Happy spring equinox, kind readers. As this little newsletter takes shape, I’m introducing a new feature—Monthly Delights—a space to gather the seasonal moments that tickle my senses.
March in NYC is always a test of patience, and this year proved no different. My “wintroversion” gives way to cabin fever, the longing for sun-drenched mornings sharpened by daylight savings. But the little teases of spring, however fleeting, are a glorious respite. Ever adaptable, New Yorkers flock to sidewalk cafés at the first hint of warmth, trading down coats for trenches and boots for sandals. The great shedding of layers never fails to lift my spirits.
This slow unfurl brings Bill Cunningham to mind. He would be delighted to see coats off once more, capturing the shift with his signature enthusiasm. “It’s just marvelous!”
See
The highly anticipated emergence of the crocus & snowdrops. At first sight, hope springs eternal. I am partial to snowdrops; their delicate, sleepy heads look like they’ve just risen from a long nap. Not unrelated, I adore these hinged door pulls by Petra Hardware.
Smell
The yeasty aroma that beckons me each time I walk past Paulie Gee’s Slice Shop. The willpower to resist a Hellboy squared is as sticky as the hot honey drizzled on top.
Listen
I have been listening to the nostalgic playlist I made after I lost my dad on repeat for a month. Today, after listening to his interview on How Long Gone, I broke the spell to remind myself of Perfume Genius. The waves of raw emotional expression really hits in this tender time I am in.
Taste
Escargot and martinis at The Snail. The hype in Brooklyn for The Snail is a curious phenomenon but not wholly undeserving. It’s true that to be one of the lucky few to enjoy an ‘octopus gilda’ atop a gin martini on a Saturday, I had to wait in a line half an hour before the restaurant opened only to put my name on a list and wait an additional 2 hours before my table would be ready. Ordinarily, this is against my seasoned New Yorker beliefs. There are few things worth waiting in line for; this is New York, and plenty of fantastic martinis can be found elsewhere. But I had a mean hankering for escargot and needed a good pick-me-up. Perhaps it was the fact that it was my first escargot in years, but it was divine. The presentation with decorative tongs, cocktail forks, and pretty little shells spilling chopped garlic and parsley butter transcend the experience from a little snack to an incredibly posh luxury. The rest of the meal felt similarly chic. The steak frites au Poivre was perfection, the Tuxedo martini was perfectly balanced, and the brussel sprouts were a fantastic mess of umami. We overheard a passionate reaction to the sticky toffee pudding from a nearby table. It was a very unorthodox choice for us, but we held no regrets. Taking names for whomever might like to make this for my next birthday cake.
Touch
The fuzzy catkins of the pussy willow. The silky plush paws are budding from my mom’s willow tree in Pennsylvania. Over the weekend, we cut some fresh branches for me to take home to Brooklyn—a simple and unfussy arrangement. I am blissful we are entering the season of blooming branches!
Let us all marvel at the great unfurl into spring. What are you looking forward to?
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