Pier-Less Drinking
All bone-chilling winter, while nor'easter winds lash New York, I drink like a cockroach. I don't scurry on all fours, sucking up oily puddles, but instead retreat to dark, dank bars allergic to sunlight. I hunker indoors until mercury rises and necklines plunge, when I head outside, clambering for a fresh-air seat like a starving man espying an all-you-can-eat buffet.
On sunscreen-required afternoons, however, procuring such a seat is a blood sport; outdoor refuges can be as crowded as refugee camps. Such frustrations reinforce an immutable, and always heartbreaking, point: In a city of 8 million, chances are someone's thinking your exact same thought.
Instead of letting conformity bug me, I drink outside of the box. New York City is a town of 10,000 bars, but when summertime hits, think about making the city your bar. Several thousand bodega owners sell brown-bagged beer, and with Trader Joe's three-buck wines available, a cheap-wine buzz is an everyman luxury. To skirt outside-imbibing's legal ramifications (getting collared merits a double-digit fine, and the NYPD has an insatiable hard-on for quality-of-life infractions), skip Central Park. Plus, Manhattan's waterfront parks are too highly patrolled these days to offer a sublime open-air experience.
Instead, I prefer Astoria's Socrates Sculpture Park. Here, wind chimes soothe while the East River laps at the waterfront. The Gowanus Canal's chemical, post-apocalyptic calm is equally comforting, as are Coney Island and Rockaway Beach-sweet, beer-sipping escapes, if you can stand the occasional glass shard.
Despite these spots' esteemed ranking in the Outdoor Drinking Hall of Fame, they are missing from my dreams. In winter's snowy nadir, my heart only pines for Red Hook's Louis Valentino Pier. To the uninitiated, it may appear piddling: just another disused industrial pier covered with concrete and railing. But grab a beer, head there with me, and I'll illustrate its drinking-under-the-sun splendor.
Valentino Pier is easily accessible via the B61 bus, bike or a long hike. Trek down Van Brunt Street until the water looms near, then turn right onto Coffey Street. Louis Valentino awaits in a stew of names and history. The pier, so-named after a firefighter who died in the line of duty, pokes out at a 45-degree angle from Coffey, into the mouth of Buttermilk Channel. (Its choppy waters churned the milk transported from Bay Ridge dairy farms.) The pier's location also helped label Red Hook; here the land "hooks" into the East River. Combine this with the red-clay soil and, hello, Red Hook. How does this concern drinking outdoors? It doesn't, but it's nice to inject the brain with knowledge before shutting it down with a tall boy.
Take a short walk on Valentino's short pier and grab one of the cool, metal benches. You'll join the odd fisherman, smooching teen couple and dog walker. Nod a hello. Or don't. Open a drink and your eyes. Straight ahead, the Statue of Liberty stands in her posture-perfect position. The Staten Island Ferry chugs past, its wake sending waves rippling onto the shore. Downtown Manhattan rises, tall, Lego-like and improbable, from Battery Park. Now shut your eyes. Let the wind whoosh across your face. Where are you?
It could be San Francisco or maybe Portland, Maine. That's the power of Valentino Pier. It's transformative, equal parts time machine and teleporter. With my eyelids cinched, I'm 18 again, drinking Natural Ice at rural Ohio's Stroud's Run Lake, where trees look like a Bob Ross painting. Open them, and New York City rushes back, though it's a New York with muted volume and stress on pause. Drinking definitely assists these delusions, but it's merely one part of the recipe-whipped cream on key lime pie or, perhaps, beer on your new favorite summertime pier.