my ideal New York City weekend

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With two visitors this last month I have perfected my WHAT-TO-DO-WITH-A-WEEKEND-IN-NEW-YORK...

So as part apology for my long stretch of quiet on this here blog, and part you-should-really-just-know-this, I offer up to you an ideal weekend in this city (or some version of it):

 

FRIDAY NIGHT

 

Analogue | Before dinner drinks

(For cocktails, the Matahari. For food, bacon wrapped dates).

Aria | Dinner

(I've not had one bad thing, here. Ever).

BOBO (the upstairs bar) | Nightcap

 

SATURDAY

 

Whynotcoffee | To begin

the West Village + the High Line | Wandering

(about this I must say, I had seen bits and pieces of the High Line in the past, but didn't understand all the hoopla. This past weekend was the first time I really walked the length of it. And parts of it are, without a doubt, spectacular. Totally worth giving it a go).

Barrio Chino | Lunch

(the jalepeno infused margarita)

Foot Reflexology | Relaxation

(locations all throughout the city--don't be afraid to google)

Stumptown Coffee | Late-afternoon pick-me-up

Bar Sardine | Dinner

(the Fedora burger)

A club in the Meatpacking District | For stepping outside of one's comfort zone and living like rock stars (or some iteration of that).

(No. 8 {formerly Bungalow 8} or the Boom Boom Room at the Standard Hotel)

 

SUNDAY

 

Whynotcoffee | To begin

Buttermilk Channel | Brunch

(Take the F train south to Brooklyn. This place is worth the train ride and the wait--on this you must trust me. Get the sausage scramble and the Pecan Pie French Toast).

Carroll Gardens, Cobble Hill, Brooklyn Heights + the Brooklyn Promenade | Wandering

A Film at the IFC | Afternoon respite

The path along the Hudson | Evening stroll

Whitehall | Late dinner

 

 

 

the perfect weekend (surprisingly, unexpectedly, quietly so)

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It is always, without fail, the weekends that you have not one expectation of, that bloom the most exquisitely.

 

I came home from work on Friday bone-tired and a little worn down. Little did I know that my Friday night would end with karaoke in Koreatown at some ungodly hour--as the strangest and most exciting nights in New York City always do.

 

(Of this there are no pictures, and let us all give thanks for that).

 

Saturday was spent at the Rockaways with Sam (with whom there is never enough time-- she lives too far and the occasional conversations do not suffice). We lazed on the beach, narrowly avoided seagull poop, talked as only two women in their twenties can, ate well and cheaply (as Hemingway would say), and patiently supported each other's photography endeavors.

 

And of course, Sunday, the loneliest day of the week, wasn't so lonely at all. It was filled with a quiet afternoon of eating and strolling and browsing. Books and candles and the first cappuccino in New York (or so the caffe claims).

 

The whole thing was the perfect balance between the ridiculous and the sublime. And I feel better and fuller and more  myself because of it.

 

As for whether or not it makes me any more ready to take on the week... well...

 

...maybe less so.

 

But let's give it a go anyway...

 

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