.

This week’s been a doozy, what with rain, ebola scares and terrible commutes, it’s all a guy can do to hold out until Friday. Since Monday, I’ve been expecting that train to remind me to go home, perking up to the sound, only to be roundly disappointed because I remembered yet another thing I had to do once I got back to the city. Another event, another friend to hang out with.

But now it’s Friday. Though I’ll be bartending tomorrow, I also have a relaxing weekend of adventures planned. I’m looking forward to head up to Beacon for art and Doctor Who-themed eating on Sunday, and then of course, Saturday is gonna be cray: I’M JUDGING A PUPPY COSTUME CONTEST. Let that sink in.

As I wait for the train to sound off and tell me to go home, I’m gonna practice for my role of a lifetime with a trip down the Buzzfeed hole. Have a great weekend! Continue reading

Photo Essay: Tasting Southold Farm + Cellar | North Fork, Long Island

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Sundays have become my day of adventure, apparently.

Bored with brunch and general city going-ons, Ian and I have taken to exploring the greater New York-area and its environs, in-depth. Sometimes, it’s as close as the Upper West Side, or Brooklyn. Other times, it’s gallivanting off to rural Pennsylvania for a lumberjack festival. This week, though, we took to Long Island to spend time with friends in the North Fork.

Naturally, there was plenty of wine. Continue reading

Brooklyn Victory Garden: All of the Cheese, Please

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A few weeks ago, on one of those fall Sundays that slap you in the face with fire-y leaves and clear skies, Ian took me on an adventure through the Upper West Side. Stately brownstones and single-family homes lined the shaded, narrow streets, while the sun peeked through the canopy of trees and cast an emerald-filtered shadow over the ground.  Continue reading

Rainy Autumn Playlist: Color | Drain

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By the time I got off the L in Bushwick this evening, the sky—which had threatened rain all day—released its wet freight.

Underground a mere minutes before I butted heads with meteorology, I had already decided to take the long route home, if only to be outside for a short while. I even wanted to go on a run, imagine that. Instead, I was stuck with a drizzly 12 minute door-to-subway-door jaunt. Sigh.

Then again, if the worst thing in the world during a light autumn rain is having to take off one’s glasses, well, there’s not really much to complain about.

Plus, over the course of my drizzle-stroll, I was able to decide three things: Continue reading

Visiting Gay Graves at Green-Wood Cemetery | Brooklyn

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“Anyone here know Bethesda Fountain?” Phil asks the gathered group of men (and one woman). “The statue is known as the Angel of the Waters, and its sculptor happens to be our first lesbian artist on the tour.”

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For Public Consumption | Seasonal Shift | End of Day Links

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Summer bums me out. It’s hot, it’s sweaty, everything smells and can I please just take a goddamn nap already? Everyone gets SAD during the winter, but between May and September, I’m pretty much the worst.

On an intellectual level, I understand why people love summer. The sun comes out en force and the world has shaken off spring allergies and any of its lingering greyness. Everything is so shiny! Carpe diem and stuff. Well, not for me.

Fall, though. Let’s talk about fall.

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My New Iced Coffee Fix

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On Saturday, I was stumbling around a gray Brooklyn, running around conducting errands. Just my luck, the skies decided to open up right as I exited the subway in Ft. Greene/Clinton Hill.

Mind you, I have about 20 umbrellas at home (just a rough count). Naturally, I didn’t bring one with me.

Sigh.

I decided I needed to feed my sweet tooth with chocolate, and luckily, I was across the street from Greene Grape, a well-known specialty grocer. I ducked into the shop for an impromptu mood-lifter and as I perused the shelves, came across this bottle of Grady’s Cold Brew, a “coffee concentrate.” Look at how pretty!

Woefully under-caffeinated and wet, with a shift at the bar an hour away, I bought a bottle and went back into the rain.

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Mixing It Up: Bartending

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“I like bars just after they open for the evening. When the air inside is still cool and clean and everything is shiny and the barkeep is giving himself that last look in the mirror to see if his tie is straight and his hair is smooth. I like the neat bottles on the bar back and the lovely shining glasses and the anticipation. I like to watch the man mix the first one of the evening and put it down on a crisp mat and put the little folded napkin beside it. I like to taste it slowly. The first quiet drink of the evening in a quiet bar—that’s wonderful.”

—Raymond Chandler, The Long Goodbye

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For Public Consumption: End of Day Links

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Back in high school, I was one of those earnest little newspaper kids, working with a ragtag crew of other writer-types for the Brea Olinda High School Wildcat. When I wasn’t playing Starcraft with the other dudes in the production room, I was studying for my AP classes, catching up on late assignments or working on lifestyle stories (such as they were at the age of 16).

It was my first taste of food writing.

The Wildcat was published once a month, yet we somehow got it into our heads to create an annual food issue. I don’t remember the details, but we were able to convince Brea’s “top” restaurants to feed our little gaggle—like, a team of 10—for free, wherein we’d review them in the Perspectives section. Journalism!

Looking back, I’m pretty sure our little operation with restaurants like Souplantation and Claim Jumper—it was suburbia, guys—was an upper middle class grift. There were 10 of us! Eating for free! These places didn’t need our reviews—there was only a nascent “online” then, and there’d only be one printed review disseminated amongst the student body. WHO WOULD EAT THERE ANYWAY. Being the only game in town, these places had a constant stream of customers, because the only other choice was Denny’s. They certainly didn’t need glowing prose word-vomited by an acne-pocked, puberty-stricken teen.

We wanted to work the system, and boy did we. Plates of buttery rolls, gooey mac and cheese, and well-done (yup, judge me harshly) steak graced our greasy faces. There was nary a green to be found, and there was always room for dessert. Man, we were damn hell ass kings for an hour or so before regressing back to being nerdy, social-climbing virgins again.

Of course, I know better now than to be a mooching d-bag. Even still, those issues of the Wildcat were my favorite. I got to stretch a muscle I didn’t know was there. Because of the food issues, I caught the bug that took a decade or so to metamorphose into what is now my career path.

Sadly, I have no mementos from that past life. How I wish I had copies to read, if only to laugh at myself. It’d be nice to see what the baby-me had to say about CJ’s seven-layer Motherlode cake, or the newborn-sized éclair.

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Profilin': Mary McAuley of The Ripe Life Wines

Processed with VSCOcam with a6 presetReal talk about blogging: it’s difficult to come up with original AND compelling content on a weekly basis. I’m not a list person, at least online. As I work on this site more, and as I am inspired by some ace Web producers out there (no mere bloggers, these), I realize how much I want to shake up “blogging” as much as I want to shake up my routine. 

In that spirit, I’ve decided I will be pursuing more profile-style posts with fascinating people doing cool shit out there, here in Internet-land and beyond. I’m tired of sitting around, watching passionate people go unnoticed for their work. I’m curious and ripe with questions, but I have the luxury and luck to know So. Many. Cool. People. Let’s try to get them on here, mkay? 

Now that that’s out of the way… 

I first met Mary McAuley a few months ago at Ed’s Lobster in SoHo. There was, natch, lobster and clams and tators, but more importantly, there were bottles of Mary’s wine. Ya see, Mary is a wine-trepreneur: Back in 2013, the Jersey native, former NYC somm/culinary student and all-around badass started her own company, Ripe Life Wines, and released her first vintage of Clambake Chardonnay.

I know what you’re thinking: ABC (“I drink anything but Chardonnay”). But hear me out!

Mary’s first release, sourced from Cali’s Santa Lucia Highlands, was a wallop of a sip. Fresh, minerally, hearty squeezes of lemon: her juice is not that ’90s stereotype of oaky, popcorn-buttery Chard. It is finessed, with tons of fresh acidity that makes it dangerously easy to guzzle. Her 2013 release is from Mendocino and is just as fresh, if a little fuller.

I’ve hung out with Mary a few times now, and lemme tell you, girl knows her way around wine and food. In fact, the Clambake label is a nod to her East Coast roots: It’s meant to pair well with all iterations of clambakes up and down the eastern seaboard.

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