It came as a surprise to me that I could envisage myself + himself living in Brooklyn. Far from being Manhatten’s duller older brother, perhaps an impression gathered from Miranda in SATC, it retains that lovely mix of big city style and small town community feel that I look for in a place to live. Greenpoint, in the north of the borough, houses a large Polish community – so plenty of restaurants serving the sorts of foods my grandfather used to force upon my brother and I. I find it amazing how my memory of this specific cuisine relies more on the emotional connection I have with the food to supply the imagined flavour than the taste itself – revisiting bigos several years later, I was horrified to realise that the main ingredient was sour cabbage and not sweet ham and potato, as I had imagined. I suppose that the happy memories associated with this most Polish of dishes lent it a comforting sweetness it does not truly possess!
Bedford Avenue, in the trendier neighbourhood of Williamsburg, presents a huge contradiction. On the one hand horribly trendy, the tightness of the hipsters’ trousers (we’re talking anorexic drainpipe, here) competed only with the length and frizziness of their hair in measures of ludocrity (this is the men, by the way). On the other hand, the shopping is glorious, with wonderful boutiques selling unique, locally crafted items, vintage records and recycled clothing.
The window at catbird on Bedford Avenue
South and west of Williamsburg, round Brooklyn Heights way, lie the affluent suburban havens of Carroll Gardens and Cobble Hill. A more picturesque insight into this borough there never was, with beautiful brownstone houses, tree-lined streets (something I think the Americans do much better than us), schools, cafes – everything you would need to live happily. If you can afford it, o’course – I hear property prices are crazy. Keep going west and you come across Brooklyn General, absolutely my new favourite (not so L)YS.
Catherine and Katie are my favourite kind of yarn store owners – friendly and welcoming, but happy to let you browse undisturbed for hours on end, as you wander the length of the store dipping your fingers into piles of lushious merino, or stroke exotic Chinese cashmere-blends against your cheek. Not content with taking our yarn money, these ladies cannily stock gorgeous Echino fabrics, amongst others, doll-making supplies, vintage trim, buttons and aprons. If you can get there, do, as it really is worth the trek out of Manhattan (by far and away my favourite stop of my trip).
And really, if the wonderful yarn shops and inspiring bloggers weren’t enough to encourage a swift move to Brooklyn, all semblance of protest surely vanishes when confronted with this:
Hers + His ‘Mites* at Bedford Cheese Shop
*For Americans and others: behind these seemingly innocent black and yellow facades lies a fierce battle for supremacy, with undercurrents of centuries of colonial tension. Nowhere does this battle rage more fiercely than in Casa Esmerelda, with yours truly the loyal servant of the one true, original Marmite, and himself backing the antipodean upstart.
