I thought I'd never say it: though I left my heart in San Francisco, I think it might start living bicostally.
I feel like such a traitor. And it's true--for me nothing will ever come close to the cutty corners and reliably foggy skies of the city by the bay. But Brooklyn is a little flirt and I've got a big-time crush. It was the brownstones with pastel-painted doors that did it--or the mochi-topped Japanese frozen yogurt--or the guy selling pickles at the farmer's market who told me that if I could write him the story of a pickle craving in six words, he'd make it his slogan.
Even though I'm such a die-hard 415-er, I could really see myself being happy there. Park Slope has the same crafty-quirky vibe that I love about SF--gritty but artistic in a way that feels like home. Manhattan's too big for me, too busy, but Brooklyn felt like exactly the right pace: urban but out of the line of fire of the land across the bridge. I want to get an apartment with a little yellow door, eat homemade granola and Gorilla coffee in the mornings, write in the park in the afternoons, get Kiku take out for dinner (seven nights per week would be ideal.) There's nothing like just walking in a place like that, just watching. (I probably will never have a car. This is my contribution to the green movement.)
Friday night was Kiku, my love, with Beth and Peter, where I got the appropriately-named Park Slope roll and edamame with lemon.
When it got dark we walked along fifth avenue to Red Monster--it's the best time of the year when you can do that without freezing. Feels so strange, like coming out of hibernation. On Saturday Beth and I had muffins she made for breakfast and then walked over to the Brooklyn farmer's market.
We got organic apples and cheese from a seller who named all of his offerings after characters from Joyce novels. I'm down. Back in Park Slope we made mini cheese-on-sourdough-bread pizzas and I started to make a sweater. I'm kind of a grandma.
Today it is lovely outside--an 80 degree temperature and a hip hop performance, a combination I am really into. Last night I got a pretend tattoo in Arabic. It looks like this: