New York WeddiMoon: Day 3
… in which we commune with the Yuppies of Williamsburg.
Today was perfectly peaceful and even included a nap in the grass at the waterfront below the Williamsburg flea market. I don’t know whether to let my guard down, however. M may only be toying with me.
So we started out by promenading along the Brooklyn Promenade, stopping for a while beneath the Brooklyn Bridge to read Walt Whitman’s “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry “:
On the way back to eat our way through Smorgasbord at the Old Tobacco Warehouse in DUMBO (Down under the Manhattan Bridge, in case you were wondering; the “O” keeps it from just being DUMB), we stopped outside the building Truman Capote lived in while writing In Cold Blood. What an exquisite neighborhood. Nothing marks the site of Capote’s house, though rumor has it, the last time the place was on the a market a few years ago, that the owners were asking 18 mill but actually wound up taking less than 15. There’s no marker on any of Whitman’s houses in Brooklyn either, it appears, and all that bears his name is a projects which turns up first on the Brooklyn crime blotter if you search google.
Anyway, here’s what there is to say about Smorgasboard: Yes, it’s a bunch of hemp-wearing-cruelty-free-no-gluten-organic-please-recycle trendoids, and yes, the prices are on the exaggerated side, but the food is stupendous, starting with the roast duck lumpia and ending with the S’mores on which each square chocolate marshmallow is blackened by hand with a kitchen-sized blow torch. Really, the performance alone was worth the price.
[And this seems to be a perfect place to insert this quip, for which I would love to take credit but cannot: “What if soy milk is just regular milk introducing itself in Spanish?”]
Thence to the Williamsburg Flea Market, which was fairly insufferable, and the indoor portion, the Artists and Flea Market about a block away, which made one long for some sort of weapon of mass destruction. The whole neighborhood needs a spanking, but A&F is an argument for eugenics (hint: the people who make $50 cufflinks out of old typewriter keys don’t make it).
Remember: a lot of poor folks, working-class families, and the elderly had to lose their homes so you could have a nice, safe place to drink kombucha.