First thing’s first:

THE PANDEMIC IS NOT OVER.

I’m fully aware of this and it remains at the top of my mind, considering that I had COVID myself and lost several friends and loved ones to the virus. This is not about the end of the pandemic. This is a post about the glimmers of hope that I’ve been able to see over the last few months. And finding my way back to the things I love after a year plus of avoiding it all for fear of what I would see.

2ndly:

I’m saddened to see that my last post was less than positive about a restaurant that surely suffered through this last year and a half as so many others have. But I am glad to see that it appears to still be open.

now:

Emerging from The Fear: Coming out of My COVID Bubble

The News of The New and The Goodbye to The Old

Thursday, March 12th, 2020 was a wild day in the office at Red Hook Lobster Pound, where I’d been working part-time for about 6-7 months with plans to go full-time that spring. The feeling in the city had already begun to shift as events began to cancel or shrink as this mystery virus spread throughout the city, country, and world. But I remember that Thursday very clearly, as I tried to get through the tasks at hand while news of closings and curfews kept coming in. One of our managers had a lot of family in Italy. She was freaking out for them and for us. Our other manager wasn’t phased by the Museum or Theater closings, but once the professional sports teams started to cancel and postpone games and seasons and championship competitions, she was suddenly re-tasting the alcohol samples brought by the distributor. I’d left that day planning to come into the office the following Monday.

I went into that weekend nervous and uncertain, but still excited for my mother’s 70th birthday party which had gone from non-existent to a big surprise party to canceled due to a health scare from my father to back on but without the surprise and with a much smaller crowd. While my father had been told that he likely just had a cold, we were still waiting on his coronavirus test result which ended up coming in negative the day of the party, so he kept his distance and met up with those of us who were willing afterward at what would be one of the last indoor venues I would sit inside of for nearly a year whilst consuming food and drinks and taking in some live music. I forced myself to go to a bar after the family gathering as the announcement had been made that it was the last weekend they could be open as we knew them. Of course, I didn’t actually know it would be that long when I did it.

Whiskey Tasting March 2020.jpg — The final Cocktail Event I attended in 2020

We learned about the Roe & Co brand, tasted some of their products, and then made our own cocktails, at The Craftsman in early-mid March.

One of the things I’ve always treasured as a New Yorker is that, generally speaking, you have the ability to hide away or party and play as much or as little as you like. I can, as a solo person, spend days and days holed up in my apartment if I want to, but when I want the company of others—strangers and those familiar faces I love to see—I can head to one of the many places in my neighborhood that feel like another home for me. The elusive third place. I’ve written about a few of them before. There’s Toast, the old standby that’s been here longer than I have. There’s Bettolona, the Italian joint that finally broke the curse of its location with an owner that the whole neighborhood has a love affair with. The Craftsman, an Irish-backed health food/juice bar during the day and cocktail bar at night. And The Expat, the newest kid on my block that transformed an old bodega into a restaurant and bar that serves up tasty Asian fusion fare with elevated cocktails, beer, and wine at a reasonable price. And, of course, they all have people that make you feel like family when you’re there.

It was Expat that I chose to share my last night out with. I remember drinking wine and laughing with strangers and friends as we discussed the world around us and tested boundaries with each other—including memorably yelling at a man I didn’t know to NOT TOUCH ME CUZ OF COVID. I watched our bartender Carlito navigate making cocktails with gloves on and wondered what was truly going to come in the next days, weeks, and months and looking back now there’s no way that I could have prepared.

The following day I nursed my well-earned hangover so that I could get back to the office the next, knowing that the construction on either side of my apartment might continue forever.

But then I woke up with a sore throat on Monday, the 16th. It wound up being nothing, but I didn’t know it yet and I wasn’t going to risk the health of everyone else just so I could escape my noise prison. My boss asked if we could chat on the phone. She’d hoped to be able to have the conversation in person, but she had to let me know that all staff, myself included would be laid off immediately (with exception of managers and 2 cooks) since the city and state had ordered in-person dining to close until further notice. She asked if I would help out a couple of hours with social media and website updates as they navigated the next several months of confused messaging. Of course, I agreed.

Looking back now, it’s clear how steadily the angst had been building for weeks as I recorded a video of myself complaining about the days blending together and it was only the 2nd day of the stay-at-home order and only 3 days since I’d been out partying!

The Reality, Loss, Devastation, and Paralyzing Fear

As the daily reports continued to run, with our now former Governor giving us the closest thing to the truth that a politician would dare to speak, the reality of what was ahead began to settle in. Zoom check-ins became the norm for a little while. I volunteered with an organization that shopped for groceries for people who couldn’t risk the exposure themselves. I cried as my family would share their tales and I became very aware of just how alone I was. I tried, at first, to remain positive and celebrate the small food businesses that I could. A previous client had reached out about paying me to help them keep a running list of businesses that were still open up to date. I thought that was a task I could take on. But, it turned out that I couldn’t. The dark clouds came over me and I watched as legend upon food legend fell to the virus as did many people I cared for. The hope I had for getting to work and writing my way through it was quickly wiped away. Especially as I learned of the news of George Floyd, the uniqueness of his case being that it had all been caught on camera. The reminder of the many many before him who’d been taken from this planet by people we’re told are meant to protect.

By the end of April, I’d adopted a dog. Frankie, a 7-ish-year-old long-haired chihuahua became my new focus. Rage-posting on Facebook, marching in the streets (minimally because I didn’t want to re-traumatize Frankie by suddenly not being there for him), zoom happy hours, and my pod were the things that got me through those first several months that were so devastating here. The new Delta variant is bringing a lot of other cities, counties, towns, and rural areas into the same realities we were facing back then and I feel for those folks. I also hope it drives more people to get vaccinated before it’s too late.

But every time I tried to sit down and write anything other than the work I was being paid to do, I found nothing would come out. I would talk about these things in therapy, but there was a cloud in my brain that I legitimately could not see through. I couldn’t for the life of me remember what my dream was, what my goals were. I mean I could remember the words that I’d said in the past, but I felt no connection to them. In the darkest days, it felt like there was no way that any of the things I loved would be able to recover. People would speak of “going back to normal” which was not a thing that I desired either. But I couldn’t imagine, without dread, what the new version of the world would look like. And so, I couldn’t imagine how I would fit into it.

2 Steps Forward, 1 Step Back

As the world of restaurants continued to fluctuate in what they were allowed to do, and when they would find out, so did our world of politics. When the election results came in there was good reason for celebration. And celebrate we did. My building joined many others with a dance party in the street, and some of my pod friends came to dance with us. We decided to brave the subway to go join the large groups of masked revelers over at Columbus Circle where we tossed our middle fingers up at a building that rocks the name of our now former President. With skeptical optimism, we sang Nipsey Hussle’s famous words on the topic. And even if Biden was not our first choice, we knew he would not actively put out misinformation on a virus killing his countrymen at alarming rates. And so, perhaps, there could be hope again.

But then I got to experience a different kind of holiday celebration. A few weeks after we were dancing in the street (which is to say enough time had passed that I knew the root cause was not those outdoor gatherings), I fell sick. It was the week of Thanksgiving. I tested negative for COVID, but I wasn’t gonna chance it with my parents anyway, as I continued to feel unwell. They dropped off food outside of the building to be safe. The following week, I received news that my super (for non-NY readers that’s our building’s live-in handyman) had tested positive for COVID the same day that I tested negative. Damn, I thought—working through my sickness. I pondered getting tested again. Then I wondered if the bland lunch I had wasn’t actually as bland as I thought it was. I began to dig my nose in things with pungent smells—whiskey? Nothing. Pickles? Nothing. Coffee? Nothing. Kimchi?? NOTHING! I tested positive. The worst of it (and when I say worst, I mean the worst sick I’ve been in years) lasted about three weeks, with a rotating supply of symptoms. And for another month or so after, I experienced at least one symptom every day after the worst was over. The sense of smell took longer to return. I was much luckier than many, except for the guy I believe gave me COVID, my super. Apparently, he just had one bad day with body aches.

As many businesses went back into semi-hibernation with a brutal winter season, on the other side of the holidays and the new year, were signs of life even when we were still snow-covered. A Bernie meme from the inauguration brought us all together for a laugh and the beautiful words of Amanda Gorman touched our spirits and lifted our heads. Rates of COVID cases in New York City were continuing to drop as vaccinations were on the rise.

I took my antibody-positive self to Florida with a friend for a very delayed celebration of her 40th birthday, and some much-needed sun and fresh air (we went to a beach and a park and places where we could be away from the COVID-deniers). And shortly after returning to New York, I received news from my landlord that she would be returning to the East Coast after a couple of decades living out West, which would mean the apartment I’d called my home for over 13 years would no longer be mine to live in. She wouldn’t be returning until September, so I had plenty of time to look, but the news hit me like a ton of bricks anyway. That night, I went to one of my favorite local spots, Toast. As I stood in the cold winter air awaiting my to-go order, watching those brave enough to sit outside, I grew sad at the idea of not being able to sit inside at the bar before leaving the neighborhood I basically became an adult in. I hoped I’d have at least one last night where I could wind up chatting with a melange of folks from those I knew to those I’d never met before laughing about whatever was on TV or just on topic at that moment.

Searching for Something

I began looking for a new home and also for a new job. While I have been so very grateful for the work I’ve had with Red Hook Lobster Pound, the goal was to go full-time, so I could have a steady income whilst continuing to work towards my goals, which I still couldn’t quite put my finger on—perhaps the last lingering effect of the ‘rona. I was eager to start just start everything anew. But after a couple of weeks, I realized that I was putting myself through a lot of undue pressure by trying to make these two huge life changes at the same time. After having several job interviews in a week, I figured I would take a break from the home-hunting and focus on that. There were still lots of deals to be had that were sitting on the market for months or more, and while I imagined that pendulum would swing back soon, I figured I at least had until about June/July before it did.

Sadly, it would turn out that the job market was not quite as promising as I thought—or rather that most employers were looking to hire someone with many fewer years of experience so they could pay them less. But, on a positive note, I was fully vaccinated by mid-April, and at the beginning of May, restaurants, and bars were able to invite guests to sit at their bars again. I finally got to join some of my local pals at the bar as we exchanged toasts and unpleasantries—we were at the bar, after all!

Another thing that came back to the neighborhood, though, was the construction. After a year of relief from the noise next door, it returned with a vengeance. I decided to take a look again at the apartment apps. The picture was looking quite different than it had a couple of months before. While there were still apartments to be found within my budget, they were gone almost as quickly as they appeared. Many of the ones I’d saved from my previous search were taken as of the beginning of the month. A couple of friends told me they knew of finance folks who’d been ordered to return to the office for work no later than June, so all of the formerly empty east side apartments were now claimed. And to further add on to the suck of my present living situation, the building would be undergoing mandatory elevator repairs for two months at the peak of summer. I decided to drop the job search for the moment and re-focus on finding a new lair for myself and my dog. I committed myself to a new timeline so that I could be moved out before the elevator outage. I knew that there were some mediocre apartments in my neighborhood that fit my price range. I knew they would remain there for another couple of months, but I was hoping for an upgrade. And so the efforts began.

Meanwhile, April 1st marked the first time my Mother returned to perform in front of a live and in-person audience since March of 2020, singing I’m Still Here. April 13th marked the first time in over a year that I just went wandering around a neighborhood other than my own—finally saw the hideous vessel up-close, but couldn’t climb it (not that I would have) due to some recent suicides. I got to see friends’ homes and babies for the first time since we’d all been diligently staying home. Family got to meet my dog for the first time IRL and not over the zoom. In May, I went on my first tour (given by another guide I know) in over a year, got to check out Tom Colicchio’s new restaurant pop-up, Vallata, where we actually got to enjoy some of his cooking—and serving! And I finally got a haircut!

Things were feeling good, but still unsettled. I’d already had one application rejected due to my employment status (despite having a qualifying guarantor). I was tired of it all, so I set a deadline—based on the appointments I’d already had scheduled with realtors for viewings. If I didn’t see anything I liked by Tuesday, I’d apply to one of the mediocre apartments in the neighborhood. Tuesday rolled around and I hadn’t seen anything that was right. I asked for an application. But the one realtor who helped me apply to the previous apartment wanted to show me a few more places on Wednesday. I filled out the application but didn’t pay any of the fees yet. We looked at about 4 apartments in this one building that were OK, but a little more than I’d want to pay for them. Before leaving to look at the last unit in another building, she wanted to show me one more apartment in this one that she informed me had an application pending on it for a few weeks now, so she figured the chances were good that I could submit mine if I did like it. And, in fact, I loved it. It had all of the things that I wanted—including a FULL kitchen! I was able to withdraw my other application, and submit for this one and by my birthday, on Saturday, I was signing the lease for my new apartment!

New Not Normal

June brought a lot of changes. I went to my first restaurant tasting event since before the pandemic, at Lucciola, held by the Italian American Chamber of Commerce. The food and wine were fantastic, and even more enjoyable was the company of fellow food-lovers, and getting to hear a chef tell his story and then give us a taste of it through his food was something I’d been missing for quite some time. I’ll definitely be returning with the family sooner rather than later.

Of course, the big change was the move. With a lot of help from friends and family, I was able to be pretty fully settled by about mid-month and Frankie was able to enjoy his new park that we can view from our window. He loves his daily squirrel hunts!

I also had the chance to finally check out the new TWA Hotel at JFK, with my friend Adriane, who came up with this great staycation idea for her birthday. Everything was great, but the best part was definitely the infinity pool on the rooftop, which overlooks the runway.

And we wrapped up with a Pride weekend that was both very different and somehow also not.

Now, I’m back on the job hunt and back to creating things—like this thing you’re reading right now. I finally feel connected to the me I once was and the me I’m striving to be. I can remember what brings me joy and see the paths to getting it again. My friend, Adriane who’s done very well on TikTok in the last couple of months with her Disney-themed content, suggested that I should get on the platform myself and start spitting some NYC foodie history. So, I have! Check me out @funfoodienyc of course! And in a couple of weeks, I’ll start taking a writing class to help me focus on another project—I am at my best and most productive when I’m working on several things at once, so I’m very excited for what the future holds.

I hope that we can continue to make strides towards a greater future together. I’m still hoping to be able to offer tours again in the fall. But I will have to see what happens with work in the next few weeks. If you or anyone you know of happens to be in the market for some freelance writing or marketing work, feel free to reach out. If you know of a restaurant group that’s hiring for a Marketing or Brand Manager—send them my way! I have a lot of exciting ideas churning and I hope that I can share some things with you soon! Be well, be kind, and be curious. AND GET VACCINATED IF YOU CAN!

Emerging from The Fear: Coming out of My COVID Bubble

THE PANDEMIC IS NOT OVER.

I’m saddened to see that my last post was less than positive about a restaurant that surely suffered through this last year and a half as so many others have. But I am glad to see that it appears to still be open.

Emerging from The Fear: Coming out of My COVID Bubble

The News of The New and The Goodbye to The Old

The final Cocktail Event I attended in 2020

The Reality, Loss, Devastation, and Paralyzing Fear

2 Steps Forward, 1 Step Back

Searching for Something

New Not Normal

Brunching at ASSET is Nice, But Not Essential