Williamsburg

Recently, I met Jim for breakfast in the East Village one morning and we decided to go on a mini-adventure. We chose Williamsburg because it was just a few stops from where we were on the L train. The last time we were both there was on a sweltering day in the summer to see the Kara Walker exhibit at the Domino Sugar Factory. The part of the factory that housed the exhibit has since been demolished, and it started snowing quite aggressively a short time after we arrived, which cut our visit short.

When everyone is crammed into coffee shops and brunch spots, walking around looking into the windows very much feels like you've stumbled upon a sort of "hipster zoo." I'm sure Jim and I are really no different, but I never feel at ease in Williamsburg. Which is convenient, because I certainly can't afford to live there, but I do like to visit on occasion.

The cute boutiques and fancy coffee shops are great, but the real charm of Williamsburg is still there if you look hard enough—in its rusty waterfront, brick buildings with wonderful ghost signs and clever graffiti. Once you leave the main Bedford drag, things get a lot more industrial and interesting. Jim and I walked along the East River waterfront for as long as we could stand the snow that somewhat impossibly was blowing in our faces, no matter which direction we were going.

We stumbled on an old diner that I only vaguely knew existed—now Cafe de la Esquina, a Mexican restaurant that we added to the list—and I found a really excellent manhole cover, which always makes me happy. We also walked past a lot that had a random headstone sitting by itself, which was kind of odd but I was into it.