It’s great fun to watch things fall away. More than fun, it’s inspiring. On Wednesday, New York took several major steps towards reopening: the city dropped its mask requirement for the vaccinated; the subway resumed 24-hour service; capacity restrictions were lifted. New York inhaled as the city — this nation’s first and deepest coronavirus wound — moved towards an openness that could make New York’s summer unrivaled by that of any city on the continent, maybe the world.
New York has bounced back before, marvelously, from other allegedly existential wounds — the economic (“Ford to City: Drop Dead”) decline in the 70s; the ravages of 9/11 and Hurricane Sandy — but this rebound coincides with a time when the city’s blockages are being felled. The long-loathed Laguardia is seeing the benefits of its $8 billion renovation, with room to move in a shiny new terminal; there’s an alternative to the imprisonment that is Penn Station, with the airy Moynihan Hall opening across 8th Avenue in the old Beaux-Arts post office; the city itself refuses to stop at the water’s edge, as Barry Diller’s Little Island, a walking park complete with amphitheater, emerges on toadstool-like platforms from the Hudson. At the same time, there’s a mayor’s race to replace the catastrophically inert Bill de Blasio; the cuffs on cannabis have been removed, though you’ll need to find a “guy”; Citi Bike docks are ubiquitous, now with E-bikes to carry the citizenry over the boroughs’ hidden hills; parks and public spaces heave with people; bars simmer on to sidewalks along with countless pent-up sidelong glances. There has never been a time quite like this to experience New York City, and it’s beckoning all of us.
DRINK
The most essential border that’s been broken sat between establishments and the city. To help restaurants and bars during the pandemic, they were granted access to the sidewalks and streets, a privilege previously extended to very few. The result is typically New York: a contained chaos of utterly unique outdoor experiences. In a matter of steps you can go from the most perfectly appointed patio, containing vegetation and matching furniture, to a random explosion of chairs on a street closed-off to cars. Some spots went with hastily built wooden nooks, others with seeming fortresses, which barely a month ago contained heating lamps and now protect you from the sun’s midday glare. There is no consistency. There are rules, but no one is quite sure what they’re doing. It’s like watching new lovers collide, and as New York’s establishments spill outside, the city has a new lease on lush.
One of the most fascinating places to sit back and sin is the recently christened Dimes Square, a patch of Chinatown-adjacent earth adjacent to Rutgers and Canal Streets, named for Dimes, the healthy-ish mecca for the downtown beautiful and well-funded (if not trust-funded). Here we find Clandestino, Forgetmenot and Kiki’s — all fantastic places to drink to the sound of the youth (and former youth) high on their charming yucks and trucks. One could easily spend an entire afternoon there (Clandestino even permits pizza to be brought in from the excellent Scarr’s, which is packed with nearly as much attitude as the employees in this perfect simulacrum of a ‘70s Brooklyn slice joint).
While you’re in that ‘hood, no better meal can be had than at Cervo’s, which, after a winter as a grocery shop, is flourishing outside of its normally narrow confines with full-service al fresco seating on this closed-off section of Canal. “We’re really excited to bring back our hits,” says Cervo’s co-founder Nialls Fallon. “Some Louisiana prawns cooked a la plancha; our fried shrimp heads; piri piri chicken with French fries…” Ahem: And what about the martini? “It’s as good as ever,” he says.
While we’re on the subject of martinis, the city’s ultimate indoor version can be found at the recently reopened (thank God) Bemelmans Bar, while downtown has the extremely picturesque Bar Pisellino, where the spritzes pair perfectly with little prosciutto-laden bites and they offer such only-in-Italy surprises as sgroppino, a slushy, Venetian-style cocktail made from lemon granita, vodka and prosecco, whisked together in a copper bowl. It’s enough to make Bemelmans-goers consider the steep descent to Grove Street.
DINE
New Yorkers can’t live on liquids alone. While the restaurant industry underwent a brutal contraction last year, there was a (tiny) bright spot, as a kaleidoscopic dreamscape of smaller ethnic and labor-of-love restaurants opened, taking advantage of empty spaces and big dreams. And so we can go from the food of Georgia (Cafedelia) to tacos from a Jean-Georges alum (Nene’s Deli Taqueria), highly praised fast-casual Chinese fare from a woman who left Eleven Madison Park at Milu to expert Indian bites from the Adda crew Dhamaka (real Indian) and the unmatched Thai food of Thai Diner, opened by the couple behind the much-missed Uncle Boons. There are also some pre-pandemic standards that are back with a bang.
We’ve mastered the art of getting a table at Rita Sodi’s and Jody Williams’ Via Carota. There’s no trick: go early — like, really early — on a weekday afternoon and have lunch/dinner at 4 p.m. For Italian alternatives in Brooklyn, look to the perfect pasta at Missy Robbins’ Misi, the explosively fun, never-miss menu at Roman’s and the laid-back Rucola.
