Harlem River talk to me

Harlem River talk to me

Hey everybody—do you know where I live?

One writer/follower recently expressed surprise that I don't live in like, Williamsburg or Bushwick. Another said, "For some reason i had this idea that you lived somewhere very spacious and outdoorsy." Neither of these suggestions are correct, but I'm glad the surplus grocer conveys a universal enough vibe that it could either be wedged between a kombucheria and a bespoke dog groomere, or surrounded by long pine trees and a starry sky along some lonesome highway.

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I'm in East Harlem, as is the surplus grocer. We're allllll the way on the Eastern tip of Manhattan—it's possible to cross a footbridge to Randall's Island within 12 minutes. On New Year's Eve two years ago, Abby and I recited a meaningful incantation and dropped a spell bottle from high above the Harlem River (a truly bewitching body of water).

At the pandemic's peak, our zip code had the distinction of having the most concentrated infection rate in all of Manhattan. Media coverage of this area typically focuses on the K2 problem or paints it as something of an aberration (<we love this park, and hate this article.) There was a Times story last year that focused on how our neighborhood contrasts starkly with richer parts of the city in terms of trees and shade.

Gentrification has barely hit this hood, besides a couple of glassy, glossy condo fortresses (river views!) and a massive Scientology complex. It'll come, though.

Abby and I would love to pretend we are exempt from the economic forces that flatten and disrupt neighborhoods like this one. "We're not rich!" we protest. "We shop at local stores and get to know our neighbors!" Yeah yeah. Have a good yoga class, pal.

View from our little patio

Ambient guilt aside, we love it here, unequivocally. During the pandemic, when everyone else was fleeing to the wide open spaces—our building was half empty at one point—we never considered leaving. For the only time in nearly 10 cumulative years in NYC, I can't imagine living anywhere else.

I'm nervous to say things like that aloud. Too easy to tempt fate. What's next: Will I lose my job and get forced out of the city?

xo,

Jesse

Obviously it was a great idea to buy four pounds of mayo-forward foodservice egg salad, from a brand that proudly trumpets "With our new USDA plant and the best Chefs around, we offer some of the tastiest salads you ever tasted." Come on, Chefs:

TW: Egg salad

This product is misery, and I was a goon to buy it. I had some limp plans to add like, Dijon and cornichons, maybe strain out some of the gloopiness, but it was simply impossible to resuscitate. I tried giving some to Lola, and she vomited it up that night. My wool blanket is now at the cleaners, and this product is in the trash.

I needed cream cheese to make crab rangoon, and this is what they had at the surplus grocer. A little risky, but the outcome was delicious! Worked for the recipe but also as a good, old-fashioned bagel spread. 8/10, no notes.

I tried to remind Abby that "made with minced fish" may not be the best situation to get into, despite the bougie branding. We are not children, but she was insistent. We powered through these slimy snacks for rich brats—never again.

They only had one remaining container of fresh lobster bisque from a clam shack we've actually visited IRL. Good grab! Super creamy and rich, with a real taste of the ocean. Grilled cheese on the side—who needs to leave the house? Not us, not ever.