Only on Sundays

I used to live by a congested and warped intersection in east Oakland. Fruitvale’s offshoot neighborhood, Jingletown, more precisely. This area reluctantly held hands with downtown Alameda (an island), only pulling apart whenever the Park Street Bridge was drawn.

Every Sunday morning like clockwork, this glorified, 4-way freeway onramp would get even spicier. Mariachi, cumbia, and other Mexican music ebbed in and out from car windows as they honked and inched into the mid-sized parking lot of El Potrillo Birrieria—a restaurant known for real goat birria, and is only available on weekends.

The owner told me once that the recipe is his great grand-dad’s, a secret now in his hands and his heart, passed down for over a century. Many of the restaurant’s reviews go something like, “You can’t get any better unless you fly to Guadalajara.”

It goes without saying

What I appreciate about this culinary treasure is that it’s genuinely welcoming of all, neighborly. And without spelling out, one must also note the social and cultural nuances of it being a place inherently protected and evermore valued by those who share its Mexican roots. Much like a “locals only” sign or a neighborhood dive bar, come correct or come with a co-signer. Come on a Sunday otherwise no birria for you. If you do partake, you might become privy to what makes this dish top-rated here, but also how the context of why, when, where, and who matters in making this place feel like it’s got what hip hop termed “the sauce.”

So why am I talking about traditional Jalisco goat stew in Oakland when this post is about crochet granny beanies?

Open for interpretation

As you know the sauce is not a recipe, it’s a culmination of many factors. It’s mom’s and grandma’s ‘pinch of this’ and non-exactness in cooking. It’s why you shouldn’t compare Mariah and Ariana. It’s why some athletes are more electric to watch even though they’re all the best on earth. It’s what persists and perseveres in our lifeline long before we came into the picture. It’s the stuff machine learning will never get.

My mind can work in silly, tangental ways but I’ve also been thinking about collaborative culture, the platform era, and “free culture” as it pertains to the 2010s onwards with the rise of digital platforms, and the effects of communicating and digitizing nearly everything to access, remix, reboot, memeify, re-contextualize, copy, paste, study, etc etc…

I’m not an intellectual or expert in this area by a long stretch, but I think about how even in that context, something or someone could still be anointed as having the proverbial sauce. How only others participating or witnessing closely might be able to spot distinction based on the cumulative spirit of style, stroke, spice, ingredient, timing, deviation, application, and who nows what else.

Case in point, the patchwork crochet pattern. It likely has centuries old cross-cultural folk and Indigenous roots. Not even grandmas, hippies, or hacky sacks can claim it - though they’ve all contributed to it. From the 2010s to now crochet clothing resurged in DIY circles, high fashion and street alike—from runways to street vendors and online craft marketplaces.

Then there’s the color rich crochet patchwork beanies by L’REESE, an indie label by Philly-based artist Keke Norment. Someone who at the time of our meeting was making them primarily for friends and via Instagram DMs.

There’s definitely some kind of “secret sauce” that makes L’REESE identifiable within the artsy, crochet meets street style scene. I’d like to think that our store in Oakland has also generated its own close affiliation to the label, as her first retail partnership.

Over 3.5 years Keke’s made 60 unique iterations of the beanies for our store and I can say for certain, no pattern has been repeated twice and I’ve not come across much like it elsewhere. Without question, the personal and intersectional experiences Keke has had, and her years creating each hat with her hands while living her life, gives it its own un-dupe-able sauce.

Un-dupe-able 12

For this spring we received a new batch of 12 beanies from L’REESE. This is typically around their current capacity of production for each order, a combination of effort, exclusiveness, and protecting tendons I’m sure.

I’m usually not prescriptive about design. At most we pass around reference images or color stories. Keke made a Pinterest board for this recent batch. I may convey feedback about the slouch, the way the label is affixed, and so forth. Each batch builds on trust and is a surprise for me up until the box of beanies arrive from Philly. And without fail, even with adjustments, it continues to be undoubtedly L’REESE and is beloved by a mix of people with varying styles, tastes, and head circumference.

Meet on Sundays

In the spirit of El Potrillo Birrieria and of pride, preservation, and joy, we chose to do something a little different with the release and availability of this batch to customers. We’ve made it exclusively available in-person, in-store, and only on Sundays.

That’s twelve individual and personal moments that will be associated with them. Some intentional, some by chance if they happen to stop in on a Sunday. Twelve bowls of birria, each garnished differently.

We hope it’ll be a distinct experience to have—the arc of narrowing down the selection, color examination, wardrobe and style analysis, and fit test from all angles. This process of bond and attachment we hope reinforces its soul and significance.

Til they’re gone, see you on Sunday.