vip in the city

Over the East River

Queens to Manhattan:

Manhattan to Brooklyn…

It was the night of MC’s 30th birthday festivities, so I headed into Williamsburg for the second time in a month. The original plan was to meet SYB at the L transfer point for pre-party cubanos and batidas. Sucelt Coffee Shop, the hole-in-the-wall at 14th Street and Seventh Avenue, is revered for some of “The Best Winter Food in New York,” but this was summer (or close enough) and by the time we emerged from the subway station, the shop was closed. We couldn’t think of a fast and decent alternative nearby, so instead pressed onward into Brooklyn, hoping to grab something to eat there before the main event.

After trudging several fruitless blocks along Bedford, we ended up at Vinnie’s Pizza di Teggino, which we learned later that night was under new ownership, with some new menu items added to cater to the neighborhood clientele.

I wasn’t too hungry, so SYB ordered a couple of specialty slices for himself and an Italian ice for me, reminding me that ’tis the season for the Lemon Ice King of Corona. (Soon, soon.)

He was about halfway through his second slice when I noticed one of the young owners cautiously approaching our table. “Hey, guys…? Uh, I don’t know if anyone told you… and if they didn’t, they really should have…”

We had no idea where this revelation was going, but it was not a comforting start. Fearing the worst, we put down our food.

“…but uh… well, that’s vegan  pizza you’re eating.”

Oh. (…and whew!) Strangely, the guy seemed to be anticipating some kind of freak-out reaction to the news — maybe a dramatic spit take, a throwing back of chairs and wild shouts of “Soy?! We can’t eat no %$#@ soy!” — but we assured him that all was well. Certainly the reverse situation could be upsetting (i.e., serving sausage pizza to a vegan), but although we love it, meat isn’t actually required eating at our every meal, so we weren’t all that upset. Or rather: at all. I was more surprised that SYB hadn’t clued in to the faux-cheese/faux-meat before that point, so it must have been pretty good pizza, even without all the artery-clogging animal products.

On to the Soft Spot and its pretty back garden, where I kicked back with a (Coors) Blue Moon, sans orange wedge this time, compliments of the birthday girl. There were mylar balloons and pastel-iced cupcakes, and later still, some “Fake Plastic Trees.” The halfie photo book I brought in for JL turned out to be a successful conversation piece in this target-rich environment, though I ended up cutting out of the festivities before I could deliver it to her in person… just in time to catch the L back to Manhattan.