Edible Explorer: 48 Hours in Brooklyn
There’s the Los Angeleno and the New Yorker, be it Brooklyn or Manhattan or Silverlake or Malibu. And there’s the people who belong a little bit to both places too, like me, born in New York, yet living in Los Angeles so long that I full-on call it home. And yet, every time I go to New York, something inside me still says: my town. Last month I got to experience New York as a tourist at Williamsburg’s The William Vale Hotel. It’s an impressive building, especially as so much of the real estate in Brooklyn is relatively low. White stone and rising up on a base that almost looks laced, it’s hip and bustling, and all about the view.
There’s the Los Angeleno and the New Yorker, be it Brooklyn or Manhattan or Silverlake or Malibu. And there’s the people who belong a little bit to both places too, like me, born in New York, yet living in Los Angeles so long that I full-on call it home. And yet, every time I go to New York, something inside me still says: my town.
Last month I got to experience New York as a tourist at Williamsburg’s The William Vale Hotel. It’s an impressive building, especially as so much of the real estate in Brooklyn is zoned low. White and rising up on a base of triangular columns, the hotel is not only beautiful, but hip, bustling and all about the view.
In my corner suite on the 21st floor, the sky was a pale pink in the morning, and one afternoon, the river was slate gray and the clouds were low-hanging and bruised. In my two rooms, I became aware of the river traffic in a way I hadn’t been before. The sunken tub especially was irresistible—too high to worry about privacy—and the city was laid out before me, glittering at night, and toy-like by day.
In addition to its architecture and minimally luxe rooms, The William Vale has art sprinkled around the hotel and in the lobby chosen by Saatchi Art’s Senior Curator, Aurora Garrison. In celebration of Black History Month, Garrison was presenting works by 15 Black American assemblage and collage artists when I was there. The collection included artists like Lisa Whittington, Karen Powell, and Lisa Hung, who were inspired by a Black women’s quilt collective in Alabama. It was both arresting and intriguing how these artists, working during the Black Arts Movement of the 60s and 70s, recycled cast-off materials and remade them into art.
The William Vale also makes a point to reflect the neighborhood in its more colorful aspects. Valentine Amartey, a costume and knitwear designer, offers The Art of Shibari workshop in association with SHAG, which is basically the fine art of tying your partner up. Shibari originated from a martial art of restraining in Samurai times before it evolved into an erotic practice. Apparently it’s all about the sensual contrasts of skin and rope, as well as the interplay of strength and vulnerability. Skilled practitioners can use the knots to stimulate pressure points, producing arousal and pleasure as well as the dynamics of a power exchange. I have to say, I was intrigued and disappointed that I couldn’t attend.
I did however visit the hotel’s fairly epic Winter Village on the roof. Winter chalets clustered around an actual skating rink, and there were even saunas and a cold plunge. I watched the skate action while eating fondue and drinking a Negroni. The Westlight restaurant was right below for more bites and desserts like tres leches cake, a fun cocktail haven high above the action of Williamsburg below.
It was cold the next day as I walked the neighborhood’s chilly streets with their block-long murals and funky coffee shops. The trees were leafless in McCarren Park (in a month they’ll probably burst into boom) and the cafes around the perimeter were packed. Missy Robbins’ Lilia is right across the park (good luck getting in, but it's supposed to be great) with Missy’s other restaurant, Misi, walking distance in the other direction. Chicee’s (great vintage clothes) was really close by, as was Bakeri for a great cappuccino. Domino Park is also not far away—way too cold when I went, but won’t be in a few weeks—and there’s always McNally Jackson for that indie bookstore fix that’s becoming all too uncommon these days.
One night I headed with friends to Greenpoint’s Historic District and settled into Fulgurances Laundromat for a delicious meal. Fulgurances is an Parisian transplant in a renovated laundromat and a bit of an experiment on the part of owners Hugo Hivernat, Sophie Cornibert and Rebecca Asthater. The place rotates chefs in three month residencies, specifically “sous,” the unsung chefs who keep a restaurant running yet rarely get the glory. When I went, Chef Colby Rasavong was working his magic. Born in Alabama to Laotian parents, he worked with Chef Sean Brock in Nashville, and his food was a brilliant mash up of heritage and influence.
Back at the hotel the next day, I found myself wanting a Manhattan fix as well. Luckily, the East River Ferry landing was only eight minutes’ walk. If you time it right—I did—you can skip the train and cruise the blue-grey water in the heated cabin all the way to East 34th.
