The Best Cheesesteak in Philadelphia: Found!

The menu at Jim's Steaks on South Street.

I started this trip as a cheesesteak virgin. My first and only encounter with this meaty phenomenon was in early 2008, when a friend allowed me a bite of his lunchtime sandwich. It was ordered from a nearby deli that promised "authentic Philly cheesesteaks" (despite the fact that we were in Midtown Manhattan) and the one that had been delivered looked - and smelled - delicious: bits of beef snuggled tightly in a half a baguette, with American cheese oozing over the sides in all its gooey yellow glory. 

I took a bite.

I chewed.

I chewed a little more.

I chewed further still.

I chewed what had been chewed and chewed that again.

I chewed so long and so hard that it started to seem less cheesesteak and more horse hoof, and my hapless jaws were mechanical grinders pulverizing the hoof into tasteless bits of gristle. Naturally, I was repulsed. Our friendship suffered.

It would be four years until cheesesteak once again seemed like a viable food source, and only because I had been told by locals and visitors alike that there was one cheesesteak that could turn on any unbeliever: Jim's Steaks on South Street, only a few blocks down from the Magic Gardens.

The entrance to Jim's Steaks on South Street.

I went alone to Jim's - Dan, a vegetarian, had begged off the excursion, saying he would take a walk and return when I was done. (Later I found out it was just an excuse to go buy my birthday present - such a nice fella I have.) There was a long line of brawny men in front of me, and they quickly ordered sandwiches and took their places at seats nearby. The man behind the counter asked what I wanted. 

"A cheesesteak please, with provolone."

He sighed. Clearly I'd never done this before. "You want peppers? Onions? Mayonnaise?"

"Yes to peppers and onions, no to mayonnaise." (Mayonnaise is gelatinous and disgusting, and I cannot be convinced otherwise. Don't try.)

I scooted down the line to allow the next person to order. The woman at the register wanted to know what beverage would I like, so I requested a cherry soda. It seemed appropriate.

She handed me my sandwich. It felt heavy. I turned around to look for a place to sit, and one of the men moved their jacket to offer me a seat. I thanked him and began to unwrap my sandwich.

A cheese steak with all the fixings, and a side of Dr. Brown's Black Cherry soda.

The bread was warm and crisp. He had laid the provolone in neat squares along the side. The onions and peppers rested atop the frizzled meat. The aroma was primal, intoxicating.

I took a bite. And, without warning, succumbed immediately to a phenomenon best described as "Cheese-Steak-Induced-Crazy-Eye-Feeding-Frenzy."

Evidence of Cheese Steak Crazy Eyes. You know it's happening if you cannot, for the life of you,
manage to take a clear photo because it's sitting there, watching, waiting to be eaten.

Shamed as I am to admit this in public, I gobbled the entire thing in less than ten minutes - and this thing was truly man-sized. Straight up: one of the brawny guys next to me saw me finish it, then nodded and made that frowny face that is actually a smile of approval. Do you know what I'm talking about? Such a difficult gesture to explain . . .

Anyway, you could make the case that I didn't actually "find" the best cheesesteak in Philadelphia - if anything, that cheesesteak found me. Hard. And, man, am I glad it did.

Inside the Eyes Gallery.

Later I headed to the Eyes Gallery next door - they have all manner of intriguing goodies for the touching (and purchasing, should you be so inclined). Indian textiles, Mexican folk art, Moroccan lamps, and an awesome selection of handmade and vintage women's clothing and accessories. I didn't realize it at the time, but the Eyes Gallery is actually owned and curated by Julia Zagar - the wife of Isaiah Zagar, the mosaic artist behind the Magic Gardens. Pop in if you have a chance.

Okay, bye!

Jim's Steaks is located at 400 South Street, Philadelphia. The Eyes Gallery is located at 402 South Street, Philadelphia - right next door. 

Visiting Philadelphia's Magic Gardens

The entrance to Philadelphia's Magic Gardens: not exactly subtle.

Visiting Philadelphia's Magic Gardens is not unlike stepping through the proverbial looking glass: it's a whole different world on the other side. Dan and I visited this folk art paradise on a cloudy day in Philly, which was perfect because we had this little wonderland completely to ourselves. 

Chairs for sitting and nooks for exploring. 

The Magic Garden is an outdoor mosaicked sculpture garden that takes up half a block of South Street in Philadelphia's Headhouse neighborhood. It's the work of artist Isaiah Zagar who, with the help of his wife Julia, transformed what was once an empty lot into an extraordinary labyrinth of "statues, bicycle wheels, colorful glass bottles, hand-made tiles, and thousands of glittering mirrors." 

Cozy chairs and interesting little nooks really invite viewers to interact with the space, which is perfect for people like me who like to touch everything. (IS IT SOFT? IS IT PRETTY? DOES IT SPARKLE? LET ME TOUCH IT! Honestly, I cannot tell you how many times I was scolded as a child for touching things at museums, or reaching out to stroke the noses of Disney's Animatronic creatures. Hundreds, maybe thousands.)

One of the many paths leading through the Magic Gardens.

Although there are a lot of references to Mexican and Aztec art (Day of the Dead skeletons are a frequent motif, especially in the indoor gallery), entering the Magic Gardens feels a lot like sneaking into a mermaid's grotto while she's off sunning herself on a rock somewhere - there are lots of cool blues and greens, with soft pink and peach tones throughout. The black line figures are loose, watery shapes, sort of like my own after the giant Philly cheesesteak I inhaled in approximately 0.3 seconds.

I'm pretty sure that I have that exact same Walt Disney World plate
 displayed prominently on my bedroom wall  packed up in a box somewhere.

It took Zagar fourteen years to complete the garden, which is not surprising considering the number of intricate details that make up the space - literally every corner is covered, even up to the third floor which, unfortunately, is not accessible to visitors, though it's totally worth craning your neck to catch a glimpse of all the curious little objects he used to create the space.

Me: "Let's sit on this toad stool and take a picture!"
Dan: "You know it's not actually a toad stool right?"
Me: "Don't kill my dreams."

When we first came upon it, my immediate reaction was This is going to be just like Metelkova. I was expecting part artsy, part hippie, part commune - but where Metelkova was (and is) a group of people who (successfully) fought to turn a former military barracks into a cultural center, the Magic Gardens are the work of one man who almost singlehandedly revitalized an entire neighborhood. Zagar's mosaics are plastered on walls all over Headhouse, lending a significantly bright and gentle touch to an area that might otherwise be overwhelmed by sex shops, cheesy boutiques, and a fairly gigantic Whole Foods grocery store.

Nothing says "I can get out of this chair with ease" like a double-chinned scowl.

Altogether, the Magic Gardens are well worth the $5 entrance fee, especially when you can truly make your visit last for hours: if I had known food and drinks were allowed within the garden, I definitely would have packed a little picnic to enjoy in one of the many secret alcoves. I mean, that would just take the cake as the perfect playground for children and childlike adults such as myself adults alike: sweet treats inside an artist's imagination? Yes, please!

The Magic Gardens are located at 1020 South Street, Philadelphia. Our visit was made possible by Visit Philly, Philadelphia's official site for visitors and tourism information.

Finally in Philadelphia: The Road Trip Begins!

The Museum of Art, Philadelphia.

Hooray - the road trip has finally begun! Dan and I got into Philadelphia on Monday, after a remarkably quick ride from New York - it only took two hours and I slept the whole way, like the small child that I am. The bus left us conveniently in front of the Independence Visitor Center, which was perfect because we had to purchase tokens to use on the bus to get to our host's place. (You can use cash, but you get a small discount by purchasing tokens beforehand - in addition to being a small child, I am also a diehard deal sniffer.)

I had hardly entered before the girl behind the counter exclaimed - with the sort of excitement most people reserve for well-chosen birthday presents or excellent cuts of meat - "I. Love. Your. CAPE! Britney, come over here! Look at this girl's cape! It's fabulous!" Naturally, I was flattered (who doesn't love a good compliment?), but it was also the perfect introduction to Philadelphia - people here are so gosh darn friendly. 

Me pretending to act like a lady on the steps of the statue.
Also, the cape that started it all. 

Seriously, everywhere I turn people are greeting each other with a warm "hello" or holding the door for strangers or - imagine! - saying "excuse me" when they want to pass someone on the street. From what I can tell so far, Philly has all of the style and sophistication of larger cities like New York or Paris, but with none of the attitude. It's also extremely walkable, and the city has smartly placed signs on practically every corner to guide visitors to popular sights - SO important for quickly getting the lay of the land. 

Now that I think of it, Philadelphia has a lot of European flair to it - unlike a lot of other American cities, Philly has four centuries' worth of architecture (I've been geeking out like crazy: "Dan! Dan! Look at that building! Do you see the bronze detailing? So Art Deco!" Dan: "Mmm. Yeah. Uh huh."), and there is a distinct Old Town neighborhood - so similar to the Historic Centers that dot every European city. And thanks to this balmy winter we're having, everyone is enjoying their coffee outdoors at sidewalk cafés. 

Avenue of the Arts, Philadelphia.

I mean, the only thing I could possibly dislike about Philly is how damn hard it is to not break into the Fresh Prince theme song every ten seconds. I guess I could start humming the Rocky theme - you know, just to mix it up a little. Speaking of which, I'm pretty sure Sylvester Stallone winked at me from his car down on South Street this afternoon . . .

Have a good weekend, everyone!

Packing List: Cross Country Road Trip

I have, one might say, a mild case of obsessive compulsive disorder. See, I haven't been officially diagnosed by a degree-holding psychologist about my issues with cleanliness and order, but people around me (i.e. Dan. And my mother. And, well, all of my friends.) have noticed that they exist. (Side note: in no way do I mean to diminish the difficulties faced by those actually dealing with O.C.D. or other mental/emotional/physical disorders. I'm just saying, "Hey guys. Sometimes, once in a while, I kinda feel your pain." And I even said that out loud, as I wrote it, just so it would be totally true.) 

In fact, once upon a time, back when we actually had an official residence, Dan caught me persistently cleaning the stovetop with an urgency most people reserve for visits from agents of scary government bureaus (the IRS! The NSA! Other acronyms!). He, in his ever-cool state of Zen-like serenity, said that I reminded him of the polar bears at the zoo who pace back and forth with anxiety when faced with general disturbances. I could be, he said, his little bi-polar bear. (I frowned.) His O.C.Dearie? (I frowned even harder.) He shrugged and went away, and I kept on scrubbing. 

I revert to this state of nervous tension before any big trip: before leaving for Europe last year, I spent nearly an hour scrubbing flecks of white paint - which had been left by the previous tenant - off the floor on moving day. (One would think that after so much travel the neuroses would disappear, but I'm not even the only travel blogger who experiences these compulsions: Geraldine obsessively cleans her house before departing, and Kelsey - who actually, bravely - travels with O.C.D., double- and triple- and even quadruple-checks her luggage.) This year, though, I promised myself to stick within the realm of what could be considered normal behavior: I packed my bag according to a checklist . . . twice.

I rationalized this by saying that it's really, REALLY important to think about which clothes I'll enjoy wearing for the next four months straight. And, GOD, imagine if I somehow managed to leave New York without an appropriate number of underwear?! WHAT WOULD I DO WITH MYSELF? (Probably buy new underwear, but that's not the point.)

The point is that, as I was packing my bag, I made a checklist. Here's what I wrote:

Toiletries

• shampoo + conditioner
• soap + soap case 
• toothbrush
• toothpaste + floss + mouthwash
• face wash (No, I don't like to use regular soap on my face. Yes, I've had a nightly beauty routine since age 12. I inherited it from my mother who, as a 50-something, has yet to show even one sign of aging on her face. You'd follow her advice, too.)
• deodorant
• travel-sized or solid perfume
• comb + hairbrush 
• Chap-Stick
• razor + cartridges 
• vitamins + necessary medication
• Ladies: don't forget feminine hygiene products for your va-jay-jay.
• Small first aid kit consisting of Band-Aids, individually wrapped gauze, scissors, antiseptic (such as NeoSporin), ibuprofen (also important for wicked hangovers), and whatever else you might find particularly handy - I like to have muscle pain relievers and Pepto Bismol in mine. Here's a good example of one you can buy (or just copy and stock it yourself).

Clothing:

• 3 shirts/blouses
• 2 cardigans
• 1 heavy sweater
• 2 skirts
• 2 dresses 
• 1 pair of jeans
• 1 pair of nice trousers
• 1 pair of shorts (Extra points if they're cutoffs made from previously well-loved jeans!)
• workout clothes: 1 tee shirt + 1 pair of yoga pants
• 1 water-repellant jacket (With detachable hood? More points!)
• every pair of underwear I own
• two bras
• 5 pairs of socks
• 1 bathing suit (You never know who might have a pool.)
• Shoes: 1 pair of workout sneakers, 1 pair of Converse for walking about, 2 pairs of ballet flats for looking like a lady.
• 2 pairs of sunglasses
• Jewelry: I learned the hard way that jewelry is a pretty stupid thing to bring on any trip. It inevitably breaks, and then you're (I'm) sad, and sad is not how you (I) should feel on your (my) trip. So instead I just brought what I wear on an everyday basis, and not extras to switch out according to outfit: 1 pair of earrings, 2 bracelets, 1 ring for my right hand, and my engagement ring.

Electronics:

• iPod + headphones
• laptop + charger
• camera + charger + memory cards

So I laid all these things aside, rolled them into neat little balls, and squished them into the duffle bag you see above. Then, as I was unpacking my bag, I did this:

You know, just for funsies. Doesn't everybody like their clothes in rainbow order?

P.S. Posts from Philly start on Friday! To catch early glimpses of photos (such as me stuffing my boca with ungodly amounts of cheesesteak) go to the Of Revolt Facebook page or follow me on Twitter. 

Surviving Reverse Culture Shock in New York City

A view of lower Manhattan from the Brooklyn Heights Promenade.

Guys, let's face it: my poop jokes are boss. And yet - there's this whole other side of me, you know? It's the side that wears glasses and uses polysyllabic words and believes that serious art is a terribly important part of our lives. It's the part of me that spends an awful lot of time talking about or thinking about or actually reading literature.

Something I read recently is Nicole Krauss's The History of Love: it's a wonderfully tender, dynamic story about two wounded individuals (an 83 year-old man named Leo Gursky and a 15 year-old girl named Alma Singer) who are strangely connected; the web of their mystery untangles against a backdrop of New York City's grand skyscrapers and vibrant neighborhoods. 

I wrote a piece for Literary Traveler recently that compared my return from Europe (and subsequent reverse culture shock) to Krauss's novel. In it, I detail how my city and the people in it seemed to have changed, and my realization that sometimes a bit of bravery is all that is required of us. Here are the first three paragraphs:

“During the Age of Glass, everyone believed some part of him or her to be extremely fragile. For some it was a hand, for others a femur, yet others believed it was their noses that were made of glass. The Age of Glass followed the Stone Age as an evolutionary corrective, introducing into human relations a new sense of fragility that fostered compassion.”

The rain was tropical, otherworldly, completely out of place for New York City in January. It poured down in sheets of cerulean, cascading over the steel of the subway car in hot, foamy waves. The thought of removing my hat and scarf and gloves passed briefly through my mind, but there was a strange comfort in the excessive warmth, in the heat of the blood that rushed to my face.

I was standing alone in the Buhre Avenue station, waiting for the number six train to arrive and bring me downtown, where I would attend a going-away party for friends who would not be coming back, mourning a loss that had not yet occurred . . .

If you'd like to continue reading (and I hope you do!), the rest of the article is here: One's Self and The Other: New York City and The History of Love. 

In other news, Dan and I head out to Philadelphia today - it's our first stop on the Great American Road Trip! I'm already so excited to share all of our best stories + tips and tricks from on the road - get  psyched!

Best of New York City: My 5 Favorite Parks

My dears, I spend an inordinate amount of time . . . lounging. Yes, you read that right. My own family members have commented that my natural personality is not unlike that of a disgruntled housecat: I lounge, I eat, I cry to go outside. And when I do go outside, it's often to, well, do more lounging. See, lounging is free, and free is always the right price. Since New York is surely one of the most expensive cities in the world to visit (and live! Shoot.), I figured I would share with you my five favorite parks: places to play, picnic, catch a concert, hide a jug of Carlo Rossi from the police . . . whatever.

Enjoy!

Boats on the lake at Central Park.

Central Park

Okay, this one is so obvious I can already hear you over the interwebs saying Really Jess? REALLY? I've been to Central Park, like, 36 thousand times and I don't even live in the tri-state area. WTH? I know guys. I know. But it would be almost criminal to leave it off the list, don't you think? It's just such a classic New York moment: strolling along the lake, stopping for sandwiches by the reservoir, kissing your LUVAH by the boathouse. I remember being a little girl and going to my mom's job for Take Your Daughter to Work Day and spending lunchtime at the Central Park Zoo . . . good times. Anyway, now that I'm big(ger), I still love this park - it's the perfect escape from what can sometimes be an overwhelming amount of hustle and bustle. I recommend renting rollerblades from Blades for the day and skating the full Central Park Loop: it's a great way to get the lay of the land and, besides, the people-watching is PHENOMENAL. 

Shake Shack in Madison Square Park.

Madison Square Park
I've got two words for you, my friend: Shake Shack. This tiny park - only 1 block wide and 4 blocks long - is home to the original Shake Shack, where both tourists and locals will queue for upwards of thirty minutes just for the chance to nibble at their ridiculously juicy burgers, flat-top hot dogs, or frozen custard shakes. They even have menu items for dogs! So stinkin' cute. Anyway, aside from the Shake Shack, this park often has the loveliest landscaping - when I used to have to take the bus from a nearby corner, I would always leave time to walk through Madison Square Park just to look at and smell their flowers - it's one of my favorite spots to grab a few moments of quiet. So pretty.

An aerial view of Governors Island.

Governors Island
First, a little history: Governors Island was purchased by Wouter van Twiller, a Dutchman, in the spring of 1637 from the Native Americans of Manahatas (which is, P.S., where we get the name "Manhattan") who traded it for two ax heads, a string of beads, and a handful of nails. Talk about a shitty deal, right? Fast forward 375 years and now it's a (okay, maybe not so) secret amongst New Yorkers: the island is only accessible via ferry, and they host awesome exhibitions and concerts. Governors Island really does have something for everyone: history buffs will delight in the historic home tours, outdoorsy types will love the free kayaking, and lazy bones like me will relish the chance to lay on "the beach": a stretch of sand trucked in from god-knows-where, complete with volleyball net and snack bar. No, you can't go in the water. Why? Because it's the freaking East River and who knows what kind of dead bodies they have floating in there. But you'll love the atmosphere! Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a pizza in my mouth.

A view of the arch in Washington Square Park.

Washington Square Park
Man, what I wouldn't give to have hung around Washington Square Park with all the hippies and beatniks back in the '60s. They made some great music, didn't they? Sure they did, and you can still hear the music now: on any given day, there are dozens of performers coaxing the crowds to stop, stay awhile, toss a dollar into that hat, kind sir. WSP is another great people-watching spot: there is an incredible conglomeration of every type of human being here, from old men in newsboy caps playing chess to NYU kids studying in the grass. Even though it's nearly 10 acres, it often gets quite crowded on nice days, so my favorite time to go here is either early morning (when there's still dew on the grass) or dusk (when people are mostly passing through the park on their way home). A great spot for first-time visitors - it has that creative, dynamic energy that this city is famous for.

A view of Water Street in Dumbo,
underneath the Manhattan Bridge.

Brooklyn Bridge Park
Here's something you must do: rent a bicycle, peddle across the Brooklyn Bridge, then plop yourself in the grass of Brooklyn Bridge Park - it's the best view of the lower Manhattan skyline, hands down. Let your inner child loose on the carousel, grab some of the yummiest ice cream in town, and walk down the cobblestone streets that make up Dumbo, one of the coolest neighborhoods in the city. Dan and I LOVE this place, and now that I'm talking about it, I have a deep, sincere longing for it to be summertime. Right. Now.

Bonus Tip:
Back in November, I did a guest post on back-packer.org with 7 Fun (Free!) Things to Do in New York City. You can read it, if you want.

Okay, have a great weekend! Become a Google follower! 

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Thanks! Bye!

Photography Credits: Central Park via Central Park Conservancy; Madison Square Park via Things to See NYC; Governors Island via Artist Pension Trust; Washington Square Park via Wikipedia; Brooklyn Bridge Park via . . . myself. 

Best of New York City: My 3 Favorite Bars

Honestly, I may have bitten off more than I can drink chew with this one. I mean, how does one even BEGIN to choose their favorite bar in New York City: a land of so, SO many good - nay! - GREAT ones? It is a particular torture to choose one haven of sin over another, but by god, I'll do it for YOU.

So here we go, cats and kittens! A native's guide to the three best bars in New York City, with four honorable mentions plus some additional reading material for overachievers:

Laid-back cool at Sweet Afton. Photo via Sweet Afton.

Astoria, Queens: Sweet Afton
Sweet Afton is a total locals' pick: not only for the low-key atmosphere, but also because they serve classic bar fare using only the freshest ingredients from local purveyors, and all of their infused liquors and preserves are made in house. Patrons and staff are equally mellow and laid-back, except for that couple who once propositioned Dan and me for a foursome circa New Year's Eve 2010. (Nothing to say here except: EW.) Anyway, as long as you stay away from those two, I guarantee you'll like it here, especially after you've tried the Beer Battered Fried McClure's Brooklyn Pickles. Wash it down with one of their specialty cask ales, classic cocktails (I ❤ the Cucumber Collins), or well-edited selection of red and white wines. If you're feeling especially zesty, try a Dirty Pickle Martini, which isn't nearly as obscene as it sounds.

Sixties kitsch at Beauty Bar. Photo via Beauty Bar.

Gramercy, Manhattan: Beauty Bar
Ladies! Have you ever asked yourself, Self, Where can I get a reasonably priced brew and a kick ass manicure ALL IN ONE PLACE? Sure you have - and you may have labored under the assumption that this heaven on earth, this unicorn of cantinas didn't exist. But IT DOES. And you know what else? Despite the glitter pink wall paint and the rows of 1960s hair dryers, straight guys totally hang out here. (Gay guys and gals do, too.) Anyway, the vibe here is fun and frisky: they have a very decent happy hour, and regular pints of beer aren't disturbingly expensive here, as they can be in so many other spots in Manhattan. And if you want to dance your lady pants off, there is a sweet back room where the DJ will save your life.

The swanky interior of Hotel Delmano, Brooklyn. Photo via Hotel Delmano.

Williamsburg, Brooklyn: Hotel Delmano
The Hotel Delmano is a rare bird, indeed: a legal speakeasy that manages to pull off Roaring Twenties flair with complete sincerity and (dare I say it?) authenticity. Yes, the barmen wear wingtips and suspenders. Yes, the walls are adorned with smokey mirrors and portraits of old people. Yes, the chandeliers are gilded and the bar is a long, curving cake of marble. Yet for all its Gatsby-esque opulence, Hotel Delmano strikes all the right notes: the cocktails are delicate, subtle, and bursting with fresh and surprising flavors. They also serve small plates of cheese and olives. A great place to go when you're feeling fancy and want to pretend your date is Al Capone Zelda Fitzgerald not wearing pleated-front cargo shorts. P.S. They're pricey.


Honorable Mentions:
Cafe Bar // Indeed, a cafe + bar in Astoria, Queens. Great sidewalk scene in warmer months.

The Charleston // A hipster dive bar giving away free pizza with every drink purchased. No website, located at 174 Bedford Avenue near N. 7th Street in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

The Frying Pan // Sail the drunken seas on this salvaged lightship on Pier 66, Manhattan.

White Horse Tavern // A classic pub with literary street cred: Dylan Thomas favored this place back in the day. No website, located at 567 Hudson Street at 11th Street, Manhattan.

Additional Reading Material for Overachievers:
5 NYC Beer Gardens (Plus 1 on the Way) // My guide to, uh, 5 NYC Beer Gardens. P.S. The one on the way is now open.

Best of New York City: My 9 Favorite Restaurants

Guys, I have to keep this intro short: Dan and I spent our entire Sunday moving all of our worldly possessions out of my dad's garage in Long Island and into storage in New Jersey. What few brain cells I had that weren't numbed by the practically savage amount of cake I consumed in upstate New York during the past nine days are now completely dysfunctional and dangerously misfiring: just this morning I nearly chopped my finger off decapitating strawberries to put in a smoothie. Not to mention the box of cereal I put in the freezer . . .

So here it is: my guide to the best of New York City starts here and now, with nine of my favorite restaurants in Brooklyn, Queens, and Manhattan. Eat well, be happy, bring me along!

Fort Greene, Brooklyn: Chez Lola

My very first apartment as an adult was a tiny studio just around the corner from this delightful bistro. Oh, I remember feeling so cool, gazing out of the lone window that engulfed almost an entire wall of my living/dining/bedroom and into the backyard of Chez Lola! The atmosphere is charmingly Art Deco, with a bit of the Brooklyn DIY aesthetic thrown in for good measure: the wine rack is a repurposed box spring, and several lamps have colanders for shades. The menu is French, serving delicious classics like croques madames and monsieurs, as well as chicken Provençal. It's altogether romantic, and their garden is perfect for outdoor dining in warm weather.

Lunch is served at The General Green. Photo via The General Greene.

Fort Greene, Brooklyn: The General Greene

Ah yes, The General Greene: a favorite amongst Fort Greene locals for its seasonal, streamlined menu and simple decor. The long wooden tables are the perfect canvas for dishes served in mini Mason jars and heavy black skillets: you could almost pretend you weren't in the city, except the ultra hipster patrons and occasional famous person give it away (Keri Russell and Anne Hathaway live in this neighborhood). My favorite dish here are the bacon-wrapped dates: Lordy, if I didn't almost fall out of my chair with food-gasm . . . mm, mm, oh yeah. Because it's seasonal, the menu changes frequently, and be prepared for a long wait should you decide to go for a weekend brunch.

Williamsburg, Brooklyn: Lodge

Dan and I walked into this restaurant once and the entire place fell silent. It was really weird. Anyway, they have a really neat, upscale ski-lodge type atmosphere (hence the name) with lighting fixtures made of antlers, and stone walls offset by heavy wooden stools, tables, and chairs - they're also plenty of sidewalk seating in the warmer months (hooray!). The menu is a perfect example of classic American fare: crispy, delicious fried chicken, melt in your mouth garlic mashed potatoes, and beer-battered onion rings. They also have a great (if not lengthy) selection of American beers, though their cocktails are truly divine: try the Cranberry Negroni when you go. 

NoLita: Ceci-Cela

Okay, this spot isn't so much a full-on restaurant as it is a tiny cafe tucked into a corner of Spring Street. Their front "room" (which is basically a hallway) doesn't have seating, though they make up for this by having an AMAZING selection of honest-to-goodness French pastries, which you can order to take away. Or you can simply do as I do: gobble it all up right there, without manners or mercy. Their back room has six tables, which are perfect for getting cozy with your lunch partner (they don't serve dinner) or simply lingering over a delicious coffee. A great spot for catching your breath after a long day of touring. 

The Mud Mojo coffee blend at Mudspot. Photo via Mudspot.

East Village: Mudspot

Like many New Yorkers, brunch is my religion. There is nary a Sunday that goes by without my having indulged in some delicious treat accompanied by a mimosa (or six). Mudspot is one of my favorite places to brunch, with freshly baked muffins, yummy eggs, homemade soups, and scrumptious coffee all brought by friendly and sincere servers. If you don't have time to sit, try their mobile version: the Mudtruck is often parked right in the heart of Astor Place near The Cube. Feel free to park yourself on a nearby stoop and watch the NYU students squabble over the relative merits of cabbage-eating in the 19th century, or some other nonsense. (Sorry NYU kids.)

East Village: Whitmans

I seriously almost left Whitmans off this list, only because I really, really love this spot and am so afraid of word getting out and management departing from the wonderfully intimate, rustic atmosphere in favor of a bigger space, capable of handling the hordes that will surely rush this place once folks become addicted to the incredibly crunchy "crack" kale (no really, it's that good), the sweetly salty peanut-butter-and-bacon-topped-burger, the well-edited selection of local beer, and the best dessert that any child or childlike adult (cough, cough) could ever ask for: milk and cookies. Go, just go. 

West Village: Good 

I promise this place is even better than the name implies: Good combines good 'ole American Southern cooking with South American flair. Confusing? Just try the breadbasket of buttermilk biscuits or the stone-ground cheddar jalapeno grits, and all shall become clear. The green chili mac & cheese (topped with cilantro - that's coriander for my Euro friends - and a tortilla crumb crust!) is not to be missed. Also, their signature burger is known as The Goodburger, which will be hilarious to anyone who remembers that Keenan & Kel skit on Nickleodeon, circa 1995. A bit pricier than some of the others on this list, but worth every penny.

Astoria, Queens: Bare Burger 

For those who don't believe that such a thing as "American food" exists: I entreat you to try one of Bare Burger's exotic (and organic!) patties -- they have elk, ostrich, and bison, along with beef for those who prefer a more traditional hamburger, as well as black bean patties for the vegetarians among us. This joint has become so popular in recent years that they expanded the original Astoria location (taking over what used to be a pretty good Thai place :-/ ) and opened up several others throughout the city. I also take (an admittedly weird) pleasure in touching the bathroom walls - they're completely made of cork, see? Instead of smelling like an icky public bathroom, they smell like a wonderful ancient wine cellar. Cheers for that, and for the crazy-good fries that come with a trio of dipping sauces, one of which is curry ketchup . . . hooray!

The back patio of Il Bambino. Photo via Il Bambino.

Astoria, Queens: Il Bambino

Masters of the true Italian panini: think artichoke with goat cheese, sweet onion, and rosemary oil, think tomato fresca crostini with rosemary ricotta and black olive oil, think baby string beans with toasted bread, shaved parmesan, and truffle vinaigrette. Oh, and they are home to the "Insane Homemade Brownie." 'Nuff said. 

Road Trip Playlist #02

It's been three months since I shared my last road trip playlist. Last night I saw a CAKE cover band. Think those last two sentences are completely unrelated? Oh dearies, you are in for a treat!

Jessica's Alternative Rock Playlist That Mostly Features Bands That Are Now Either Defunct or No Longer Touring But Man, She Sure Misses the White Stripes and Had a Lot of Fun Times Dancing to the White Blood Cells Album and Wishes Jack White Wouldn't Have Married That Ginger Supermodel and Stayed With Meg Instead #02

(So, just as a side note, this video also features them playing "Love You Madly," a song I don't double-love but I think is okay enough to feature this video, since I particularly like this live version of "Stickshifts and Safetybelts" and think watching a band play live is always better than watching those videos that just have a photo of the album cover. Ugh, those are always so boring.)

Enjoy!

1. "Stickshifts and Safetybelts" - CAKE

2. "Kate" - Ben Folds Five

(Notable lyric: "Every day she wears the same thing, I think she smokes pot." <-- This always makes me LOL.)

3. "Paper Thin Walls" - Modest Mouse

4. "We're Going to be Friends" - The White Stripes

5. "Do You Realize?" - The Flaming Lips

6. "Sleep to Dream" - Fiona Apple

(OMG, Fiona Apple, total '90s throwback, right?! RIGHT?!)

7. "The Underdog" - Spoon

(I considered leaving Spoon off this playlist since I put them on the last one, but man, how can I really leave Spoon off the CAKE playlist? Who's hungry? Just me? Okay then.)

8. "Piazza, New York Catcher" - Belle & Sebastian

9. "July, July!" - The Decemberists

10. "Summer in the City" - Regina Spektor

11. "Needle in the Hay" - Elliott Smith

(I also considered leaving Elliott Smith off the playlist because he always takes it to a dark place, but at this juncture I associate this song more with Richie Tenenbaum because, god, isn't Wes Andersen a genius? I want to live in one or any of his worlds, in dreamy saturated technicolor.)

12. "1979" - Smashing Pumpkins

13. "Antichrist Television Blues" - The Arcade Fire

14. "Ball and Biscuit" - The White Stripes

15. "The Distance" - CAKE

Okay, have a good weekend! Tweet me! Facebook me! Instagram me! Bye!

An Open Letter to Dan Coyle, My Fiance

Dan has often been mistaken for famous people. You can see why here,
and if you can't, the equation is shades + facial scruff = effortless cool.

Dear Dan Coyle,

I suppose we're a little past that by now, no? Can I call you Dan? How about Danny Boy? Would "Little Moose Bear" suffice? No? Whatever, I'm doing it anyway.

I was sitting here, across the table from you, racking my addled brain for some shred of inspiration to titillate billions millions both readers that will view this post tomorrow, when you saw me laying in a sad, sweaty pool of my own desperation and took pity on me. I was slowly moving into my third hour of quiet self-loathing, filling up the proverbial gas tank with reasons why I suck, when you saw fit to say those three magical little words:

"You want cake?"

I kid. No, you told me that you loved me, and you didn't even qualify it with reservations that could truthfully be added to such a statement, phrases such as "in spite of the ungodly number of chicken wings you've consumed in the last 48 hours." See, you don't mind the ten pounds of happy fat I've put on in the last two years, because you made me that way with concoctions such as "The Breakfast Dessert" love me for me. And I love that about you.

Here are some other reasons why I love you, a veritable treasure trove of characteristics that make you pretty darn great:

1. You are extremely smart. Truly, I would rather die alone and have my face eaten off by cats than spend the rest of my life with a man who couldn't carry on a conversation about the current political climate without referring to Wikipedia, or, God forbid, didn't know the difference between there, their, and they're. Your brain = totally hot.
2. Even when you are, you never look like you are posing for a photograph. If only we could all perfectly mimic the slightly upturned lips and utterly-cool-without-verging-on-hipster popped collar that signals total nonchalance.
3. You are super funny: definitely funnier than me, and should probably be writing this blog.
4. Two words: HOTTIE BOOMBALOTTIE.
5. You comply when I ask you to do things like this:

The true test of love: will he drink beer in a tree for you?
P.S. Believe it or not, this was an attempt at planking.

6. You are generous, and not to a fault. You know exactly who to be generous to, and when (namely me, when I'm hungry).
7. Animals like you. It makes me happy to know I'm not the only furry creature who feels safe around you.
8. You inspire me to make my dreams reality by living that way yourself. I would have never in a million years just said to myself, "Hey Self, you know what I'm going to do? Quit my steady job and go travel around Europe for a year. And then after that, I'm just going to keep not having a job so I can continue traveling and pursue my lifelong dream of being a writer instead." Without you and your amazing example, I probably would have continued to live a mediocre life and denied myself everything that was important in this world.
9. You are all of the following: kind, gentle, affectionate, considerate, thoughtful, not smelly. Thank you for being all of those things, especially the last.
10. You are the bravest person I know, or am ever likely to meet in real life.

You sit there, discreetly picking your nose, and I think: I can't wait to marry this man. Thanks for making the last two years the best ones of my life so far, and to the seventy or so that lay ahead.

Love,
Your Lady Friend,
Jessica A. Kulick

WTF is a Wegmans?

Part of the candy aisle at Wegmans.

If you thought I was going to talk about the Super Bowl, guess what? I'm not. You wanna know why? 'Cause I'm only here for the food. Truth.

I'll be honest: sports just don't do it for me. I mean, I dig the pomp and flash of halftime shows starring middle-aged pop singers, but at the end of the day, I'm hella psyched for . . . chicken wings. Sandwiches stuffed to the brim with all manner of spiced deli meats. Giant chocolate chip cookies with little whipped cream balloons on them.

So, in preparation for Super Bowl Sunday yesterday, Dan and his aunt took me to Wegmans. Wegmans is that uniquely American phenomenon known only as GIGANTIC GROCERY STORE. I had never been to one so truly, uniquely enormous: growing up in New York City, we had what could certainly be labeled "rather large, almost unnecessarily so" grocery stores, but none that could really stand head to head with a beast such as Wegmans.

I have always found the American penchant for "all-in-one, need everything now" altogether kind of curious. It is strangely mesmerizing to traipse down entire aisles of Jell-O boxes: on the one hand, there is a Willy Wonka-esque flair to the whole place, but on the other, it inspires devastating tendencies for consumption. The Wegmans chain has 77 locations in five states (New York, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Virginia, and Maryland) and they are, reputedly, the reason why Alec Baldwin's mother refuses to move from Rochester, NY to the house he bought for her in California. They inspire THAT kind of loyalty.

So sorry if this post isn't typical "travel blogger" fare. I find places such as these (almost) as strange and wondrous as a new country or culture, and I approach them in much the same way: cautious, hopeful, with camera in tow. (Because if you thought I was above bringing my camera into a grocery store, well my friend, I am not.)

Enjoy. 

Couchsurfing: Tips for Beginners

This happened.

I don't know if you guys heard, but yesterday Punxsutawney Phil was all "We're in for 6 more weeks of winter, people," so everybody cried and went home to make soup and drink grain alcohol. (If you're reading this and wondering Who the eff is Punxsutawney Phil and what does he know about weather prognostication?, well friend, get ready for a weird and wonderful American ritual: every year on February 2nd we gather 'round our televisions to wait with bated breath and hope that a hairy rodent does not see his shadow - for if he does not see his shadow, that means we're in for an early spring. If he does see his shadow, we should expect six more weeks of winter. It's called Groundhog Day, and should you be interested in researching the phenomenon further, let me direct you to this film of the same name.)

But hey, we're here to talk about couchsurfing! The other day I told you about my experiences couchsurfing through Europe, but I thought it might be nice to have a guide for beginners. Let's just jump right in, because that's the only respectable way to enter the ocean.

Vagina curtains.

1.     Make a profile. Couchsurfing does NOT have to be about staying in a stranger’s home, or inviting one into yours – there are different ways to take part in the community, and the most basic one is to meet up for drinks or coffee. This is how a lot of women tend to participate, especially if they live or travel alone. During our entire year as surfers, Dan and I had only two solo female hosts – the majority of hosts on CS were either fellas or multiples (i.e. roommates or couples hosting). So it’s up to you to consider whether you want to surf/host, or simply be available to meet new people, but making a quality profile is the most important step.

You must fill out every section completely and accurately. PLEASE! A profile that reflects your specific interests will make it approximately 6 billion times easier to have real, engaging exchanges with the people you meet. So, for example, whatever you do, don’t just put “music” as an interest. NEWSFLASH: EVERYONE LIKES MUSIC. What kind of music are YOU into? Do you put on a sequined glove every day at five and perform the complete Thriller dance routine? Are you building a fire and skipping around it to the pulsing rhythms of the Balkan gypsy beat? Are you sittin’ on the porch most evenings, pluckin’ at the banjo and swiggin’ from the moonshine? WHO ARE YOU? The world wants to know.

2.    Search for people like you. This is why it is critical to have a good profile: people will want to meet/stay with you (or you with them) based upon your shared interests. It’s significantly harder to make a quick connection with someone with whom you have zero common ground, though it definitely can be done. Alcohol helps. J/K. (No, I’m not.)

My favorite way to quickly establish a rapport with a new host is to cook a meal together. It takes a lot of the discomfort out of the inevitable silences, since you both have tasks to do. (Side note: peeling potatoes is inexplicably delightful to me. So if you’re ever in need . . . I’m here.) Plus, it’s a nice way to thank your host for having you.

Back to the search! You’ll first want to look according to location: where you are or where you want to be. You can also input important information like languages spoken, number of people visiting, preferred gender, or wheelchair accessibility – whatever is most significant to you. CS will then take all that info and return with the profiles that match the stats you requested.

You could make a meal using fine ingredients such as these.

3.    Start sending requests. I recommend sending out couch requests two weeks before you are scheduled to arrive. Any earlier, people don’t know what their plans are. Any later, you run the risk of being last-minute. Dan and I were generally successful when we sent out approximately 9-10 requests per destination –obviously not everyone is going to be available to host your during your visit. Also, be aware that most people aren’t willing to host for extended periods of time. If, for example, you’re going to Budapest for two weeks, you should be prepared to switch hosts at least two or three times. We always mention how long we’re planning on being in the city, then ask what dates or range the host would be comfortable with – we’ve stayed for as little as one night, or as long as two weeks. Everyone has a different comfort level. Mine is yoga pants with a side of hot toddy.

P.S. It’s best to make your request personal, and more importantly, COHERENT. Put your grammar cap on, and hey, through in a comma or two. Hosts DO NOT accept requests from people who are just looking to freeload, because even though it might not seem like it on occasion, most people are generally pretty smart and savvy. So make it personal: say something about who you are, why you’re coming, and – THIS IS IMPORTANT – why their particular profile interested you.

4.    Couchsurf with abandon. Lookatchu, out in the world!

Fin.

Questions? Comments? You know how I roll.

(i.e. Do leave any pertinent queries in the comment section below. 

We thank you for your visit. Have a lovely afternoon.)

A Brief Overview of My Experiences Couchsurfing

This photo has absolutely nothing to do with the rest of this post,
but look at the creepy ass dolls in this shop window in Amsterdam. WTF, right? 

Welcome to the first post of February! First things first: my birthday is in T minus 26 days. Holla!

In other news, I've gotten a few emails lately about couchsurfing: people asking how to get started, what it's like to travel that way for extended periods of time, and how to introduce it to someone who might feel sort of "meh" about it. Guys, I'm famous flattered. I first heard of couchsurfing (which shall henceforth be referred to as CS, because I cannot stand the sight of those red squiggly lines telling me I'm wrong as I type this. Hey computer, LEARN A NEW WORD.) back in the summer of '09, when a friend of mine was using it to travel through Ghana. When she told me that it was basically staying at the house of someone you've never met before, I cried out "Stranger Danger!" before passing out on the cold, cold linoleum floor.

But that was then and this now. Three years later, I have approximately 6 bazillion CS experiences under my belt. I've seen both the good and the bad, and I'm here to tell you the truth about both.

Let's just get the bad out of the way first, shall we? Out of approximately 80 total hosts last year, Dan and I only had two crappy experiences. Why were they bad? Well, mostly because the hosts we had were . . . different. (I'm trying really, really hard not be judge-y here. Because, you know, at the time of occurrence they felt like huge frickin' weirdos, but I feel it is important to speak of my fellow humans with kindness and sensitivity.) The first was a compulsive hoarder. The small area where we slept (a mattress on the floor of his living room) was livably clean - that is to say, there were papers and books and strange odds and ends (think 80s-era cassette tapes and souvenir magnets) strewn about everywhere but it wasn't legitimately filthy.

The kitchen, however, was another story: dirty dishes were piled up to the point where they completely covered every available surface, and the stovetop and floor were littered with the bits of food that must have spilled over from cooking experiments gone horribly, horribly wrong. Dan and I often traveled with our own snacks (because you should never expect your host to feed you, but more on that later), and asked if we could put something in the fridge. We opened it up and - I swear to Hey-zeus Christo this is true - hideously fuzzy mold in pea-soup green had ensnared the contents of the entire fridge and was threatening to spread unless we shut that door right this second. Gag.

In addition to this, the bathroom did not have hot running water, so during our entire three-day stay, we "cleaned" ourselves using a cold washcloth with a bit of soap on it. I washed my hair in the sink. Oh, and there was no heat. In London. In February.

You could even couchsurf in Amsterdam if you wanted to. I know a guy.

Aside from that, we hardly even saw this fellow - just a quick "hello, nice to meet you" before he dashed out the door for some appointment, and then we didn't even cross paths with him again until we left. Although this was early on in our trip, I had already started to realize that the most important part of CS isn't about getting to stay somewhere for free or even seeing a new destination through a local's perspective - it's about having a sense of community as you travel which, for me, is an incredibly special feeling.

Some of the people we've met through CS have become friends - real friends, not just people whose Facebook photos we stalk from time to time. Some of them are people we stayed with several times throughout the course of the year, people who we really miss now that we're an entire ocean apart. These people enhanced our experience of Europe immeasurably: how else might I know what real Spanish tortilla tastes like, or why all the buildings in Amsterdam have hooks on them, or how to play Israeli card games? How else would I know the best cure for a Palinka hangover, or where to buy vinyl records in Paris, or how to correctly pronounce "hyygelig"? HOW ELSE MIGHT I HAVE WATCHED AN ENTIRE GAME OF AMERICAN FOOTBALL IN SLOVENIAN WITHOUT THE AID OF SUBTITLES? (I mean, not that you really need them, but still.)

I couldn't. And not to get all mom-ish on you, but I treasure those moments. Because even when you're with a host who maybe you don't click with so well, it still feels like you're part of a moment (a movement!) that fosters a more compassionate world.

Expect a handy guide to the ins and outs of couchsurfing for Friday's post. Don't say I never gave you anything.

Bye!