The first nice day in New York
Boots on the ground reporting.
I sit here—very hungover like millions of other New Yorkers I’m sure—after the first nice day this year. Therefore, this post is unedited. Sorry in advance.
When I saw it was going to be 80 degrees on Saturday, suddenly the doom and gloom of the daily grind evaporated. I was filled with hope, optimistic for the days ahead, fantasizing about how I wound spend that day.
The first nice day of spring in New York is an unofficial city-wide holiday. Everyone is outside. Parks are swarmed across boroughs, Citi Bike docks are empty, and outdoor dining is coveted. The streets are truly alive in a way you don’t experience anywhere else. We’ve gone through months of the coldest winter in years, we truly deserved every ounce of warmth coming our way.
It started as my Saturdays usually do, at Pilates. I broke out my Havaianas, and as soon as the warm air hit my toes, I was overjoyed. My instructor played a remix of The White Lotus’ theme song, an omen for a fantastic day to come, and I got a great sweat in before undoubtedly undoing any progress I had made during the class with hours full of eating and drinking.
My neighborhood of choice was the West Village. This is very uncommon for me, I typically stay tried and true to the East, but the WV seems to be the Aperol Spritz capital of the United States, so what better location to be celebrating the sun. Le Dive has also tragically lost their rights to outdoor Parisian-style cafe seating, so Dimes Square was surely sadder than it would be this time last year. I took my first Citi Bike ride of the year, went up Ave. B, over on 8th Street, down Hudson, and docked on Christopher Street, music playing just lightly in my ears to stay alert and safe (don’t worry Mom).
There were lines as far as the eye could see. I was starting to feel hopeless, we had no reservation, everywhere was telling us it would be over an hour, I was hot, ravenous, and swarmed by crowds of Dogbird shorts and Alo tops.
Little Ruby’s on 4th Street is the White House of the West Village. It seemed hopeless from the crowd waiting outside, but I was determined to at least try. They saved the day with a true 25-minute wait time, the best margarita I’ve had in a long time, and a delicious crispy rice bowl.
Finding a post-lunch Aperol Spritz on the best day of the year is not for the weak. Bar Pisellino had a line down the block that didn’t seem to be moving, and there wasn’t a table on 6th Avenue or Hudson unsat. I observed a lot in the time spent trekking to and fro bar after bar—including a Golden Doodle wearing boots and a new dating app promoting themselves on the busiest intersection in the area via hard-to-get reservations. We ended up inside at Buvette, which was just fine. It’s a classic spot with a great spritz and even better vibes.
On a day like Saturday, you leave your apartment in the early afternoon, and don’t know if you’ll be back until the early hours of the morning. I dressed the part, wearing my jelly flats, gauchos, and a sporty tank top, with dinner plans that evening where I felt like this would hold up. I had a brief 30-minute intermission in between my activities, swapping out the tank for my treasured Susana Monaco tube top and tossing on a vintage white label Levi’s jacket because the temperature was sadly and suddenly beginning to drop.
I met my friends at Kiki’s for what was undoubtedly going to be a multi-hour wait, squatting inside of Treasure Club for the meantime. It only took around 45 minutes for a table of 5—a new record—and we ordered multiple rounds of Greek salads, shrimp, tzatziki, and a personal wine carafe (this is where things went south).
At the risk of being a Nolita Dirtbag cliche, Kiki’s really always holds up and is a great place to go with friends. It helps that it’s a stone’s throw away from my apartment, and also cheap and quick. After, we headed over for a night cap (or several) at 169 Bar. I kept calling it 369 Bar. They played Chappell Roan, we got a table, and undoubtedly were bad influences on each other. Alas, that’s what it means to be 24.
Today, Sunday as I write this, I ordered Uber Eats twice before noon. It simply had to happen. I’ve watched record numbers of Law and Order S.V.U., and have taken slow, steady sips of an LMNT-filled Owala. I was cured by a combination of Excedrin Migraine, a smoothie called the Hangover Head from Juice Generation, and a sandwich from Jersey Mike’s. Friday night was spent self-worshiping, I got a 30 minute back massage and 30 minute foot massage from my safe haven, Zu Yi Spa, and ordered Bobwhite Counter while watching the Karen Read docuseries on Max. I miss that level of bliss while experiencing a splitting wine carafe-induced headache.
It looks like rain is coming for us in some form every day this week. My Hunter rain boots will be working overtime. If I stay up for The White Lotus, it’ll be a miracle. I’m currently reading Blue Sisters by Coco Mellors, and it’s one of the most incredible books I’ve read in a long time. I’d like to start The Studio on Apple T.V.+, so if I do that, I’ll keep you all updated. Until next week…
That food looks so good
Also no words for the hangover I experienced this weekend due to the warmth in Milwaukee too. But we love it!!!!!!