Best Of Summer
Best Way to Come to Terms with Your Mortality
The Roosevelt Island?59th St. Tram
A trip that lasts a lifetime. We have an unhealthy obsession with the weird little Island between Manhattan and Queens, for many years connected with the latter only by what used to be called the Hellgate Bridge. Maybe it's the still-quarantined Victorian smallpox sanatorium at the south end of the Island, visible from the FDR (and for some reason, eerily lit at night). Maybe it's the blocky, Soviet-style housing occupied by U.N. employees that makes us feel like we're in The Decalogue. Or maybe it's the sports bar. In any case, there's something otherworldy and theatrical about Roosevelt Isle, as evidenced by no fewer than three avant-Manhattan theater companies (chashama, Sanctuary, and the Angel Project) scaring the locals in the past year alone.
The best point of entry into no-man's-land is the tram. Operated by a bored, most likely stoned teenager in a red polo shirt, the thing lurches up on too-thin steel cables over Second Ave. traffic, up to the highest point of the Queensborough Bridge, and then down again into the Island's unnerving quiet. We don't know how the hospital patients keep their calm, much less enjoy the view from their wheelchairs while an airborne cable car teeters in the breeze, but our hearts are in our fucking throats every time we go out there (which is, strangely, often). Like the Cyclone, the tram offers something no CAD-induced Six Flags ride ever could: the sensation of actual, life-threatening danger for the swipe of a Metrocard.
Best Place to Rock Your Speedo
Brighton Beach
The Boris Bikini. With bloody unrest roiling most every country ending in ?stan, traveling the southern rim of Russia is an iffy proposition this summer. Luckily, there's an easier way to experience Mother Russia. All it requires is a trip on the Q train to the southern rim of Brooklyn. Brighton Beach, also known as Little Odessa, can still feel as foreign as any Black Sea resort, even with the new Starbucks on Brighton Ave. Most storefront signs remain in Cyrillic, offering Russian products. The constant rumble of elevated trains, the pungent smells of kielbasa, blini and meat knishes and the crowds swarming on the fruit markets all contribute to the illusion of being on the other side of the old Curtain.
Completing the experience in summer requires going down to the beach that gives Brighton its name. There, men of all sorts (though mostly fat and old) strut the merchandise in Speedos. Since men in America tend to wear beachwear so long it qualifies as pants, this can be a bit of a culture shock, but don't rush to judgement. Russian men know that the true pleasures in life are the simplest ones: a bottle of vodka, a strong-legged woman, a few skewers of shish kabob and a shiny, slender scrap of the bluest Lycra.
Best Movie for Generating Summer-Camp Nostalgia
Meatballs
"It Just Doesn't Matter!" Knee-high white socks, first-generation Nikes, non-ironic t-shirts, whistle-blowing administrators, color wars against neighboring camps, first crushes and the pain of summer ending-the greatest teen movie of the greatest teen-movie decade is also the greatest camp movie ever made. A late Carter-era pop classic that did for summer camp what The Bad News Bears did for little league, Meatballs not only burned the template for an entire genre, it captured the feel of summer as only an adolescent can experience it. If you don't remember the feeling, have your mom drive you to Kim's Video in the wood-paneled station wagon, kiss her good-bye and tearfully tell her you'll see her in three months. Then walk up to the counter and ask if they have Bill Murray's greatest role. If they direct you to Lost in Translation, punch them in the face and tell them Tripper Harrison sent you. If Meatballs is out, and it probably will be, just make sure you don't settle for one of the sequels. They're 80s frauds. The original was made in 1979 and will never be equaled.
Best Reason to Stay Away from Slush Puppies
Slow-burn throat torture
Don't even think about it. "I haven't had one of those in years?" says the little voice in your head as you eye up the innocent Slush Puppy machine. Fool! How many times do you have to learn that these are some of the most famous last words ever uttered? As you fill the cup with a lava stream of slushy ice, you can't decide between pink bubblegum or blueberry flavor squirts. Go ahead; mix them. It doesn't matter. You won't be able to taste anything anyway. In 10 seconds, following the first reckless Slush Puppy gulp, that'll be you doubled over in agony, throat bursting with frozen needles from screaming larynx to pounding tonsils. A few degrees colder, and you'd be numbed unconscious. Instead, you're in the worst pain this side of an Uzbek torture basement. You know there's no way out, so you just stand there, frog-eyed, pointing to your throat like you just choked on some bubble-tea, another idiotic and punishing summertime beverage created by the jealous gods of winter.
Best free concert series for deviled eggs and a box of wine
Celebrate Brooklyn
Life is good. At most outdoor concerts, we catch more elbows than notes and see more haircuts than bands. Then there's the ever present danger of spilling our $7 Bud-or having a dollar's worth of someone else's land on our lap. So taking in a night of music on the sprawling knoll of Prospect Park is a welcome change of pace. The atmosphere is relaxed and the crowd ranges from scenester to oldster, all sitting on blankets in front their pic-a-nic baskets. People pass around sleeves of crackers, chunks of Gouda and, because cans and bottles are banned, that trusty box of Franzia table red.
The schedule is as eclectic as Beck's back catalog: A night of neosoul is followed the next day by Trinidadian slam poets. Meringue, jazz, reggaeton and blues all get their moment on the bandshell, as do a dance troupe and the Brooklyn Philharmonic. Even classic movies are screened with the premieres of specially commissioned scores. But the artists that often get the most attention are the indie acts, and this year boasts a respectable line-up that includes the New Pornographers, Stars, Antibalas and the inimitable Joan as Police Woman.
Best Place to Get Rushed by Rats
Grand St. Waterfront
I used to live with that one. Our girlfriend had stashed her track bike and $20,000 in pot sales in our place and taken off to freight hop, and we were giddy with the prospect of exercising the open-relationship clause. The first night out as a semi-single gal started off innocuously enough: another lame Tracy & the Plastics show in Williamsburg and a packed house of queer girls convinced they were glommed on a cultural cutting edge. In short order, our companion made off with the schizophrenic South African who'd soon be shredding her heart, leaving us more or less alone with a comely young carpenter. Propitious!
We left the club and wandered over for a bite at the 24-hour spot on N. 6th, then made our way to the Grand St. waterfront. In the daytime, it's a great place to bring the dog-so why not an evening visit with the date? Soon enough we were getting cozy on one of the benches, enjoying the maimed Manhattan skyline. Just as make-out activities commenced, we were startled by some high-pitched squeaks and a low, rolling thumping. It was the sound of cat-size rats lumbering toward us at a respectable 25 mph. At first, our frightened, repulsed invectives deterred them. Not for long. Increasing numbers of them emerged from the labyrinth of rocks along the waterfront. Whether they were looking to nip at our ankles, get in on our neck-nibbling or just freak out the humans was inconsequential. We fled, the Brooklyn wildlife at our heels.
Best Signal That Summer Has Officially Started
The movies get even stupider
Rex Reed said it was fabulous? Have a seat. I've got a pitch that can't lose. Remember Scarlett Johansson? The girl from that Japanese low-budget last year who got two Golden Globe nominations? Well, it doesn't matter. We get her and Ewan McGregor to play clones trapped in a facility. But wait, there's a twist. They have to escape the facility. And also, they're clones. And we get Michael Bay to direct. Yeah, the one who did that Ben Affleck box-office hit. No, I meant the other Ben Affleck box-office hit. No, I meant Pearl Harbor.
Okay, so maybe the pitch needs work, but it should still break $25 mil the first weekend, easy. More if we spin it as the Matrix prequel. Besides, it'll be summer, the season that brought us Speed 2, Catwoman, Battlefield Earth, From Justin to Kelly and Gigli. We'll stand out by shocking them with complete sentences. I mean, what else are people going to do to suck up free AC? Go to Film Forum?
Best Weekend Roadtrip Resource
www.gasbuddy.com
www.gaspricewatch.com
Paying through the nozzle. Pump prices at in-town service stations range from about $2.27 to $2.97-a difference of 70 cents per gallon or about $15 per tank. Prices are generally lower in New Jersey, but just barely, and there's no telling how high gas prices will soar as American families start to make like the Griswolds and head out to Yellowstone and the nation's biggest ball of yarn (outside St. Louis). Before heading off to that weekend getaway upstate, you'll do well to seek out the cheapest pumps. Two reliable sites are gasbuddy.com and gaspricewatch.com. They post different information, so browse both to discover the least rapacious providers nearest you.
Best brooklyn nature trip
Canoeing the Gowanus Canal
Please stand up. Running late one day from Carroll Gardens to Park Slope, we stumbled on a truly romantic wooden bridge spanning the Canal on Carroll between Bond and Third. We had always assumed (in best hipster-asshole fashion) there was nothing between the two neighborhoods. Though we'd glimpsed the Canal from the Smith & 9th F/G stop before, this was a revelation, replete with the childhood frisson of discovering the sewage-treatment plant's secret entrance. Further investigation revealed that the Canal was formed in the 19th century out of a bunch of creeks, went on to facilitate Brooklyn's heavy industry, and was eventually rendered obsolete by the BQE.
We soon discovered the canoe trips led by the Gowanus Dredgers (gowanuscanal.org), one of many reclamation projects seeking to undo a century of exposure to reeking, poisonous chemicals. The group offers free canoeing instructions and sends you off into the estuary, an experience we found akin to sipping a latte or microbrewed beer in the first hipioneer outpost of an outer-borough wasteland. Drifting along slowly through the sludge, we fantasized that we were Medicis, reposing in some alternate-earth Renaissance Venice, taking grapes from a post-apocalyptic mutant.
Best Eight-Hour Vacation
The Appalachian Trail
A close second to safari. It's actually got its own Metro-North stop-a tiny wooden outpost with a glassed-in bulletin board bearing yellowed tick warnings and a totally inaccurate MTA schedule. But it's the same Appalachian Trail that goes from Maine to Georgia. There's no better place to run into unfriendly yuppies in North Face gear or nature lovers starved for human contact after spending six months eating berries and bear turds. The Harlem Valley?Wingdale train is well known to through-hikers, who frequently take it into Grand Central for an urban jolt. There are lean-tos about five miles in either direction (the Northerly one is kept ship-shape by an amusingly anal-retentive maniac), but our favorite approach is to take the train one stop further and hike through the remains of a half-abandoned mental institution to the Pawling Nature Preserve, whose green trail hooks up with the Appalachian. The cow pasture cut through by the Trail leads to some interesting interactions: A few years back, a heifer ran at us at a relative clip, then stood her ground about two yards away, mooing emphatically at the startled city folk.
Best Place to Find Lox, Ketchup or Garlic Ice Cream
Max and Mina's
Capers on top. Ice cream seems to be a zero-sum game. When someone got the bright idea of adding marshmallow to chocolate, we didn't object. When they also decided to put almonds into the mix, we also didn't think it was our place to say no. But before we knew it, we had set off on a Rocky Road toward wackier and wackier concoctions. Edamame ice cream at WD-50? Prune armagnac gelato at Il Laboratorio del Gelato? Avocado ice cream at Chinatown Ice Cream Factory? Where could all of this abject inventiveness lead?
The end of the 7 line, it turns out. Nestled up in Flushing, Max and Mina's is an ice cream shop after Willy Wonka's heart. The flavors range from standard to intriguing to out there, with the choices rotating often enough to make this spot a constant destination. On the day we called, their famous Nova lox variety along with spicy hummus were the flavors of the day (sadly, they were out of the pizza). They were also featuring the Roker-licious, a vanilla base with apples, pepper and jalapenos, and the Isaac Mizrahi, vanilla with strawberries soaked in vinegar. Whether these specials turn out to be delicious or disgusting is to be determined.
Best Scheme to Win Back an Ex-girlfriend
The Nathan's hot-dog-eating contest
A side of crow? Maybe we just weren't compatible. Maybe we left the toilet seat up too much. More likely, it was because we called her a whore in front of her parents at the family barbecue. Whatever the reason, and whoever's to blame, it's going to take a mighty big gesture to worm our way back into her heart.
Because winning the marathon would involve running and skywriting looks expensive, that leaves one viable option: taking first place in Nathan's annual hot-dog-eating competition. Held in Coney Island since 1916, this contest is as much a part of the Fourth of July as fireworks, and it's even televised live on ESPN: The pressure will be on. But if you think victory's impossible, just consider the fact that reigning champ, 144-pound Takeru Kabayashi of Japan, only ate 53.5 hot dogs in 12 minutes. Victory, and the key to her heart, are a simple matter of scarfing one hot dog every 13 seconds.
Best Pro Soccer Team
The MetroStars
More fun than cricket. The MetroStars is part European vacation, part New Jersey suicide rap and a very good opportunity to see Giants Stadium in a peaceful state of abandon. Games are typically on Saturday nights. Get there early for tailgating, which is apparently why most Jets fans are opposed to the West Side stadium. They've got Youri Djorkaeff, the Frenchmen who has hoisted major trophies overseas, now toiling in a Rod Serling state of bad soccer on weird turf with NHL-style playoff qualification. They've also got John Wolyniec, known as the Staten Island Maradona. Free tickets can often be had via certain MetroStars front office workers wandering the parking lot doing last-minute public relations. See metrofanatic.com.
Best Fine Dining for Cheapskates
Restaurant Week
Who let them in? According to Maugham, "Money is like a sixth sense, without which the other five senses cannot be enjoyed." Forty-eight weeks out of the year, we'd be apt to agree with Somerset, but for two weeks in January and June, some of New York's best restaurants offer diners a loophole. Restaurant Week, this summer falling June 20-24 and June 27-July 1, lets the students, the cash-strapped, the frugal and the dealhunters get a taste of the finer things at deep discounts. A three-course meal that otherwise costs $60 is only $20.12 for lunch and $35 for dinner (tax and tip extra).
It's a great opportunity to try out restaurants on the cheap, but with any good deal, there's some fine print to read. For example, lunch is a much better choice, as the dinner options are often lackluster. The best restaurants go very quickly too, so making reservations early is key. Also, some places (the losers of the bunch) will try to pass off boring "specials" instead of their regular menu selections. But we've also found some of our favorite restaurants through Restaurant Week visits and the value is undeniable, so it's worth the chance. There are still 48 other weeks to bust out the Cup O'Noodle.
Best Former Hustler Hangout Turned Nature Walk
The Ramble/Central Park
Walk on the wild side. Once upon a time, an amble through the Ramble would have led to extreme pleasure or extreme pain, depending on your perspective. This 38-acre wilderness smack in the middle of Central Park was once cruise-central for those looking for a good time, as well as a haven for wild packs of roaming teens. These days you're more likely to find migrating red-tailed hawks being stalked by dudes wearing fanny packs and clutching binoculars: The Ramble is consistently voted one of the top 15 places to watch birds in the U.S., and close to 230 species inhabit the area. Being of the "birds are just rats with wings" school of urban residents, we were pleasantly surprised to discover that some birds are more like chipmunks with wings-not great, but not totally gross. The Ramble lends a sense of total woodland immersion; there's green everywhere and no sounds but some chirping and our thoughts.
Best Reason to Visit Coney Island ASAP
Because it's your last chance
Sad. At the end of the summer, thanks to some shortsighted city planners and no-sighted developers, everything you love about gritty old Coney Island is going to be swept away. A few token landmarks may be spared for the sake of postcard sales-the Cyclone, the Wonder Wheel-but you can say goodbye to the souvenir shops that rent beach chairs, the fried clam stands, the Boardwalk Nathan's and-god help us all-Ruby's Bar. And with them the characters who made Coney what it is-namely, one of the last bastions of rabid individuality left in New York.
According to the city, those decaying eyesores need to go in order to make room for the spa, the indoor swimming pool, the hotel, the shopping mall and the fancy cafes.
It'll all be so fucking nice. Almost like a taste of Fifth Ave. down there by the sea. And the people will be much better dressed, too. Best of all, Captain Bob's walking tours will soon be making stops at the Pottery Barn, and the tightly choreographed Mermaid Parade will be enriched with corporate sponsorships and product placements aplenty!
Best Sporting Event to Love to Hate
Sunday Kickball in McCarren Park
Just for kicks. It's a Sunday night and you think that your local Brooklyn bar hasn't been ruined yet. The joint is in a G train neighborhood, but far enough from the L to keep the spiky-haired hordes at bay and disoriented. Most of Bedford Avenue still thinks Atlantic Avenue is in Atlantic City, and this level of ignorance must be maintained at all costs.
Then there's that Van Meter guy who hates Brooklyn, but writes very boring books about Atlantic City. In some cases, you can't win for losing. But that is why, during the recent Tino Martinez home-run streak, you can sit in your local Brooklyn bar and not hear this Sunday evening conversation:
"I played kickball today."
"Oh yeah? Where?"
"Williamsburg."
"Oh yeah, it's that Sunday kickball game. I heard about that. A friend of mine plays in that game."
You think you may never hear that coming from a tall guy with ironic mutton chops and a Ted Baxter hat, with the requisite vegan betty and the Smith Brothers cough-drop bearded guy who tells people he's an apprentice welder but really he's a tech-support drone-you think, No, that's not them sitting in the window of your sanctuary bar, actually having that conversation.
And then they do, and you run, scared at first, and then angry and searching for your Honduran lawn mower that a pal brought back from his Peace Corps assignment. It's a tough decision-use it to kill them, and get 86'd from your bar; or don't chop their heads off, and let the hipster disease spread and take over the foundation of the building itself, just like in The Boogens.
Best Place to Get Your Cool On
Back Rooms at the Metropolitan Museum
Sir, you can't sleep here. To us, "suggested admission" means a dollar, and a dollar at the Met gets you a magic metal button. Affix this disk to your collar, dodge the bunched-up Germans in the Great Hall, and head straight into the back, where a world of low-cost air-conditioning awaits. Everyone loves the Monets and the Van Goghs and the Egyptian Room, but why not head to the Antonio Ratti Textile Center? Cool off-and learn about carpets! Another option is the Musical Instruments wing, right above the ultrapopular Arms and Armor section and its alluring cod-pieces. Featured instruments include a nineteenth-century Indian sankh, a ceramic French horn far more fetching than the one we played in seventh-grade band, and a recent example of a chongak kayagum-something like a xylophone-from Japan. Sadly, as with everything in the Met, touching is discouraged, but gawking, mispronouncing and making sexual innuendos is not. Your zephyr or mine?
Best place to grab dessert for your picnic
The Soul Spot
302 Atlantic Ave. (betw. Smith & Hoyt Sts.), Brooklyn, 718-596-9933
Sweet. You can make yourself sweat baking a pie, or you can overpay for oversweet cupcakes from some overrated Village spot. But when we want an assortment of irresistible desserts for a picnic, we head over to Brooklyn comfort-food king Soul Spot. The $2.95 peach cobbler is good and hearty enough for a Texas family reunion, the $2.95 banana pudding is better than Magnolia's, and the truly Atkins-busting bread pudding (a remarkable deal at $1.95) is a meal on its own.
Best Weekend Trip to the "New" Atlantic City
The Renovated Tropicana Hotel
Where am I? By the mid-80s, the mob was out of AC and the feds were in. Goodbye D'amato, Sinatra and the Merlinos; hello the CCC (Casino Control Commission). As the mob left, crack hit and local high-school kids started shooting each other at lunch. This was transitional AC. Now, with the Trop's extravagant and symbolic nightlife-playground expansion-including an IMAX-AC enters a new phase: that of middle-class, gambling theme-park tourism. The Tropicana's newly built maze of high-end restaurants and boutiques fits along with the city's attempt to attract weekenders from Philly and NYC with "hipper" acts like Alicia Keys and a new upscale strip mall slicing down Atlantic Ave. And don't forget the new Rainforest Café and Hard Rock outpost. Sure, the murder rate's down, but AC as a Disney-meets-Vegas mall town just ain't the same. If you're curious, we recommend checking into the Tropicana for a weekend and strolling down the length of the boardwalk, past all the construction about to launch AC into a clean and corporate 21st century. But if you go, you'll have to bring your own crack. Even Baltic Ave. is looking up these days.
Best Proof that New York Is Going to the Birds
Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge
Toucan Sam wuz here. Take the A to the Rockaways and stroll through the concrete Virgins Mary and displays of national pride until you reach Crossbay Boulevard. Walk along the shoulder, taking care not to get broken glass or used condoms in your flip-flops, then try to cross without getting killed by a speeding white Escalade with gold-plated license-plate frames. Duck behind some leafy foliage, and suddenly you're out of the city, among dead-quiet sand dunes and marshes. Part of the Gateway National Recreation Area, the refuge hosts hawks, songbirds, waterfowl, monarch butterflies and dragonflies. We recall going in August 2001, sitting among the storks (at least we think that's what they were) staring in disbelief at the World Trade Center off in the distance. We're pretty sure you can still see downtown Manhattan, but if you want to gaze over the Upper New York Bay at whatever they finally build on Ground Zero, you'll have to wait another century or so. Hopefully the Preserve won't be a Home Depot.
Best Place to Pretend You're in Maine
Nick's Lobster, 2777 Flatbush Ave., Brooklyn, 718-253-7117
Don't eat the green stuff. You'll need a car to get there, unless you're willing to take the bus to the King's Plaza mall and then hoof it down a street with no sidewalk for half an hour. We've done this and don't recommend it. (A car service costs about $30 from the Slope/Gardens/Hill neighborhoods known to real-estate brokers as Brownstone Brooklyn. Good luck convincing a cabbie to make the trip.) But the fact that Nick's Lobster is hard to get to just makes everything taste better.
You'll encounter outer-Brooklyn families and high-school students on awkward dates. The menu features fried fish and salads and sides of pasta that taste pretty much like Red Lobster or the Olive Garden. But the service is attentive and personal, and the lobster is sublime, whether broiled or part of a cold seafood platter. You'll want to take your time as you dip your dinner into butter and stare out at the water; it'll feel like you're on vacation.
Best Iced Tea Break
Alice's Tea Cup
102ÊW. 73rd St. (betw. Columbus & Amsterdam Aves.)
212-799-3006
Drink me! Charming Lewis Carroll?ian décor isn't all that distinguishes Alice's Tea Cup as a tea-fetishist's wonderland. Owners (and sisters) Lauren and Haley Fox have pursued their leaf passion around the globe and are very particular about how they steep and serve the 110 varieties they offer in this warren-like salon. Leaves are left in steaming water for just three minutes before the refreshing brews are iced and delivered. Robust black teas (feisty, finely crushed Mauritius has amazing kick), hearty greens (Japanese gyokuro is rare and royal), delicate whites (Silver Needle Jasmine is splendid), exotic African reds (antioxidant-rich Rooibos Bourbon has a pleasing vanilla 0flavor) and fruity (mango, berries, peach, mulling spice and more) tisanes are all available by the glass for $2.50.
Best And Only Reason to Visit The Hamptons
Main Beach
Ocean Avenue, East Hampton
631-324-4150
How the other half swims. What's three hours away, costs $30 roundtrip on the LIRR, and is populated by people who wouldn't be caught dead at any NYC public beach? East Hampton's public Main Beach, of course.ÊJust stroll past the mansions to the end of Main Street to find a stretch of pristine white sand, noticeably clean water with decent waves, sun deck, modern bathroom facilities, kiosks that actually sell lobster, nose-jobbed beach beauties and a Knight Rider?era David Hassellhof on guard duty (10-5). For a day of surf-n-turf, follow your swim by exploring the nearby Northwest Wood's thousands of acres of white pines. On the way out there and while roasting in the sun, pick up Corey Dolgon's The End of the Hamptons: Scenes from the Class Struggle in America's Paradise, just out on NYU Press.
Best Place to Get a Sunburn and Cheer
Bleachers seats at Keystone Park
Batter up. Beginning in June, $5 buys you a skinny strip of metal at Keystone Park, home to the Brooklyn Cyclones. Unlike their big brothers, the Mets, the Cyclones actually win games (43?31 last year: not great, but enough to take the division title).
We arrive at Coney early, ignoring the mounds-and we do mean mounds-of trash piled alongside the subway station. First we hit the batting cages for a little pregame warm up, fueled by hot dogs and cheap beer. If we're feeling plucky, we might take a ride on the Cyclone. Last year we tried to join the famed Knothole Gang, lured by the promise of an official t-shirt and our very own membership card. Imagine our surprise when we discovered that the Gang is for kids only. And apparently "knothole" has something to do with old-school wooden benches-not anuses. Our bad.
Best BBQ
RUB (Righteous Urban Barbeque)
208 W. 23rd St. (betw. 7th & 8th Aves.), 212-524-4300
Bring a bib. Let's face it-New Yorkers are barbeque challenged. It's not our fault, really, since real pit barbeque is a relatively new phenomenon here. After years of eating at poser joints like Dallas BBQ (where ketchup passes for barbeque sauce) New Yorkers haven't had much of a chance to develop a taste for real "cue." Enter RUB, or Righteous Urban Barbeque. The brainchild of Barbeque champion Paul Kirk and local restaurateur Andrew Fischel, RUB offers grade-A slow-cooked, smoked barbeque in massive portions. This is the genuine article. One caveat: Get there early. RUB makes a set amount of each of their slow-cooked meats for lunch and dinner, and when they're out, they're out for the day.
Best Drive-In Theater
East River Bar, Brooklyn
Sunday & Wednesday Summer Film Series
97 S. 6th St. (betw. Bedford Ave. & Berry Sts.)
718-302-0511
Can somebody please tell that cricket to shut-up? You don't have to be in the sticks to enjoy your flicks on a big screen in the outdoors. The East River Bar has a summer film series that also easily outclasses the cable-tv fare of Bryant Park. You'll want to go up to the bar's huge patio to best enjoy the oddities being unspoiled by film curator Gary Balaban. The plot will be easier to follow-particularly if you're hitting the bar. Or, find a decent parking space and enjoy the action as it unspools on the white-walled building across the street.
You won't need sound to enjoy amazing epics such as The Fury of Hercules (1962), with Serge Gainsbourg as a typically evil toga-clad emperor. The Touchables (1968) goes beyond mod to mind-melting, while Girls in the Night (1953) is a slice of classic NYC delinquency filmed near, and on, the Williamsburg Bridge. All screenings are free, start close to 9:30 and go on until 2 am. It's a free-wheeling schedule, so check in with the bar for titles-and about the occasional surprise screening on nights besides Sundays and Wednesdays.
Best Tour of Central Park
Central Park Moonlit Ride
Whooosh. We eschew biking in traffic for the safety in numbers of Critical Mass and the many group rides led by TIME'S UP (times-up.org), and we love this one best. With its laid-back crowd of a couple dozen bikes of every shape, vintage and size, the pace is leisurely (and guides ride in front and back). There's an easy, unqualifiable magic to taking the park by moonlight on two wheels. It's like pedaling into a fairy tale: Gliding past the lake, monuments, through dense patches of trees, we fight to hush our own giggles, reticent to break the park's library quiet or scare off any park residents (fauna or faerie). This ride's been going strong for 10 years, and in 2002 a Prospect Park sister ride started (second Sat. of every month). Meet at 10 p.m. at Columbus Circle, first Fri. each month; helmet, bike lamps recommended.