FIPS WAS THERE: Espolon Tequila’s Black Market Throwdown

Ah, tequila. It warms your heart. It recalls the wild, spirited history of Mexico. And, consumed in large quantities, makes portions of your evening hard to recall. It is, undoubtedly, one of our favorite vices.

So, what choice did we have but to answer the clarion call of Espolon Tequila's Black Market party? Throughout Williamsburg, the brave and the bearded wended their way past private party after private party, down into the hidden crevices of the Wythe Hotel to channel their inner (and outer) lumbersexual, and soak in the spirit of crushed agave and unfiltered new Brooklyn coolness. 

In one corner, those who were not too hip to be seen eating in public (the four of us who were too old to be ID'ed with a straight face) scarfed down traditional chorizo tacos, decidedly untraditional duck sliders and, of course, a veggie torta (winner!). Downstairs, where everyone who knows anything knows that the real party is always going on, it was low-stakes poker, experimental film theater on parade and, our personal favorite, Disaffected Caricature Corner (imagine a mash-up of a quinceanera, a bar mitzvah and a Diesel fashion shoot). 

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FIPS Rant of the Week -- Ball Fields Edition

Image via goestotwelve.com

While we could endlessly debate the merits of living in Park Slope (see FIPS comments section, daily) there’s no argument to be made against the main attraction – Prospect Park.

Opened in 1867 and now host to 8 million visitors annually, the park has largely fulfilled its destiny becoming – as James Stranahan predicted at the time –  “a favorite resort for all classes of our community, enabling thousands to enjoy pure air, with healthful exercise, at all seasons of the year..."

Thanks to the careful planning of the park’s designers, there’s no shortage of spots for bird watching, dog swimming and general lazing about. Plenty of places to enjoy an afternoon letting your kids off the proverbial leash and letting them get their ya-yas out. And, on this fine, Indian Summer Saturday, when my son and a few of his friends sought to partake of the nation’s pastime, the woman who qualifies as my new favorite neighborhood resident and her two little ones had chosen the last available baseball field for their ya-ya releasing. Now, anyone who’s seen “Field of Dreams” knows this is not a good idea.  As James Earl Jones said, “People will come, Ray. People will most definitely come.”  So, just sayin’, it may be a good idea not to be sitting there when they do.

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[FIPS WAS THERE...] Grand Opening of Van Brunt Stillhouse Tasting Room

It wasn’t that long ago that Gowanus was just a Superfund speed-bump that stood between the good people of the Slope and the delectable goodies drew us all to Red Hook.  But then the improbable happened.  From the shores of the eerie canal sprung a long and formidable line of businesses that made the 10 minute drive to Red Hook feel like the Great Schlep.  The draw of the incomparable ribs at Hometown trumped by the easy stroll to the decidedly “meh” Dinosaur BBQ.  The caravan of cars trekking to Fairway stopped short by the green grocer’s holy grail at Whole Foods.  What was once a weekly visit to Hipsterville East became a distant memory.

But we’ve discovered a new reason to get our Uber on and roll over to Red Hook again. Van Brunt Stillhouse unveiled its new tasting room, giving locavore tipplers a bright new view into this quiet, cozy, made-in-New York distillery. Visitors to this cozy corner can take in the local spirit and the view of Bay and Otsego.  Or look inward, where 1000-lb. bags of New York State-grown grains make the short journey to a small army of oak barrels where they are transformed into Van Brunt’s own take on whiskey, rum, grappa and a little white lightning.

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[What I Will Order At] Berg’n: Future Fatty Edition

Image via Facebook.com/bergnbeerhall.comReports from the Park Slope periphery have our salivary glands on overdrive.  What’s got us all worked into a lather?  It’s Berg’n – the latest and greatest beer hall offering that has us feeling full just imagining the delicious possibilities. Smorgasburg and Brooklyn Flea's finest fare, teamed up with craft beers, in a conspiracy to get us all running loops in Prospect Park. Suddenly, we have some very serious new decisions to make:

Pizza Moto’s Casino pizza - cream, clams, white wine, bacon, breadcrumbs, lemon, fresh herbs (seasonal)?  Or another Brooklyn Sorachi Ace?

Mighty Quinn’s spare ribs and burnt-end baked beans?  Or another Firestone Walker Union Jack?

Asia Dog’s fried-chicken sandwich topped with wasabi slaw and honey-miso mustard or pickled celery, carrot, homemade wing sauce and blue cheese?  Or another Captain Lawrence Liquid Gold?

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[FIPS Was There...] Park Slope Dad Goes to Taylor Swift Concert

I have a confession to make. I’m an awful dad. My two kids (one of each) will tell you otherwise but I know the truth. I’m awful. I work too much. My attendance at school events is spotty at best. I can never remember their friends’ names or whether and when I may have met their parents (never mind their names). I coach little league sports but a) only for my son and b) my overall win-loss record makes Jets fans feel good about themselves. I let them eat frozen food and drink Gatorade.

It’s bad. It’s just awful.

But I do have one thing going for me. I’m a Park Slope Dad. Now, you may hate on the Park Slope Dad (PSD).  I get it.  I have a complicated relationship with him, too.  He (not me) has a four-story brownstone that he gut renovated. He has a job that pays way better than yours. He walks his kids to school – every day! He stops for a leisurely coffee with the Mommies at Connecticut Muffin and they think he’s just so cute and why can’t you be more like him. He ran the marathon so many times that he stopped doing it because it was no longer a challenge. He does fucking yoga. And he somehow spends an inordinate amount of business hours meandering about the neighborhood, while you’re making a permanent impression on your office chair. Okay, I hate him a little, too.

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