Category Archives: gratitude

REI at the Puck

The REI, a competitor to the out door firm Patagonia, is closing a very large store in Soho. REI will no longer be represented in NYC. The store is located in the Puck, a building dating to the mid-to-late 1800s. This does not qualify as end of an era stuff, but it did offer a jog to my memory. The jog, not unexpectedly, ran a path straight to how Burt and I met.

The Puck is where I backdate my life with Burt.
Near the Puck in Soho [left]; the Becks in a park near our home in July 2003 and the Becks in our early years in mid 1990s.

Old Hungary

We are scheduled to meet at 85th and Second. I am early and in need of coffee. The shop next to Budapest where we ultimately go because of its Hungarian bona fides [I wonder which of us needed a connection to our Hungarian roots]; Caroline’s, next door to Budapest has doughnut bona fides, which I don’t try, and very excellent coffee. I sit there to wait. M appears all bustle and hustle but like a calming wind, always gentle.

We take ourselves, my coffee in hand, to sit amidst the beautiful strudel and pastry. We talk. We go to the counter, I ostensibly in search of savory. Spinach strudel feels like a choice from a Greek menu; I am an internationalist. We order a slice of cherry strudel obliquely in honor of my mother. We vow to share but I know I had the lion’s share.

It was a genuinely and deeply lovely lunch, healing, its rhythm that of time spent with a soul mate.

Let’s grab a cup

787 is a stone’s throw from a Starbucks under renovation.

Peek or peer hard to the end of the block. I felt very lucky at this happenstance.

Folks at most Starbucks that I have visited have been very nice.

The 80th and Second Ave is no exception; recently, when I dramatically took a spill upon entrance, they were especially nice. Their coffee is another matter, although I have found the flat whites to be quite good.

That said, I know I admire 787’s variety of caffeine. Today, I also got some super royal treatment with my drink and blueberry bread.

The barista escorted me up the stairs, carrying my coffee. Offered similar assistance down into their cool work space. When I opted for staying outdoors, but for the wet, he ran in for a towel.

So here I sit, enjoying sidewalk café seating. My cup runneth over if I may coin or purloin a phrase.

To the airport again?

There’s that sporty pup-pilot

You might gather I favor the French cafe. I intend no favoritism.

Tozzo is Italian, of course, and I recently showed my preference for the Spanish aka Latino coffees from 787 and Cositas. L’Avion has a nod to that lovely deep coffee by offering a Spanish cold brew.

My steps just naturally lead me to the little  off-the-path shops like this one.

L’Avion takes its theme seriously with a portrait of Amelia Earhart in the cockpit er toilet and that departure board listing temperatures at destination. In Celsius and F. Cute.