1st Avenue
between 1st & 2nd
Along with a truly amazing selection of beers, the best part of dba's back yard is set aside for us.
East Village locale, a warm summer Friday evening, an icy cold beer and a long, slow pull on your Natural American Spirit under gently-waving trees.
Yummmm.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Monday, July 9, 2007
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Jane's House
Jane's House
Corner of Elation and Despair
Brooklyn, NY
How I could open this blog and not make notable mention of my own house as a smoker-friendly venue is beyond me.
Of course you can smoke at Jane's House. I myself do a lot of smoking at Jane's house. And if you're rolling a fat joint, all Jane asks is that you share.
Does Jane's house smell like a smoker's house? No.
Surprisingly, I am a rather fastidious smoker. I hate the smell of stale old smoke on people's breath and clothes. I'm a conscientious dumper of ashtrays, and when I owned a car, no butts were allowed to accumlate in the ashtray. Yes, I was that anal -- I would dump them into a little bag and carry them out of the car with me. This was AFTER I had wiped out the ashtray with a paper towel and Windex that I kept in the car. So my car never smelled like a smokers car either. I hate people who cast their butts into the street (LITTERBUGS!) though I shamefully admit to doing it sometimes. On the flip side of that, I have been known to carry a cigarette butt for blocks until I could find a garbage can.
I burn Japanese incense and warm fragrant oils all the time, so my house smells more like an upscale bordello when I'm not cooking than a smoker's lair. (When I'm cooking, you would expect to see a squat Italian mamma at the stove, so redolent of cooking garlic and onions is my kitchen.)
There is one place and one place only in Jane's house where smoking is not allowed and that's in the bedroom. For some reason, the idea of waking up to an ashtray full of butts next to my head is repugnant. This means that more often than not, I'm not writing in the lovely area next to the window which I've set up for this purpose -- the one with plants and art glass and a dictionary and thesaurus -- but curled into the Big Chair in my living room where I can ruminate, smoke, write, ruminate, smoke, write.
That's me, and that's my house.
Come over. I'll cook you a great meal of some sort of comfort food (my meat loaf is KILLER), open a great bottle of wine, and we'll eat, talk about the world we live in and life in general, and smoke.
Corner of Elation and Despair
Brooklyn, NY
How I could open this blog and not make notable mention of my own house as a smoker-friendly venue is beyond me.
Of course you can smoke at Jane's House. I myself do a lot of smoking at Jane's house. And if you're rolling a fat joint, all Jane asks is that you share.
Does Jane's house smell like a smoker's house? No.
Surprisingly, I am a rather fastidious smoker. I hate the smell of stale old smoke on people's breath and clothes. I'm a conscientious dumper of ashtrays, and when I owned a car, no butts were allowed to accumlate in the ashtray. Yes, I was that anal -- I would dump them into a little bag and carry them out of the car with me. This was AFTER I had wiped out the ashtray with a paper towel and Windex that I kept in the car. So my car never smelled like a smokers car either. I hate people who cast their butts into the street (LITTERBUGS!) though I shamefully admit to doing it sometimes. On the flip side of that, I have been known to carry a cigarette butt for blocks until I could find a garbage can.
I burn Japanese incense and warm fragrant oils all the time, so my house smells more like an upscale bordello when I'm not cooking than a smoker's lair. (When I'm cooking, you would expect to see a squat Italian mamma at the stove, so redolent of cooking garlic and onions is my kitchen.)
There is one place and one place only in Jane's house where smoking is not allowed and that's in the bedroom. For some reason, the idea of waking up to an ashtray full of butts next to my head is repugnant. This means that more often than not, I'm not writing in the lovely area next to the window which I've set up for this purpose -- the one with plants and art glass and a dictionary and thesaurus -- but curled into the Big Chair in my living room where I can ruminate, smoke, write, ruminate, smoke, write.
That's me, and that's my house.
Come over. I'll cook you a great meal of some sort of comfort food (my meat loaf is KILLER), open a great bottle of wine, and we'll eat, talk about the world we live in and life in general, and smoke.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Friday, June 29, 2007
Aurora
Aurora
Corner of Wythe & Grand
Williamsburg
Jane hasn't been to the new Soho branch of this charming Italian, but I've gone to the original in Williamsburg several times. I haven't been disappointed yet. In fact, I liked it so much that I celebrated a birthday there in 2004.
Not only is the decor inside the restaurant rustic and warm, Aurora has one of the prettiest garden spaces in Williamsburg. It's not one of those "We cleared out the garbage cans and put out crappy plastic lawn furniture so we could eke as much out of our rental dollar as possible" gardens. It's a real, thought-out space.
The garden dining area at Aurora is a pleasant leafy surprise in the heart of industrial Williamsburg's waterfront. The owners clearly have some prescience, Aurora being ideally situated and priced for the coming waterfront expansion and the sure influx of well-to-do refugees who will no doubt make this a regular dining place.
When my companion and I arrived on a recent early-summer evening, I requested a smoking table and we were cheerfully escorted to a small raised platform at the back of the garden, where we could gaze over the entire outdoor dining space. A nicely-finished floor, tasteful green cloth umbrellas, and climbing ivy were all complemented by a peach early-June sunset and one of those East River breezes that reminds you just why you pay most of your salary to live in New York City.
A clean ashtray appeared promptly at my elbow after we were seated. Two things make this notable. First that the ashtray was clean. You'd be surprised how many restaurants and bars will offer a smoking section then give you an ashtray so coated in sticky tar residue and gray ash that it will nearly put you off your meal. Second, I didn't have to ask for it. Again, it's surprising that restaurants that offer smoking sections still make us beg for the essential accessory to smoking.
This isn't a foodie blog, but here I have to comment. Everything my companion and I ordered was seasonal, fresh, and impeccably prepared. Best of all, the portions were human-sized. No "we're sending you home with enough food for two more meals" sized portions here.
We even got some free entertainment, as a couple who were clearly on their first or second date were seated next to us. The guy, who bore all the earmarks of someone who was in Williamsburg only because Vice magazine told him to go there, regaled his date for our entire meal with stories about himself and how great he was. He clearly thought he was too good looking to be on a date with her. She, clearly horrified, sat mostly silent throughout her meal as he proceeded to tell her how much he paid for things. My companion and I reached the conclusion that their first date must have been a drunken hookup at a mutual friend's party, for otherwise such a fine and quality young woman wouldn't otherwise agree to go out with such a tedious boor.
Meals at Aurora are reasonably priced, though a tad expensive for Williamsburg's younger hipster set, which is just fine by Janey. The less time I have to spend in the company of hipsters, the better. Or as I like to say, sometimes a couple of extra bucks is all it takes to keep the riff raff out.
Corner of Wythe & Grand
Williamsburg
Jane hasn't been to the new Soho branch of this charming Italian, but I've gone to the original in Williamsburg several times. I haven't been disappointed yet. In fact, I liked it so much that I celebrated a birthday there in 2004.
Not only is the decor inside the restaurant rustic and warm, Aurora has one of the prettiest garden spaces in Williamsburg. It's not one of those "We cleared out the garbage cans and put out crappy plastic lawn furniture so we could eke as much out of our rental dollar as possible" gardens. It's a real, thought-out space.
The garden dining area at Aurora is a pleasant leafy surprise in the heart of industrial Williamsburg's waterfront. The owners clearly have some prescience, Aurora being ideally situated and priced for the coming waterfront expansion and the sure influx of well-to-do refugees who will no doubt make this a regular dining place.
When my companion and I arrived on a recent early-summer evening, I requested a smoking table and we were cheerfully escorted to a small raised platform at the back of the garden, where we could gaze over the entire outdoor dining space. A nicely-finished floor, tasteful green cloth umbrellas, and climbing ivy were all complemented by a peach early-June sunset and one of those East River breezes that reminds you just why you pay most of your salary to live in New York City.
A clean ashtray appeared promptly at my elbow after we were seated. Two things make this notable. First that the ashtray was clean. You'd be surprised how many restaurants and bars will offer a smoking section then give you an ashtray so coated in sticky tar residue and gray ash that it will nearly put you off your meal. Second, I didn't have to ask for it. Again, it's surprising that restaurants that offer smoking sections still make us beg for the essential accessory to smoking.
This isn't a foodie blog, but here I have to comment. Everything my companion and I ordered was seasonal, fresh, and impeccably prepared. Best of all, the portions were human-sized. No "we're sending you home with enough food for two more meals" sized portions here.
We even got some free entertainment, as a couple who were clearly on their first or second date were seated next to us. The guy, who bore all the earmarks of someone who was in Williamsburg only because Vice magazine told him to go there, regaled his date for our entire meal with stories about himself and how great he was. He clearly thought he was too good looking to be on a date with her. She, clearly horrified, sat mostly silent throughout her meal as he proceeded to tell her how much he paid for things. My companion and I reached the conclusion that their first date must have been a drunken hookup at a mutual friend's party, for otherwise such a fine and quality young woman wouldn't otherwise agree to go out with such a tedious boor.
Meals at Aurora are reasonably priced, though a tad expensive for Williamsburg's younger hipster set, which is just fine by Janey. The less time I have to spend in the company of hipsters, the better. Or as I like to say, sometimes a couple of extra bucks is all it takes to keep the riff raff out.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Because it Looks Cool
I would just like to say, this guy ended up having a fling with the same broad Bogie married.
It's not just the way he wore his hat.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Friday, June 8, 2007
You Can Smoke Here
"You cain't really smoke on Earth no more, can you?" -- Cedric the Entertainer, The Original Kings of Comedy
It's become a mini-mission of mine to find restaurants and bars in New York City where you can still fire up without having to stand on the street like a degenerate junkie.
So this blog is for the smokers -- and I'm talking about the Unrepentant (wasn't that a Clint Eastwood movie?), not-apologizing-for-it, love-everything-about-it smokers, not our pals who claim they don't smoke, when in reality what they don't do is buy cigarettes but are happy to puff away at your $8-a-pack Natural American Spirits when you are socializing. (Note to Racer X and Peeker: This doesn't mean you). The smokers who groove on the ritual of smoking, the whole tamping of the pack on the heel of the hand, the sensuous unwrapping of the plastic string, the sheer enjoyment of that first puff of the day, the communal post-prandial cigarette shared after dinner when the dessert plates have been pushed aside and you're debating whether to open that third bottle of wine. You know who you are.
When someone tries to shame you with a lecture about the health issues, you look them coolly in the eye, blink twice like a lizard, drag on your butt, and say, "I like it." A smoker who never paws the ground shamefacedly when people berate you for polluting the air in their section of the sidewalk (proper answer to that: "We're OUTSIDE. Mayor Bloomberg hasn't banned it here...yet.") Besides, frankly, as my friend Showtime says, "Smoking just looks cool." It's true.
It's always astounded me that people think that it's perfectly okay to march up to a stranger and proclaim their social hatefulness. The other day a HOMELESS man said to me as I walked to work, "Hey, girl, you'd look so much more beautiful if you wasn't smokin' that cigarette!" Hello? A homeless man? But it's not just the homeless guy. Everyone thinks it's okay to comment on us. "Oh, that's so terrible for you!"
You know, I wish I had the balls to walk up to a fat person while they're eating something and say, "Oh, that chili-cheese hotdog is just so bad for you," or maybe, "You know, sir, maybe you'd look better if you weren't so unhealthily fat."
My super-secret wish-I-had-the-balls thing to say, though, would be to walk up to a preggo and say, "Wow, that looks like a nasty case of sperm poisoning."
But I digress.
About this blog. When I find a restaurant or bar that has a space where you can smoke -- I'll post it here. I'll tell you where, when, how, basically everything I can find out while I'm there.
And yes, I welcome your hot tips...since Janey can't be everywhere at once, I welcome a heads-up on cool smoker-friendly spots.
It's become a mini-mission of mine to find restaurants and bars in New York City where you can still fire up without having to stand on the street like a degenerate junkie.
So this blog is for the smokers -- and I'm talking about the Unrepentant (wasn't that a Clint Eastwood movie?), not-apologizing-for-it, love-everything-about-it smokers, not our pals who claim they don't smoke, when in reality what they don't do is buy cigarettes but are happy to puff away at your $8-a-pack Natural American Spirits when you are socializing. (Note to Racer X and Peeker: This doesn't mean you). The smokers who groove on the ritual of smoking, the whole tamping of the pack on the heel of the hand, the sensuous unwrapping of the plastic string, the sheer enjoyment of that first puff of the day, the communal post-prandial cigarette shared after dinner when the dessert plates have been pushed aside and you're debating whether to open that third bottle of wine. You know who you are.
When someone tries to shame you with a lecture about the health issues, you look them coolly in the eye, blink twice like a lizard, drag on your butt, and say, "I like it." A smoker who never paws the ground shamefacedly when people berate you for polluting the air in their section of the sidewalk (proper answer to that: "We're OUTSIDE. Mayor Bloomberg hasn't banned it here...yet.") Besides, frankly, as my friend Showtime says, "Smoking just looks cool." It's true.
It's always astounded me that people think that it's perfectly okay to march up to a stranger and proclaim their social hatefulness. The other day a HOMELESS man said to me as I walked to work, "Hey, girl, you'd look so much more beautiful if you wasn't smokin' that cigarette!" Hello? A homeless man? But it's not just the homeless guy. Everyone thinks it's okay to comment on us. "Oh, that's so terrible for you!"
You know, I wish I had the balls to walk up to a fat person while they're eating something and say, "Oh, that chili-cheese hotdog is just so bad for you," or maybe, "You know, sir, maybe you'd look better if you weren't so unhealthily fat."
My super-secret wish-I-had-the-balls thing to say, though, would be to walk up to a preggo and say, "Wow, that looks like a nasty case of sperm poisoning."
But I digress.
About this blog. When I find a restaurant or bar that has a space where you can smoke -- I'll post it here. I'll tell you where, when, how, basically everything I can find out while I'm there.
And yes, I welcome your hot tips...since Janey can't be everywhere at once, I welcome a heads-up on cool smoker-friendly spots.
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