Brunch. Brunch. The bliss of two days off every week. Mmmm...the challah french toast. A latte and veggie style biscuits and gravy. Huevos rancheros with a bloody mary. Try:
Brooklyn Label, Essex, Greenpoint Coffee House, Moto, Phoebes. Have had no more than coffee there, but I look forward to trying (recently opened) Blackbird Parlour's brunch (corner of Bedford and N6th in Williamsburgh).
I'm loving brooklyn. My freshly painted room (banana cream/lemon gelato). My neighborhood- the amazing italian bakery, the itsy bitsy hispanic laundromat, the subway stop outside my door, the asian produce market, phoebe's, my friendly watchful supers, the flying italian flags, puppies, beautiful doors, the mysterious loft, grandpas outside at off-track betting, flocks flapping wildly to squeeze into one small tree, brisk walks of fall, humming turn the radio off over and over again in my head.
Dancing, karaoke, sudoku, the red tent, dancing, a parade, a slice, a costume, glasses, a hanging plant, arepas, brunch.
[side note: Everything looks good in neon. A crucifix. A funeral home sign. Glow. Buzzz. A hand raised with urgency, "me! me! ooh, pick me!"]
3 comments:
you're finally at home there. means for a celebration, i say.
glad to hear you happy.
The REAL Daddy MAc is glad you're back.... back to blogging. AWOL for a month without an excuse. I was looking forward to your creative efforts applied to yarn spinning. The penalty shall be spending some quality time with OLD people over the Thanksgiving Weekend. Let that teach you a lesson that you won't soon forget.
Wile E.
I'm glad you moved.
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