Shitty service, Sean P and BK bike thievery

During my first two weeks in Brooklyn I've been quick to notice several issues that will haunt the duration of my stay in the rotten apple.  Don't get me wrong.  I still love my neighborhood.  And Brooklyn as a whole is alive and breathing with beautiful people, places and shoes that my eyes can effortlessly indulge in for the entirety of an afternoon.  That being said, my Boo and I have yet to receive proper service at a restaurant and perhaps that's just the way it is, unfortunately.  Is it that no one cares?  Simple tasks such as, what we in the service industry have come to label an 'initial call-back,' have been non-existent. You know, the server comes to check on your table about three or so minutes after the food has been dropped?  In addition, keeping waters refilled seems to be an even simpler task that almost every waiter has failed.  Hell, even being asked if we'd like another beer (me) or  vodka rocks (her) when our first was less than half full or empty has only occurred once without us having to flag someone down. And in that instance the establishment is losing money - i.e. the server isn't being a 'seller', which is perhaps the most important aspect of the business.  I slung food for seven years and booze for eight.   Quite frankly, I'm appalled at the way these customary (at least where I'm from) interactions are completely disregarded in New York.  I will admit that we don't dine out very often, as we both enjoy cooking and it's obviously more cost efficient.  We also haven't dined in Manhattan, but we have enjoyed $60-$100 meals in Brooklyn multiple times during these inexcusable situations and I feel we've been either a) shafted by lazy employees, or b) absolutely spoiled by the kind folks back home in the Lonestar State.  

Despite the service, the Italian cuisine and pizza served up at Graziella's on Vanderbilt is hands down the tastiest food we've experienced thus far.  B's personal veggie pizza was "thin crusted and fired well done" from a "unique wood burning brick oven and topped with fresh basil."  Amazing.  The crust was bendy, yet crisp, while the cheese and sauce were the first thing I've experienced in Brooklyn that could touch Stony's.  My lasagna was "layered with nutmeg-infused Bolognese sauce, béchamel, fresh mozzarella, and topped with parmesan" to my extreme pleasure.  It was marvelous and we will return...with our own water, perhaps.

One couldn't ask for a more appropriate introductory to live BK hip hop than the Duck Down showcase last Wednesday at Southpaw.  It was the album release party and the Brooklyn premiere swinging of Random Axe, the formidable trio of  Brownsville barbarian Sean Price, Detroit underground native Guilty Simpson and fellow Motor City producer phenom and emcee Black Milk.  The under bill was a rewarding treat for local heads and hip hop connoisseurs,  as Skyzoo (one of Brooklyn's most underrated emcees) spit-vicious through a hype set of passionate rhymes to a charged hometown crowd in promotion of his new The Great Debater mixtape.  The night then turned into a Duck Down-Boot Camp Clik-family affair, as Black Moon took the stage, and Buckshot, 5ft and DJ Evil Dee (who kept the crowd moving for the entire evening) performed cut after cut from the '93 classic album Enta Da Stage.   They shared the spotlight with  fellow Duck Down brethren Steele of Smif-n-Wessun fame, who was promoting the newly released SnW collabo with God-producer Pete Rock, entitled Monumental.   Then it was Sean P's Heltah Skeltah cohort, Rock, who added to the 90's BK gathering, donning a snide, almost bitter grin, as he spit a verse or two a capella that was boasting of his own  legacy on the m-i-c (the partner-in-rhyme would eventually join Price on stage for an HS reunion at the end of the evening).  Label co-founder and Duck Down CEO 'Dru Ha' Friedman even accompanied the performance, rapping a verse from "U Da Man".  The vibe in the building was nice, as the crowd and everyone involved on stage was feeling the music and the respect that blossomed along side the flashing cameras and videos.  Before Random Axe in its entirety took the stage, Mr. Price, formerly 'Ruck', went on and wrecked his two and half minute banger (one of my favorite joints from all of last year) "Figure Four.''   The "PEEEEEEEs'' being echoed by the crowd (in homage to the baritone moniker "P!'' he so often spews) could have been mistaken for ''boos'' they were so thick!  Guilty Simpson followed with his own solo gem, "Clap Your Hands'', a Dilla-produced track from 2006.  Joined by Black Milk, the trio then ripped through a good portion of their self-titled debut.  It was my first time to hear much of the record and I was thoroughly impressed.  Download it on iTunes for your summer soundtrack (peep footage below).  P's verses alone are worth the trip.  You see, Sean Price has a certain disrespectful aura that innately surrounds his speech and mannerisms; it's almost as if he's talking down to you as he schools you, and in the braggadocio world that is hip hop and emceeing, that holds considerable weight and can be accredited to a man's authenticity.  While I may have just lost some of you or perhaps you don't think you would admire such a voice - hear me out.  Yes, P is arrogant.  Yes Sean Peabody raps about selling and smoking cocaine.  Yes I think Jesus Price has probably done some legitimate dirt.  Yes he is a bully.  Yes he heralds mad respect from his peers.  No I wouldn't want to cross him or disrespect him.  A veteran of the game, Price is the kind of emcee that I naturally revere because of that air, because of that confidence.  And dude can flat out rap.  He's beyond seasoned and been around longer than so many paid cats in the industry.  I'm sure he can still walk through Brownsville whenever he wants.  Last Wednesday was my first time seeing him spit live.  He was the only emcee that evening that didn't seem overly excited or aroused about the occasion.  It wasn't in an 'I'm too cool to get hype' kind of way either.  He is just naturally somewhat private, unenthusiastic and/or extremely fucking cool.   His hand mannerisms are sharp and deliberate.  They firmly bring home every punch-line and joke.  Yes, joke.  He's not all about punking dummies and pistol claps. He's actually laugh-out-loud hilarious when he rhymes, but his stare is cold and penetrating.  He's probably a real nice dude, but maybe not.  I'm about through dick-riding,

Kimbo Price @Southpaw

but the bottom line is that Sean Price is dope.  He's been dope.  "Grown man rap,'' as he so often puts it.  Listen for yourself if you don't share my opinion or feel that I'm blowing smoke.  And I won't lie and tell you that I copped Nocturnal when it dropped back in 1996, but I've done my research and I recognize talent within a mic-controller.  Look no further than Brownsville's bully who is still somewhat of a blue collar, under the radar kind of artist.  Tell the aspiring hip hop kiddies about Sean P!

I'm going to leave you with some disturbing, yet not so surprising facts about NYC.  Hell, I guess I should've been ready for the shitty service as well, but needing to lock your bike seat to its frame?!  My lady and I thought we were prepared for theft, as we scoped the neigborhood and the lock choices before peddling out.  We found that U-locks weren't popular and that everyone used a chain, like that of a Kryptonite or something bigger.  While we were in Austin two weeks ago, I went to Home Depot and purchased a chain large enough to wrap around both of our frames and front tires when we went out together.  However, what we failed to notice was that most everyone has a smaller locking cable or chain that secures the actual bike seat to the frame AND that many people simply detach their seat, along with the

Yo Crooks & Castles!  You can borrow this design :0

connecting  metal rod, from their bikes every time they lock up.  Well, B's seat got jacked while parked near the subway in downtown Brooklyn.  It WAS there all day.  And when she looked at the other bikes parked on the rack surrounding hers, about half had their seats secured with said devices.  So now, we have our seats secured, a large chain for our front wheels and frames, and I even carry my old U-lock to bolt my back
wheel mags to the wheel frame just in case someone goes to eye-balling my 20" beauty and
its clean black shoes.  Three locks, one bike. #welcometoNYC

Welcome to Brooklyn

Tillie’s in Fort Greene is my coffee and Wi-Fi spot for now.  While I’m sure it’s just one of many caffeine serving gems, it’s the place B brought me first and the coffee and grub is fantastic.  I wasn’t starving and on recommendation went with a slice of zucchini quiche.  YUM.  Built upon a delicate, perfectly brittle crust, my medium sized triangle of cheesy, egg-y greatness hit the spot.  The zucchini was still crisp, to boot!  B went with a slice of Brooklyn Blackout Cake.  DUDE!   Moist, rich and thick, she dug through and ate around the chocolate slabs that separated the layers of actual cake which were gone in moments.  I ate the leftover chocolate pieces which reminded me of actual Hershey bars—DIVINE.

We peddled around that afternoon to get a feel for the neighborhood.  Diverse and friendly as expected, the Clinton Hill/Fort Greene area is a proper mix of families, college kids, independent business owners and commuters.  It is extremely bike friendly (zero hills—WOOHOO) and I can’t wait to call ‘next’ at one of the three basketball courts we came across.  While the competition level is most certainly higher than the Eastwoods pickup game back home, they seem to only play 4on4, half-court games, which makes it easier for us speed and handle-challenged folks :)  While making B watch at least twenty-five minutes or so of pickup games, I immediately noticed that EVERYONE can ball up here, which isn’t surprising.  I’m talking short, fat, old, young, black, British, Asian, Puerto Rican.  People were hoopin’ and I can’t wait to bring Texas to the muphuckin court.  _m/

We decided to grab dinner at the Five Spot on Myrtle Avenue (formally coined ‘Murda’ Ave) just two blocks from our apartment.  Advertising ‘SOUL FOOD’ on the side of the building, I was excited.  However, we aren’t in Kansas anymore, Toto, and while the food wasn’t really bad, it definitely wasn’t great (especially for the price).  I had meat loaf which was blackened by design (great flavor, yet a little dry and in need of more sauce) and the collard greens, which were downright bland.  When I asked for hot sauce, I was brought a plastic ramekin of what I guess was Tabasco (I guess theses brothers are worried about customers stealing the bottle? I though it odd, but then again maybe it’s like that everywhere up here).  I then learned that Long Island fries are what we southerners call ‘steak cut’ fries.   My beautiful cohort had thinly fried New Orleans’s catfish strips (ummmm, not really).  They were mostly breading and very fishy--she couldn’t bear them.  I cleaned them up with ketchup because I refuse to waste food.  The absolute best item was the cornbread.  DAYUUUUM!  It was of the sweet variety (my favorite) and thicker than the slice of cake from earlier.  It was chewy, yet not doughy in the middle and maintained its fluffy consistency through the morning, when I had it for breakfast with a glass of milk.  There was a ‘DJ’ at the Five Spot, but hell, he was beyond terrible.  He sat down in front of a laptop and used the space bar to attempt to blend mega-mixes of pop dancehall and reggae-ton tracks.  I didn’t appreciate one single mix or song, and yes, I’m difficult to please.  I did return the next day for happy hour though.  The folks there are friendly and a $3 pint of Brooklyn Ale (my new Fireman’s 4) is hard to pass up.

We enjoyed an early evening of nothing in our apartment.  We found that we need curtains if we’re ever to sleep past 7 am.  We’re on the fifth floor and the sun came-a-shining bright!  It felt wonderful though, to be in a new place with new opportunity, starting a new life  J

The next day started off shitty, as the first bike repair shop we took my 20” to (the brakes were somehow damaged in the move) tried to hustle us.  We were still without tools at that point and I knew it was an easy fix.  However, this dude looked at me and then the bike and then started saying I needed new brake pads and that maybe the wheel wasn’t aligned.  I was shocked.  I looked at B and we both knew we were being lubed-up.  He then said, “Well, if you’ll give the clerk your name and information, I’ll take a look at it when I can…”  yeah fucking right.  We bounced and were pissed.  I was having to maneuver the bike on its front wheel only around the city.  The next spot was completely different.  We walked in and I let B do the talking this time (maybe I just look like a dumbass) and this Italian fellow stopped working on the bike he was tending to.  He grabbed a wrench, loosened the pad, shifted the cable and said “that should do it.”  We gave him $5 dollars (that he didn’t ask for) and I was so joyous.  That was the kind of service we’d become accustomed to at East Side Pedal Pushers back home!  And now we BOTH had wheels again!

We rode all over the city again that afternoon.  Watched a few more basketball games and grabbed our first slice of pie.  It was only $2.50 and gigantic!  I forget the name of the place.  Better than ninety percent of the shit from back home, but still no Stony’s!  The absolute best pie back home HANDS DOWN!

So, almost every person you see in BK has admirable fashion sense.  I haven’t even been to Williamsburg yet (the oh-so-hip, or so I’ve heard).  I have seen some crazy kicks that seem super custom.  You see a pair of Jordan’s nearly every two minutes.  I’ve seen the II’s, III’s, IV’s,  VIII’s and  XII’s just around our neighborhood alone.  I’m so jealous.  I have a decent collection of shoes, but have decided to quit collecting (at around forty pair) unless they’re Jordan’s.  I formally decided to do so before moving up here, and upon arriving, have been even more motivated to capture my favorite J’s.

We decided to go to Woodwork, a sports bar in Prospect Heights, to watch game three of the NBA Finals.  There weren’t many people there to see the game, which I guess isn’t surprising seeing how Lebron James DID NOT go to the Knicks or Nets, yet to South Beach.  My Mavs had a chance to win and missed.  The series is 2-1 now, with the Mavericks hanging by Dirk’s shoestring and in need of some other laces to help tighten up a winning pair.  Woodwork, like many places in the area is ‘cash-only’.  We assume that businesses don’t want to pay the credit card fees, so they don’t.  The dimly lit bar had three forty-two inch screens, only one of which displayed the basketball game.  I was craving a bloody mary and was excited when it arrived in tall pint glass with tiny sweet pickles and olives poking out of the top.  However, once again, Toto  was me.  It tasted carbonated and had entirely too much sour kraut (is that even legal?) The pieces were getting stuck in my teeth with every sip.  I first thought I had hair in my mouth.  Seriously!  AND once again, I wasn’t going to waste a drop at $8, so I patiently sipped and waited and hoped that someone else would order one so that I could eyeball the bartender.   Finally, I hear someone boasting about how tasty the bloody mary’s were there.  I watched the bartender (back turned) prepare the cocktail.  And then came across the most peculiar sight.  She topped off her concoction with a sizeable pull of Guinness draft!!!!  I’m still a little concerned as to who the hell thought this would be a flavorful addition to all that is supposed to be spicy and ripe with veggie flavor.  Anyhow, that’s how they do it at Woodwork.  I wasn’t mad.  Maybe some people think it sounds tasty, but I couldn’t enjoy it.  I instead was happy to find that Tecate was only $3!  B was starving and decided to order a veggie sandwich.  Eat your heart out Bouldin Creek Café!  This scrumptious, soon-to-be staple began on a perfectly toasted French baguette and was generously stuffed with slightly grilled squash, red peppers, onions and zucchini, smeared in garlic humus and topped with tapenade, a creamy, palatable blend of olives, capers and anchovies.  It was easily the best food we had tasted in the first two days.  We are going back to the bar for Game 4 partly because of the sandwich!  I was now hungry, after only tasting the sandwich and depending on the bloody mary to fill me up (barf).  When I told B that I wanted to eat the half Cuban sandwich the guy next to me was about to throw away, she replied with “BABE!!! Nobody here knows you that well yet.  When we find OUR ‘spot’ you can pull that shit!’’  I really love that woman!  J

We instead devoured the Chocolate Bourbon Pecan Bread Pudding that was garnished with apple spears and drizzled with Nutella.  It was warm and splendid!  #nextlevelbarfood

Other first day observations: 

-The $2.20, half pound package of fresh fruit I purchased at the grocery store.  There was literally kiwi, raspberries, strawberries, blackberries, cantaloupe, oranges, blood oranges, grapes and apples packaged in Styrofoam and wrapped up with a plastic fork!  And for just over two bucks!  There is nothing of the sort that cheap and healthy back home! I didn’t even finish it all in one sit-in at breakfast the next morning! 

-I am finally in the presence of ALL my records and pair of Technics again.  I am so happy to have access to my vinyl and the ability to mix whenever I want.  Be on the lookout for smiznO to make an eventual BK appearance.  I also need to start a band, find a job (I may say fuck it and be a bike messenger) and continue networking.  I know so many people up here and have only contacted one of them.

THANKS for reading.  I’m O-U-T.