Before we begin, I’m trying out a new name for this newsletter and a few new fonts. How do we like them? I’m not convinced, but Substack is so limited and I’ve stressed about this all day.
I also was going to change my picture to something other than the little sketch that Wes Robinson did a few years back. But I had an artist draw me this week in Brooklyn and it absolutely shattered my confidence. That certain je ne sais quoi of me pouting in a mirror and trying failing to look masculine just doesn’t translate to pen and paper, I guess.
In any case, as the title of this newsletter says, I was in Brooklyn for a few days for work. There was a trade show and I was plucked out of the comfort of my little farm and thrown into a weekend of nearly 10,000 attendees. Usually these types of shows don’t bother me — it’s part of the job and one of the few times I get to see my colleagues — but this time was a bit harder for me to get into, mentally speaking. I was happy for the day I could spend in Williamsburg, which is the only bit worth talking about here.
For those who saw my last email about my segment with Times Radio (I’ll shut up about it soon, I promise), I’m sure you were thinking, “What five-star hotel was Brett staying at when he filmed that?” Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it was the Moxy in Williamsburg. Nice enough, but tiny. So much so, I tripped on my luggage, Dick Van Dyke-style, on three separate occasions. But the shower was nice, the lobby had jars of free candy where I could put my greedy little paws in and steal a handful of Starbursts while avoiding eye contact with the front desk, and the bar had a cozy, sleepy vibe to it. Plus, it was expensed for work, so I really shouldn’t complain too much.
But because I was so tired from my trade show and nodding along to people’s stories I was only half-listening to, I kept my itinerary open and within a 15-minute walking radius from the hotel. I know many of you will say I wasted my time, that I should have done XYZ and why I didn’t stop by this cafe or that store. And to that I say: you’re right. I’m an awful person and you are smarter than me. Pay for me to come back to Brooklyn and for all of my meals so I can atone for my sins.
In any case, here are the things I was able to pack into a day in Williamsburg, ending the night in Clinton Hill for the Place des Fêtes x Fish Cheeks pop-up and a drunken two-mile walk back to my hotel to stupidly burn off a few calories in a pair of Sabahs I hadn’t broken in yet. I’m on a ~fitness journey~, if you didn’t already know.
After writing an article in bed in the morning and spilling a bit of coffee on one of my favourite shirts (boohoo), I went to Artists & Fleas, where I walked around avoiding eye contact with vendors so I wouldn’t do that old song and dance of touching stuff and going, “Oh..really?” and promising to be back and buy something. But, dear Reader, I did buy something from Dress Shoppe, a stall that had a ton of Indian clothing. With plans to go to Bangalore next Spring for one of my employee’s wedding, I wanted to see how good I’d look in a kurta (not bad, I have to say). In any case, I bought a two-piece cotton set that I’m packing for Oslo. I thought it was a bit chic. I will avoid drinking coffee in it, though.
Afterwards, I really did just wander around aimlessly. There was a marathon happening and it was brunch time, so I tried to avoid crowds when I could. This is how I ended up having a cup of coffee at a café inside of a Santander Bank. I also stopped at LEIF, where they had cute (but overpriced) homewares; Vintage Clothes Near Me, where they had cute (but overpriced) Harley-Davidson t-shirts; and Ebreo Vintage, where they had cute (but overpriced) Italian shirts, which was kind of their shtick, I think.
Surprisingly, my bagel from Santander Bank wasn’t satisfying, so I made my way back in a loop towards my hotel early so that I could stop by Sushi Counter (which I also had the night before). I enjoyed three rolls down by the water at Domino Park, sipping on a Coke Zero and reading one of Rohmer’s stories. I hope someone didn’t mistake me for a performative male.
After a two-hour nap at the hotel, I took an Uber down to Place des Fêtes for their pop-up with Fish Cheeks. I had been invited to attend as press, so was able to sample a bit of everything on the menu, which had a few Thai-inspired items alongside Place des Fêtes’ standard fare. It was the best meal I’ve had in a while. I was too embarrassed to ask for a second order of the mussels, but could have had at least three more skewers of them, and I was tempted to lift the plate of Romano beans up to my face to enjoy every last drop. It was exactly the kind of cookery I enjoy most: flavorful but not chef-y, which I find extremely off-putting, personally.
To enhance the experience, I worked with my waiter, Owen, on a wine pairing to bring out the best qualities of the dish’s flavors. As I’m not a big drinker, I could feel my eyes roaming around the room like an iguana’s, lazily rolling asynchronously from one another. This, of course, explained why I had the bright idea of walking two miles back to the hotel.
After asking to see the chef, Dustin Everett, to give my thanks, I made one last pitstop to the bathroom to take an unflattering photo of myself in their mirror and was out the door (I felt it was too rude to ask for a doggy bag full of prawns, though I did regret that decision when I wanted a midnight snack a few hours later).
And by 10 am the next morning I was at Moynihan Hall to board my train, stopping at my favourite (using this term loosely) sandwich place in town, Vesuvio Bakery, where I got a baguette loaded with ham, cheese, cornichons, and butter. I was home by 9 pm, in bed by an hour later, and will do it all over again this weekend when I head to Washington, D.C. for another trade show. Poor me.
Until then, have a good rest of your week. You may just hear from me if I get the time. But if not, try not to miss me too much (I know you won’t).
Cheers
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