Filed under: brooklyn, sunset park, Uncategorized | Tags: basquiat, bus depot, cormorant, frank morgan, greenwood cemetery, jackie gleason, joe gallo, leonard bernstein
Just beyond the Jackie Gleason Bus Depot in Sunset Park…
…lies Greenwood Cemetery, resting place for Basquiat, Bernstein, Crazy Joe, and the Wizard, and a stunning visual display, often times more sumptuous than even the sweetest vistas of Prospect or Central Park.
A Double-crested Cormorant! (Pictures: Jill; Ornithology: Christopher)
Filed under: brooklyn, sunset park | Tags: chinatown, eels, food, frogs, hornpout, mother's coffee shop, n train, new york, turtles
This past Saturday was sunny and mild. We went for a walk in Brooklyn’s Chinatown in Sunset Park. Centered along Eighth Avenue, roughly between 40th and 60th streets, it’s home to a bustling community that had its start in the ’80s, becoming New York’s “third Chinatown” along with lower Manhattan and Flushing, Queens. According to what I read, Chinese-Americans may have been attracted to 8th Avenue in Brooklyn because the number eight is similar to a word in Chinese for prosperity (發, fā), making it an auspicious number in Chinese culture. Or, it could have been that it’s a direct ride from the city on the N train, providing an express link to Manhattan’s Chinatown (much as the D train links Boro Park with the Diamond District, but that’s the subject of another post).
Me, I’ve always found it interesting that there are several Chinese neighborhoods around the world with sunny names: There’s the Sunset District in San Francisco (which seems to have followed a similar pattern in its formation as an alternate Chinatown), and Sunnybank, Brisbane in Australia, yet another offshoot to a larger Chinatown community.
Live frogs are $3.99 a pound at this seafood shop.
Lox!
More Sunset Park: donuts * pork * beer
Filed under: brooklyn, cul-tcha, sunset park | Tags: eagle provisions, mazury, smolen
Smolen is my new favorite bar. It’s on 5th Ave. and 22nd St. in Sunset Park, Brooklyn. I have often glanced at it curiously while taking the B63 bus to some destination further along the line; it was simply one of those places that I had vowed to check out for years without ever having actually gone.
Fortunately, Shabbos dinner brought us to Taqueria D.F. across the street. Sunset Park is known for its vibrant Mexican community and cuisine, and while reviews of this place have been lukewarm, I feel they simply miss the mark due to plain ignorance. Despite what the linked Village Voice review above claims, you can get tacos at Taqueria D.F.– but you actually have to make an effort to talk to the people there and ask. So, no, this is not a place for would-be hipsters looking for some cool, marginally-out-of-the-way “spot” to count Frida Kahlo paintings. One of our dining companions, a transplanted long-time resident of San Francisco, feels that the burritos here are the closest he’s ever had to those in the Mission. Now he’s practically a regular. Having lived for a while in the Bay Area myself, that speaks volumes to me.
Once we were done with the burritos and tacos (and really excellent piña coladas and margaritas, etc.), after a sincere but misplaced moment of telltale hesitation, we headed across the street to Smolen. We were greeted by Pat, who instantly became (and I think I speak for everyone) one of our favorite proprietor/bartenders in the known universe. We learned from the warm and friendly Pat that Smolen has been in her family at this location for 50 years. This part of Sunset Park (which realtors and crafty landlords refer to as the “South Slope”) still has strong ties to the neighborhood’s Polish history. Okocim (pronounced “oh-KO-chim,” not “oh-koh-SEEM,” Pat assured us) is on tap, along with the German beer Spaten (its first syllable pronounced here like the word for a brief argument or quarrel, or the antiquated unit of astronomical distance.) The beers were frothy and delicious– and more than reasonably priced (a plus when they are easily drinkable and yummy!).
Though the “grill” indicated in Smolen’s signage no longer exists, there’s a seriously nice Polish deli called Mazury a block away and you can bring your food back to the bar. (This photo was taken the following morning, because we were full of Mexican food but had to go back and eat the delicious potato and cheese pierogies.) This is no Eagle Provisions (an upscale Polish grocery a couple more blocks up at 18th St.), but it’s Hebrew School provisions for sure.
We played pool.
They have Quick Draw.
As we were leaving, Pat told us to bring our friends. Dear reader, be forewarned.
More Sunset Park love here and here.
A really cool page about the now and then of 5th Avenue.
Another Brooklynite walks south.
Filed under: brooklyn, People, stustustudio, sunset park, trayf | Tags: david griffin, music, park slope, pork ribs, prospect heights, sunset park
Some images* and thoughts from the first weekend in 2008, which was a mild and beautiful one here in NYC.
First, I run into Yasmine Alwan in Park Slope. It’s been too long and it’s nice to see her.
Jill and I go to Two Boots in Brooklyn. I never realized until recently what Two Boots meant (the “boots” of Italy and Louisiana) though it’s apparent now in much of their imagery. Back in the day, I used to play here with Mike Mermin. Many happy memories. We eat oyster po’boys and steaks and share a pizza. We meet Tali Shmulovich and her 17-year-old brother John to see John’s guitar teacher’s band, a New Orleans-style mix of Dr. John-tinged blues and R&B.
Excellent musicianship abounds.
We dance.
The next morning (well, afternoon since it starts to get dark), Jill and I meet Yasmine in Prospect Heights for brunch. The area’s residents are infuriated by the large-scale ugly land development occurring here.
Jill helps me demo a new Hebrew School song which uses certain familiar liturgical lyrics (hint– the words can be sung to the tune of La Marseillaise or “I Want it That Way” by the Backstreet Boys, though we won’t, and we’re not).
We take a walk in Sunset Park (i.e., the park which is the neighborhood’s namesake). It continually acquires more and more beauty for me.
Directly above: Is this fountain a reified imaginary personification of the park?
…or is this?
The weekend is finished appropriately with pork ribs.
Is the park pork, or is the pork the punctum of the park?
—
* I found my camera, thus keeping my word about the new year.
Another post about Sunset Park.
Gentrification is a phenomenon that you often hear about but much less occasionally witness beyond a glance. Over time, living in a neighborhood and watching it slowly gentrify has yielded a lot more nuance to my thoughts about the issue. I live in Sunset Park, Brooklyn, a neighborhood known for its amazing Mexican and Latin food as well as its own bustling Chinatown. Although, I should watch my weasels, since most people I speak to about my neighborhood (if they don’t think it’s in Queens) know it for the Melody Lanes bowling alley or Greenwood Cemetery.
I’m not one to shed crocodile tears or feign guilt about gentrification, in order to merely substantiate the fact that I am somehow “privileged” to whoever’s in earshot. And I won’t tell the same old story you’re likely to have heard one too many times, about how as a musician I moved here x years ago and there weren’t x plastic weekly boxes by the subway, thrift stores, or people without melanin in their skin. But I do need to tell you about a diner.
There used to be a diner on 39th and 5th, right next to the Jackie Gleason bus depot, that I would go to fairly regularly. It was called 39th Street Donuts. Here’s a picture I found of the old exterior:
It had a wide range of food, which is to say from very shitty (home fries and bacon sitting on the grill all morning) to very good (pancakes, meatloaf sandwich). Regardless of the quality of the food, the waitresses were always friendly, with no qualms about recognizing me and saying hello, or calling me “honey,” or amicably jibing me about my unkempt hair. And there was the fact that a full breakfast for two (with sides, coffee, tea, etc.) would run around $6-$7.
Having been alternately away or busy most of the summer, I was surprised one day, while impatiently walking up the street for the elusive B63 bus, to find that the place had almost doubled in size and was completely remodeled.
Actually I was only a little bit surprised. But I was taken aback enough to venture back there about a week later with my friend Jill. Gentrification had bore its fruits: not-as-friendly waitresses, an eerie but pleasant feeling of sanitation all about me (the ultimate irony is that this is the name of a sandwich on their menu), really good, perfectly cooked home fries, and almost double the check.
Hebrew School 