Tag Archives: lower east side

The Art of Moving (aka Newton’s Third Law)

Moving from the Lower East Side to Queens is putting a year and a half of life, or more precisely 534 days, in boxes. A year is long enough for me to collect a list of my favorite neighborhood spots, including Croissanteria on Avenue A (hands down the best croissant in the City) and Pain D’Avignon in Essex Market (a winner for baguette and breads in general). But a year is also short enough that I do not call the neighborhood home.

I hired movers to help me with the move. And having packed and unpacked boxes, I’ve learned a few things about the art of moving.

Irony: “Honestly, I don’t have much stuff!”
That’s what I had believed and when I called the movers, I informed them that I have very little luggage. I had a large suitcase, five boxes (and maybe a little more), a mattress/frame, desk, chair, small bookshelf and two lamps. But no, I stressed that I travel light.

Turned out, I was a little off in my calculation. Either the boxes I salvaged from my apartment’s recycling bin were too small, or I was a hoarder of not-essential-but-might-be-useful-later things, instead of five boxes I ended up with 12.

The first rule to mastering the art of moving, More, not less boxes, seriously, stop deluding yourself.

(image credit: allaroundmovingcom)

You + Your Life = Boxes 
Excluding furniture, my roommate summed up her years in the city as followed: “This is what I am, 20 boxes.” Continue reading

The best kind of dead end: Freeman Alley

Dim street lights threw long shadows on graffitied walls, ghostly vapor veiled the alley… This is a perfect for a film noir, Hollywood crime drama popular in the 1940s and 1950s. Except, there was no crime, no detectives and no dead bodies. Instead, there was Freemans .

The low-profile Lower East Side restaurant scored high in terms of ambiance, service, food and WINE. The food was good, but the wine (a Merlot-Cab blend from Rome) was even better. Freemans’ charm, a great part of it, derived from the walk down the Freeman Alley — the journey to the end. I suspect other diners, like me, relish the thought that We, only we, are the privileged ones who know of Freemans’ existence.


“Not a lot of people knows this place. It’s great.”

“Yes, obviously only you, and me, and… well, all these other diners.”