THE MEATBALL SHOP
(84 Stanton St., nr. Allen St.; 212-982-8895)
By foot, during the night, there is a pleasant smell of rain coming down and you realize that it isn’t rain, but the dew from a hundred air-conditioners, all running so strongly the street lights black out and you’re left in a city without light, for once. It feels okay, and you stop and sit down on the now silent sidewalk.
It doesn’t last long, but probably longer than your current neighbors would like.
KENMARE
(98 Kenmare St., nr. Centre St.; 212-275-9898)
You can’t remember the last time you saw a little owl. Or a big one for that matter.
Two eyes, a hoot, and a goodnight kiss.
NORTHERN SPY FOOD CO.
(511 E. 12th St., nr. Ave. A; 212-228-5100)
Keeping local, this summer, so far, you know water and the air and keep your hands behind your head. There are plenty of instances where you are lit with a vague hunger. Something should be done about it but you drink water to fill the hole. And there are distant mountains, far from here.
MOTORINO
(349 E. 12th St., nr. First Ave.; 212-777-2644)
There is something to be said of “mastering the form”. Is there any way for a form to be mastered and not improved on? Can form provide us with what we generally lack, and that striving for perfecting a form provides us with some solace, some relief, knowing that there is no such thing as a perfect form, as form can be different things to different people and my form is different from yours (look in the mirror, then at me) and no form can be filled fully like the ground.
But I don’t equate form to graves, even if they have form, and have pretty much perfected it, for its purpose.
BALABOOSTA
(214 Mulberry St., nr. Spring St.; 212-966-7366)
Because you always like to know, I’ll be home all night, building things out of sticks.
I’ll call you when I’m done.
MIA DONA CART
(206 E. 58th St, nr. Third Ave.; 212-750-8170)
Sometimes I’d prefer ice cream.
BRINKLEY’S
(406 Broome St., at Centre St.; 212-680-5600)
There are times for big things, but big things often bleed. And they bleed more. Like a stream current carrying a piece of paper that reads:
I’m glad that we were able to meet.
CORSINO
(637 Hudson St., at Horatio St.; 212-242=3093)
Surely there are simple truths that can be answered by asking the simplest questions, the rampant range of quality thus ends with two, the good, the bad. Depending on what numbers are drawn, there are more than two responses. There are fourteen today, and I’m standing on a fire escape, glad it’s because I want to and not because there is a fire. The bars of metal come loaded onto my knees as I kneel and attempt to whistle. I can smell the brisket all the way from Brooklyn. I stay there kneeling, not praying, forgetting what I came out there for. And someone has put a wave of ice-cream truck songs to the air, like annoyingly sweet berries.
TERROIR TRIBECA
(24 Harrison St., nr. Greenwich St.; 212-625-9463)
--Yes?
--No.
--Not yet?
--No.
--Why not?
--I don’t know.
--Okay.
--
--Okay.
--Are you serious?
--I don’t know.
--Okay.
--Yes?
--No.
--Okay.
--Okay.
