It's Easy to Love a Speakeasy

Turn down a dark alley. Find the hidden entrance. Knock secret knock. A slit in the door opens. Suspicious eyes glare out at you. Mumble the password. The door unbolts and you slip inside.

It's easy to romanticize a speakeasy. They are so elicit, so dark and glamorous. But today's speakeasies are better than those of old, because the drinks they serve are made with top shelf liquor, hand squeezed juices, freshly prepared simple syrups and not one drop of barely drinkable bathtub gin. (And you can't get arrested for going to visit one!)


After hearing raves about PDT, but gripes about getting in the door, I hunted through the yelp reviews to find a similar bar. In the end, we settled on The Raines Law Room which was the perfect choice. Reservations by email on a weekday were simple enough to come by, but we were glad we had them when we saw the line up at the door and were able to waltz right through. 

Inside, the bar was dimly lit, with Victorian furnishings and heavy wallpaper that proved quite whimsical on closer examination. The brocade depicted a wild bedroom romp in silhouettes, a perfect post modern touch to what could have seemed a little dour. Buttons on the wall could be pressed when service was needed- a nice way to keep service available but not intrusive.



The drinks themselves were excellent. Well mixed, with quality ingredients and a variety of options that were tantalizing but not overwhelming. I love a good champagne cocktail and tried the Spyglass, while my friend Jessica is into bitter drinks and sipped the Swiss Cartel with it's one massive ice cube. (Make your own giant glass sized cubes by freezing water inside muffin tins!) Her boyfriend Kevin tried the La Molinche which tasted smokey as a wood fired grill.

On our way out, we passed the mustachioed & bow tied doorman and stepped back onto the streets of Manhattan feeling refreshed from having enjoyed a little something secret.

Fun in Brooklyn: Not So Silent Movies at Jalopy!

The Lobster Truck Guys suggested Jalopy when I asked for a cool place to see live music in Brooklyn. So I went. They were totally right on. Tucked onto a dark corner not far from the interstate, this understated little bar is a temple to folk music. With honey colored floors and wooden pews, dusty red velvet curtains and strings of cafe lights hung just haphazardly enough, it feels like a forgotten vaudeville act spiffed up for a new generation.

Jessica and I enjoyed a screening of silent films with live musical accompaniment from The Red Hook Ramblers. Their accompaniments were obviously carefully constructed and rehearsed, but they also had a spontaneity and joy that made the films come to life in a whole new way. I appreciated the role of sound effects and score far more while knowing the fellows behind the curtains were doing it all for us right then and there. They employed all sorts of marvelous gizmos in their quest to tell the story on the screen through music. One was a handheld red box with vents along the side. When the crank was turned, it revealed itself to be a siren wailer. More conventional instruments included washboards, tin pans, pianos, harmonicas, trumpets, accordions and one very large and glorious brass tuba. (Don't you always find yourself wanting to know more about what led someone to take up the tuba? It's a patently absurd looking creation. It's probably the one instrument in history that actually wards off girls.)

We watched three different films that night and enjoyed a few of the Redhook Rambler's original songs, which were full of swing and southern panache that made one want to get up and dance. As I watched these flickering old black and white images, I marveled at how much film has changed. Certainly, films now look more lifelike- they are full of crisp clean edges and vibrant color that one could almost mistake for reality. But in another way, the innocence, and charm of old Hollywood has flaked away over the years, to be replaced with a hard impenetrable lacquer of phoniness and calculation. These silent movies were full of spinning houses, tipsy butlers and cartoonish fist fights. But adding the music back into them reinvigorated them and made them pertinent right now. I doubt anyone could do the same for any Jennifer Lopez film in forty years.

Yep, I'm another Tourist in Love with New York City.

New York City. Craning your neck to catch a glimpse of the Chrysler Building glittering in the sun. Bagels beaded with poppy seeds. The blast of cool air that sends your skirt hem skywards as you head into the subway. Even the peeling paint and rats seem romantic; so perfectly filthily punk rock. There is a dashingly handsome fellow with a flat top haircut, houndstooth coat, chambray shirt, perfectly folded pocket square and a pretty little paper corsage in his buttonhole. The air heavy with the smell of salty meat and garlic wafting off the grills of the kebaab vendors. 

The first time I visited New York, I felt intimidated. I'd heard that New Yorkers were rude and exasperated with tourists. It all felt so huge, I couldn't help but get lost and feel overwhelmed. On my second visit however, I had been in Uganda and Kenya for half a year, and New York felt so utterly and inconceivably American. (Remember the roller rink?) Instead of feeling overwhelming, it immediately felt like a summation of all our ideals as a nation, good and bad. I relaxed and felt at home. And this time, the city felt like an explosion of creative energy, filled with a vibrancy, a zest for life that didn't feel rude or aggressive at all, just joyous. 

What travel really reveals is simply your inner state of mind. If you feel defensive, nervous and shy, all these feelings will be confirmed. If you feel open and enthusiastic, the place you are visiting will rise up to meet you with those same qualities. This is a lesson I am learning over and over; how to cultivate an inner state that allows room for surprise, connection, adventure and freedom. 

 I had fun hopping on the Staten Island Ferry, which is totally free and buzzes right past the Statue of Liberty! I munched on some popcorn and watched the boats, birds and waves. 

Later, I splurged on a Turf Lobster Roll near the Highline from two charming dudes in a vintage airstream. They chatted with me about renovating this trailer, which was gutted and driven to New York from Arizona as an empty hull. They also suggested I check out Jalopy for an evening of folk music. (It was even more charming in person.) 

 I sat there savoring the joys of lobster, mayo and cayenne pepper on a toasty bun, basking in the afternoon light and feeling elated by the idea that everyone's journey is a winding one. There is no hurrying the lessons your life is teaching you.

Later I wandered off the hot dusty street, up the mountain of stairs up to the cool, soaring, marbled elegance of the Metropolitain Museum of Art. I took a winding path past Joan of Arc and through the Italian Renaissance, an elevator rides and then a furtive set of stairs up to the panoramic view of the city from the Met's rooftop bar. It all felt wonderfully secret (rather like in The Mixed up Files of Mrs. Basil E Frankenweiler)  until I saw the massive line for beer and wine. I enjoyed a drink with my friend Gwen. (Can you believe two girls from The Big Island of Hawaii just happened to be in the same city during the same week?)

As the sun went down and they hustled us all back onto the elevators, and out into the cool night air, I had to admit, I'm another tourist who has fallen hard for New York City. 

Eating Through The Big Apple: Kelly and Ping

As I reviewed photos from my time in New York, I realized that almost every photo I took was of a plate. Apparently, my favorite travel activities is eating. So I thought I'd tell the story of my trip through the foods I enjoyed.

One of our first stops was Kelly & Ping for a mid afternoon bowl of pho. It was exactly what I've been missing in my life in Hawaii, combining great food, ambiance and service. The New York City prices felt justified because I got such a complete and delightful dining experience. One vibrant wall was covered with peony printed fabric and Chinese masks, each little table held chopsticks and sriracha, and the back of the room had miniature terra cotta warriors in the windows and a pretty skylight to let in sunshine.

These fresh ginger ales tasted so light and crisp and are made with cane sugar instead of corn syrup. I've since found them commonly available in grocery stores and they are great cocktail mixers. The pho was just right, served with plenty of limes, jalapenos, basil, mint and bean sprouts. We loaded it up with spicy sriracha too and it was the perfect spot for a quiet snack & a little conversation. 

Do you have any favorite places for a little late afternoon snack in your city?

Au Revoir Beautiful Nora.

Photo of Nora Ephron & Woody Allen via University of Nebraska's Frame by Frame

Of course, I didn't know Nora Ephron personally. I knew her through her writing, which made me feel as if I knew her personally. Reading her novels and watching her movies made me feel as if I had been sharing brunch at a New York sidewalk cafe with her, Carrie Fischer and Meg Ryan for the last twenty years. So, when I heard the news of her death, I felt the pang of sadness you feel when a tragedy has befallen someone you were once very close to, but have lost touch with over the years. 

Her wry observations about men, women, relationships, feminism, modern life, aging, divorce, eating and living well hold the same weight in my mind as advice from my mother and best friends. Ms. Ephron was a careful observer of herself and her world, and what she created with those observations rings with the humor that comes from truth. 

Through her writing, I knew Nora as a woman who wrung every drop of pleasure, pain, laughter and humanity from her one wild and precious life. She shared that journey through her words and shaped the way I think about life with her grace, humor and fad-proof style. I owe her a profound debt that I can only repay by living my own life with as much wit and elegance as she lived hers. I'll do my best. Au Revoir Dear Nora. 

Happy Independence Day US of A!

How are you celebrating our beautiful, imperfect and grand experiment of a nation today? We are cooking up a batch of saur kraut and dumplings with Eric's mom and heading out to Lake Minnetonka for a sparkly fireworks show. Paul Simon's American Tune sums up exactly how I feel today; a mix of weariness, gratitude and hope. Enjoy!



American Tune by Paul Simon


Many is the time I've been mistaken, 
And many times confused 
And I've often felt forsaken, 
And certainly misused. 
But it's all right, it's all right, 
I'm just weary to my bones 
Still, you don't expect to be 
Bright and Bon Vivant 
So far away from home, 
So far away from home. 

I don't know a soul who's not been battered 
Don't have a friend who feels at ease 
Don't know a dream that's not been shattered 
Or driven to it's knees. 
But it's all right, all right, 
We've lived so well so long 
Still, when I think of the road we're traveling on, 
I wonder what went wrong, 
I can't help it 
I wonder what went wrong. 

And I dreamed I was flying. 
I dreamed that my soul rose unexpectedly, 
And looking back down on me, 
smiled reassuringly, 
And I dreamed I was dying. 
And far above, my eyes could clearly see 
The Statue of Liberty, 
Drifting away to sea 
And I dreamed I was flying. 

We come on a ship we call the Mayflower, 
We come on a ship that sailed the moon 
We come at the age's most uncertain hour 
And sing an American tune.
But it's all right, it's all right 
You can't be forever blessed 
Still, tomorrow's gonna be another working day 
And I'm trying to get some rest, 
That's all, I'm trying to get some rest.

A Reminder: Perfection is Now.

photo via Smithsonian Natural History Museum

"The world is not imperfect or slowly evolving along a path to perfection. No, it is perfect at every moment, every sin already carries grace in it." -Herman Hesse via The Writer's Almanac


What's that? Eleven days since my last post? I haven't written a thing about my visit to New York City yet? Oh dear, I've been in Minneapolis for exactly a week already, and I haven't written about that either? My belly is rolling out from so much eating out and too many cocktails? I'm having trouble staying in my body, living in this moment? I'm trying to manage other people's lives and energies again? 


Here's the lovely thing, I can forgive myself for all these sins, not just because I'm on vacation, but because I am learning to let go and come back to my center whenever I finally notice that I have wandered away from it. 


I made it to yoga at last this morning. And I felt teary eyed more than once as my body continued to remind me how much I had needed to be kind to it and how much sadness I had been storing up needlessly. It felt so good to just let it go, let it go, let it go. My teacher's words of wisdom echoed out again, "The spirit loves it when you care for your body."


Have you had any reminders to savor this exact moment recently? I'd love to hear about them.