Fill your bag with fairytale eggplants from the Union Square greenmarket. Sauté them with an obscene amount of garlic and devour in a mess of linguine. For a week, you won’t want to eat anything else.
Ride the LIRR to catch a ferry to Fire Island on a Friday. There will be no seats, so you’ll sit in the aisle, your butt bumping along with the train. An overgrown frat boy type will offer you an almost cold beer. Accept. Cheers!
Date a man who lives off of the G train. Get so hot in the subway you can’t breathe. Plot the places to get popsicles in Bed-Sty. When you get home to Harlem, make a beeline for $1 helado from Delicioso Coco Helado. Live off of coconut popsicles and fruity, puckery, sweet-tart helado for a week.
Branch out to other frozen delicacies: almond cookie ice cream from Chinatown Ice Cream Factory, dense hazelnut gelato with whipped cream from Grom, cereal milk soft serve from Momofuku Milk Bar, and Mister Softees with sugar-sweet chocolate magic shell. If you’re in K-town, treat yourself to a Patbingsu, a mountain of shaved iced piled high with fresh fruit, red bean paste, and sticky-sweet condensed milk. Stir and delve into the gloppiest, happiest bowl of high summer.
Make classic pesto with basil, pine nuts, and your very best olive oil — the one that stings the back of your throat. Then make parsley pesto, and arugula pesto. Become a little pesto obsessed. Kale and walnut pesto! Mint and green onion pesto! Yes.
Flip off financiers at the Jimmy Bar, and ogle the SoHo rooftops. Watch the sunset upstairs at the Wythe Hotel in Williamsburg on a Tuesday, when it’s slightly less zoo-y. Totally get it about Brooklyn.
Chat up the smoked fish slicer at Zabar’s. He’ll give you a taste of satin sturgeon. Fall in lust. Make a picnic on a cliff in Central Park: raisin walnut bread, shrively olives, silky smoked salmon, chocolate rugelach. Watch tourists take selfies, feel the smooth rocks on your toes, look up at the wide sky.
Ride the ferry to IKEA, the wind in your hair. Eat disappointing meatballs. Stock up on hangers, and Tupperware, and tea lights.
Sip iced coffee from Épicerie Boulud on the steps on Lincoln Center, a baritone’s operatic boom crashing ocean waves through the humid, languid afternoon.
Get giant deli pickles, road-tripping to the Hudson Valley. Bite off-kilter and squirt pickle juice in your poor friend’s face. Laugh until you cry pickle juice-tinged tears.
Go somewhere where you can grill piles of veggies, candy-sweet ears of sunshine yellow corn, and thick slabs of steak, and know that life…it’s not ever so very bad.