Get yourself an old god and a good meal.
Old Gods of Appalachia and mezcal cocktails in Brooklyn, white men's rage and white women's fear, a werewolf gospel playlist, and few of our home-base restaurants on Long Island.
Happy Friday,
Thank you to everyone for your love on my pole dancing post and Instagram reel last week. Putting videos of oneself dancing(?) on the internet is a brave idiot’s move, but y’all made me feel like I’d accomplished something major. Of course, the next thing I did was attend a pole class in which we were asked to lift our whole bodies off the floor with just our arms, then wrap our cores sideways around a quickly spinning pole so…I’ll work on that.
Wishing you the courage to try things you can only improve at slowly,
Claire
Joy: A quick trip to Brooklyn for mezcal cocktails and Old Gods of Appalachia
Alex and I started the week off tired, but it was worth it to take the train into Brooklyn on Sunday evening to see a live performance of Old Gods of Appalachia (which I have gushed about before) and enjoy excellent cocktails and dinner at Claro. If I have to stay out late in order to drink mezcal, eat my weight in mole chocolate cake, and listen to Goths with country accents read stories about magic and monsters, I will sleep when I’m dead.
Rage: A story about white fear and rage
I’ve been thinking about how many racist crimes have happened because a white woman lied. The woman who falsely accused Emmett Till of whistling at her, causing his brutal murder, died just a few weeks ago. My book club read Jesmyn Ward’s Sing, Unburied, Sing, which details fictional (but true to reality) lynchings in Mississippi, at least one of which happened at the behest of a white woman who simply passed a Black couple on the street.
Last week, walking Julep down my street on Long Island, a Black man rode by me on his bicycle. He said something, but I didn’t hear what it was and he wasn’t looking back at me as he rode away. When I turned to keep walking, a white man had gotten out of his car.
“Did he say something to you?” the man asked me, eyes narrowed in the direction of the Black man, who was far, far down the street.
“No,” I said. “Not at all.”
The man then said that he “knew there had been car break-ins on this street,” as if that had anything to do with the man on the bicycle.
As I made my awkward goodbyes and kept walking, Julep padding along happily at my feet on our perfectly safe, pristine avenue on a beautiful spring day, I couldn’t help but think about the glint in the man’s eye when he approached me. How ready he seemed to pin a series of alleged break-ins on the singular Black man on the street who had maybe said something to a white woman in passing. How he might have called the police or chased the bicycle man down himself if I had said anything other than no.
I wondered if I was crazy to jump to such conclusions or if I’d made more of the moment than I should, but I don’t think so. I think I should have yelled at the man, told him that his soul was unwell, made a scene in front of all the surrounding houses about how unsafe I felt with him. But I didn’t because I was scared of how this white man would react to being confronted. I wish my rage had overcome my fear.
Obsession: A sinner’s gospel playlist
Start your weekend off on a holy foot with my Obsession playlist of old country gospel-sounding songs about shooting your lover’s lovers, doing drugs, seducing weary travelers into watery graves, and turning into a werewolf. (Also a little Johnny Cash, just to get your soul right.)
Hunger: I love our home base restaurants
Vietnamese coffee service at Súp Vietnamese.
E. Alex Jung published a Grub Street piece this week on the necessity and utility of a home-base restaurant. I had to skim most of it because I’m not that well-versed in NYC drinking/dining (from recent memory I can recommend Cadence, Belle Reve, Lovers of Today, and a small taco food truck somewhere in the vicinity of the Woodside LIRR station) but I relate to the peace that comes from knowing a restaurant will always seat you and treat you well and serve you delicious food without a fuss.
For my local Long Island readers, here are three restaurants that we frequent (all of which have more than one location, probably close to you):
Tap Room - Our go-to, casual AF local sports bar chain with good drinks and solid, slightly elevated bar offerings like hefty mozzarella sticks with micro greens and nachos piled with real cheese, grilled chicken, and red cabbage slaw. They’re also one of the few places on Main Street Patchogue that has a patio, which feeds our Austin nostalgia.
Súp Vietnamese - Sup is a beautiful restaurant where you steep your own Vietnamese coffee in a beautiful, but it never feels stuffy. The chicken larb and chicken thighs with veggies/rice are large and satisfying and cheaply priced for the area.
Ruta Oaxaca - I don’t have to go into much detail here because I’ve written about Ruta so many times. Excellent food, top-tier mezcal cocktails, and staff who know us so well by this point that they bring us extra treats ranging from mini chicken buñeulos to actual blankets when the patio is a little cold. I love them so much.