Posted by: tlnemethy | September 23, 2012

Berry Park Pickup Lines

Berry Park is an intriguing establishment on the outskirts of Brooklyn that possesses some of the most intoxicatingly refreshing drinks I’ve ever encountered.  Its a double-decker building that looks very laid back in an almost uncharacteristically subtle way for the flair of New York City. But the subtlety switches drastically upon entering the exquisitely sleek bar of slick varnished wood set against the backdrop of an untouched brownstone wall. Maybe I loved this place so much because it possessed all the qualities I’d envisioned for “Booklyn,” but no matter, I believe that it has a certain charm that anyone can understand. My ideas for drink orders were officially tapped out when I got to the bar to start a tab, but luckily my friend and resident tour-guide had a stroke of genius and told me to order two Huckleberry Lemonades.

Now, I’ve never been a true lemonade lover. In fact, I normally detest lemonades unless I make them fresh on my own, but hey, when someone recommends a drink I ALWAYS give them the benefit of the doubt. Recommendations are not to be trifled with, and the moment the straw from that Mason jar touched my lips I couldn’t have agreed more. We nabbed seats on the upper deck and reveled in the beautiful landscape of the city that surrounded us. In the darkness of the night on the roof I couldn’t have understood that city and its inhabitants any more.

We were working on our second round of Huckleberries when we were approached by a Polish guy who wanted to buy us shots. He allegedly used to play professional soccer in Europe. I really just wanted to talk to him about soccer; if it was true he’d have some interesting stories, and if he was making it up it would be amusing just to hear what he could come up with. I was possibly a little too buzzed at this point because I really could not understand much of what he was jabbering on about, but then again my brain does function slower around accents. We accepted and were at the bar taking our vodka shots when we struck up a conversation with another group of guys at the bar. When people at a bar hear its your first time in the city they get pretty worked up, and when they have already been celebrating a birthday for a few hours even more so. Poland didn’t like the rivalry and/or couldn’t control his alcohol fueled rage and threatened to smash a glass over Birthday Boy’s head. We took this as our cue to sneak away quietly.

Somehow we managed to grab a table and were soon joined by another batch of guys. Thinking back on it, it was like there was an ever-changing flow of guys just passing by. Where were all the women? This is the part of the night that fueled my attempts at witty banter using pickup lines.

  • Pickup Line 1: Pointing at the nearest man’s shirt. “Is that felt?” Then you go in for a touch like you are totally just checking the fabric. “Now it is.” That one got a hoot around the table and BONUS I got to grope a dude’s pecs. I recommend it, as long as you think the dude might get the joke.
  • Pickup Line 2: Once again looking at the dude’s shirt. “What’s that made of?” After a brief pause and a full body scan with the eyes, “I’m thinking boyfriend material.” I’m not sure why all of my lines thus far have been about fabric. I’m not even that into fabric.
  • Pickup Line 3: I was at two wins at this point, and with my track record that meant I was bound for a strike. Pointing at a guy across the table, “If you were a booger I’d pick you first.” Not a crowd pleaser, in fact I do believe I lost much of my credibility with that one.There were groans resonating around the table and a direct “you didn’t just say that” from my friend. I shrugged it off and continued my chatter, still stoked that my other two were keepers.

At least they were good sports about it all, and I think they were genuinely interested in our conversations, but unfortunately I have forgotten their names. Here’s to a Craigslist missed connections post. Find me, my long-lost Brooklyn Pickup Line test subjects.  And that, my friends, all happened at and because of the greatest establishment in Brooklyn: Berry Park.

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Posted by: tlnemethy | September 19, 2012

Bar Hopping to Pub Crawling

New York City is as wet of a city as you can get. No, I’m not talking about rainy although it has its moments, I’m talking about boozy. There are bars and liqueur stores around every corner, making it almost impossible to avoid. It so happened that I went to NYC a few weeks after I’d turned 21 and I was expecting to drink myself into pro-status, especially considering I’d had maybe two nights including alcohol since turning legal. I was past my due, but ready to change that.

After my first “day drinking” experience we putzed around town for a while, got coffee, did laundry, went grocery shopping, all the essentials when visiting a new city. I’ll tell you that I really got my exercise that weekend, almost worth moving there just to be healthier. Shocker too, I never expected to get healthier in NYC, Denver sure, but NYC no way. After the beer gardens of awesomeness, I was expecting a lot for my last night in New York.

First off, we hit up a Mexican joint named Don Burrito. I can eat Mexican anytime, anyplace, and for any reason so I was already glad the evening was heading in a good direction. Of course, at any Mexican eatery you will ALWAYS fill up on the free tortilla chip appetizer with salsa. Mmm. I did, don’t worry. And even though I’m slightly lactose intolerant I chugged a huge glass of horchata (basically an almond flavored milkshake) while I was nomnoming on the order of tacos we’d got. I’m still not sure what type of meat was inside them as it didn’t really taste like beef or chicken, but it was tender and what you don’t know won’t kill you.  A little surprise has never been a bad thing for my life, and a few weeks later I’m still alive so it was obviously a good decision.

Then we headed to a bar called Union Pool. We were hoping to actually play a game of pool there, but like many of the bar names around New York, they lie. So I don’t remember seeing a single pool table in the joint, but realistically it could have been hidden behind the swarms of people milling about or just circled up in hipster euphoria. There was a line waiting to get in that stretched around the corner of the bar and my expectations soared that it was so popular. I handed the bouncer my ID and, like everyone who has ever checked my ID, spent a good 30 seconds longer than needed to calculate how old I am. I blame it on the sucky red stripe that says UNDER 21 UNTIL 2012 that boxes off my picture. Because it is indeed still 2012, it causes a ruckus everywhere I go. Bouncer:  “Oh you just had your birthday then.” Me. So eloquently: “Yup.” Bouncer: “Happy Birthday.” Then I moved inside and tried to shove my way to the bar. I was smiling at least, I can’t help it but when bouncers wish you a happy birthday you just feel amazing for a moment.

I ordered a vodka -cran and some sort of beer and we shoved through the din to the outdoor beer garden. If I’d been hoping there was more space or fewer people out there I was wrong. Just piles of people everywhere, standing or sitting on the bleacher style risers set up by the perimeter. To me it didn’t even look like people were having fun. There was little to no movement once people found their spot and the usual friendly bar roughhousing was nonexistent. People just talked. It was eerie and after we finished our drinks I suggested we mosey to another bar.

Berry Park, the BEST bar I have EVER been to awaits the next installment.

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Posted by: tlnemethy | September 16, 2012

Big Apple, Tiny Dumplings

I spent three days in the city, and even though I ignored tourist attractions like the Empire State building or the Statue of Liberty I think I found my own personal inner tourist. I purposefully left my camera at home because I was afraid I would be recognized as an outsider and easy prey for the wildlife of Zoo York if I was constantly walking around mouth agape and snapping pictures of everything that a regular wouldn’t bother with. Call me slightly paranoid, but I’m cautious when I’m unsure of my surrounding and its inhabitants. Anyways, I picked up on a few things while I was playing “native” that I probably wouldn’t have noticed had I been too engrossed capturing all the sights. But then again, if I’d documented them this post might be a tad more colorful.

Things I learned from the Big Apple:

  1. Cars wear these special bumper guards because they are always parallel parking in close proximity to one another. They resemble a mud flap, but generally hanging from the trunk compartment and are made of a smooth rubber. I thought they were adorably useful.
  2. Subway rats are not mythical creatures. Sure I knew they were gonna be lurking somewhere, but hell if they didn’t just come out wagging their tails at your feet in the hopes of a snack. Some were very decently sized too, at least three times the size of my chihuahua. At one time I saw four of them running the rails and frolicking through the running rivers between the tracks. I’m not overly grossed out by rodents, but I did find them fascinating as they interacted with the subwaygoers.
  3. Traffic is ridiculous. Even in my town I won’t make left turns very often, but in New York, drivers will just pull out into the middle of intersections, forming huge chains of cars that block the traffic that should be moving. Road rage runs rampant and I think I developed a small ulcer just walking near the traffic.
  4. If you stop a native New Yorker and ask for directions they will tell you, but only because they want you to know they are superior to your feeble attempts at NYC knowledge: I learned that from a young man at a beer garden who tried to steal my friend’s lighter so he must be very reliable.
  5. Beer gardens are beautiful pieces of civilization that do not necessarily have to be attached at all to a garden. I learned that the hard way. Planning: “Oh sure, let’s go to a beer garden.” Once there: “Where are the flowers?” No. Beer gardens are just establishments that serve beer and have outdoor seating/space available, but some of them are remarkable. I spent the vast majority of an afternoon “day drinking” at a place that had an outdoor pavilion where you could smoke, drink, order corn on the cob and hamburgers,  or even read with your dog by your side. I could have sat there all day, soaking up the sunshine and listening to the ivy covered walls as the wind struck them.
  6. China Town is a wonderful place for dumplings. When we ordered two sets of dumplings for only six dollars  I was expecting to get maybe three dumplings and leave with a half satisfied stomach. I was wrong. Not only did I leave my plate with dumplings still sitting there looking delicious, but I was stuffed to the gills.
  7. A metro card is an amazing ticket to any destination you could ever think of. Feeling like some Italian food? Metro card will get you there. Perhaps a beach day? Metro card. Don’t want to travel on the subway? Metro cards work for buses too so you can get some fresh air and avoid the subway rats.
  8. You may expect shopkeepers to see so many faces a day that they become too distracted to know you on a conversational level. Wrong. You show up routinely and they’ll remember you.
  9. Horchata is not just the name of a Vampire Weekend song. It is in fact a delicious almond-based beverage I imbibed at a Mexican restaurant to the surprise of the waiter.
  10. Comfortable shoes are a must. Forget the high heels unless you’re trying to impress someone: I walked the streets for a weekend and came home with sore calves and a blister the size of a child. I named it Honey BooBoo.

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