I Played NYC Adventure Roulette and I Won!

Plus! Name a cockroach!! Money burning party!!!

Hello everyone,

Welcome to Issue #103 of CAFÉ ANNE!

Wow, you all sure seemed to love Max Kolomatsky, the young artist featured in last week’s issue, who secretly redesigns street flyers for free for NYC’s small businesses. The consensus: a cool guy, and a sweetie, and oddly wise for his age! But what I loved most was how inspiring many found his story.

“Max's philosophy of doing things just for kicks, and especially if it puts a smile on someone's face, is something we all should try to do more often, artist or not,” was a typical comment, from reader Jill.

In other news, the Bronx Zoo is once again offering its Name a Roach opportunity for Valentine’s Day, “Because Roaches Are Forever.” For $15, you get a Madagascar hissing cockroach named after your person of choice, complete with a digital certificate. First person to name a roach after me gets a free “Founding Member” subscription to CAFÉ ANNE!

Speaking of which, huge shoutouts to our newest paying subscribers, Nikki F. and Isabel C.M. That’s enough $$$ to name six cockroaches! And your generosity helps keep the newsletter paywall-free for everyone else. Thank you!

I’m very excited for this week’s issue, of course. I wrote about my NYC adventure afternoon that was both funded and planned (sort of!) by you, the reader! Please enjoy.

Regards!

Anne

FEATURE

I Played NYC Adventure Roulette and I Won!

Can you have a good adventure just a few miles from home, on a tight budget, without making a plan? Last week, I was determined to try.

The back story:

I recently received a $100 bill in the mail from a generous reader, which gave me an idea for how to celebrate the 100th issue of this newsletter—I exchanged the bill for 100 singles and went around the city asking New Yorkers for a dollar’s worth of wisdom.

The resulting story was a hit, but now I had a new quandary. Of the 100 New Yorkers I stopped on the street, only 56 had wisdom to offer. And of those, only 36 took the cash. That left $64. How to spend the remainder?

Some readers said I should I treat myself to something nice. Others suggested I donate it to a good cause or fund another adventure. So I took a reader poll!

When the dust settled, the results were clear—the majority wanted an adventure:

But why choose? I decided to divide the $64 four ways, allocating an amount to each option based on the polling percentages, and get it all done in one day.

Here’s my math:

Adventure: $64 x .56 = $36

Treat: $64 x .29 = $19

Donation: $64 x .11 = $7

Money for burning: $64 x .03 = $2

For the adventure component, I decided to go with an idea from reader Brigit D. who suggested, "Jump in a taxi and ask them to choose the direction…see where you end up.”

I didn't want blow my whole adventure budget on the taxi, so I decided to spend half on the cab ride: $18.

And before heading out, I established some ground rules:

• I'd hail the cab at the corner of Clinton Street and Atlantic Avenue—a taxi-rich intersection near my home in Brooklyn Heights.

• I had to enjoy my adventure within a few blocks of wherever the cabbie dropped me off.

• I had to rely on passersby for adventure ideas.

• The money burning party could wait until I got home. No sense doubling my chances of getting arrested!

My day started Wednesday morning when a bald, South Asian cabbie with a long white beard pulled up to the curb.

"I have a request!" I said, sliding into the back. "Could you take me in any direction until the meter gets to $18, please?"

"Okay, where?" he said.

"Anywhere you want!" I said. "Any direction, it's up to you!"

"Okay!" he said. "The meter has started!"

He took a left on Atlantic, then swerved north onto the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. Thanks to the base fare, the meter was already at $9.

"Has anyone asked you to do this before?" I asked.

"I take you over the bridge!" he replied.

"I was just curious," I repeated, "if anyone ever asked you to do this before?"

"What?"

"If someone has asked to do this before?"

"You don't like to go to Manhattan?" he said.

"Whatever you want is good with me!"

"I keep going! I going to drop you someplace!"

"Okay!" I said. "But don't tell me where we're going. I want it to be a surprise."

"Okay!"

We sped over the Brooklyn Bridge; the meter hit $16. How deep could we drive into Manhattan on the remaining $2?

Answer: two blocks. The cabbie dropped me at the corner of Broadway and Chambers Street.

"Is okay?" he asked.

Not really. We were at the city's Civic Center, which is mainly government buildings—an unlikely spot for adventuring. But what could I do? "Thank you very much!" I said, adding a tip to the fare. Total cost: $22.

Broadway and Chambers Street

Circling City Hall, I spotted a young lady standing alone.

"Do you know the area pretty well?" I asked.

"What are you looking for?"

"An adventure!" I said.

"An adventure!" she said. "My boyfriend works right here, and I'm meeting him for lunch. He will know. Do you want to wait two minutes?"

What a sweet offer! While waiting, we introduced ourselves, and I explained my rules for the day.

"This is probably the worst area the cab driver could have dropped you in,” said Tiffany. “It's all courts and offices. I used to work here, but I never hung out around here, because there's nothing to do."

A bearded man with thick glasses and a wooly scarf approached.

"This is Billy," said Tiffany. "Billy, this is Anne. She's looking for an adventure around here."

Billy, who lives in Harlem and works for the Department of Education, and Tiffany, who lives in Astoria, Queens and works in hospitality.

Billy’s eyes gleamed. "An adventure! That's my middle name!" he said. "What do you want to know? I could tell you where to start your adventure—Nassau Bar, one of last dive bars in New York City. With the best bartender, Lefty! She's awesome. She'll probably curse you out when you first meet her."

"Yeah that's true," said Tiffany. "She cursed me out. She's very New York. Do you drink?"

"No," I said. "But I could always order a glass of milk."

"Ah, Lefty's gonna have some words for you!" Billy laughed.

"What is there to do art-wise around here?" Tiffany prompted her boyfriend.

"Ah, art-wise!" said Billy. "This is actually a secret that Tiffany and I found together—there's a gallery by the Think Coffee on Broadway. The manager of the gallery has a Picasso in the back. One of the last five prints of Guernica, one of Picasso's most famous paintings! He offered to sell it to me for 50 grand!"

Billy also suggested a tour of Tweed Courthouse: "It's haunted!"

"Do you want something to eat?" asked Tiffany.

"Yes," I said. "Lunch!" I explained I had $19 for a treat meal.

"On the cheaper side, I'd recommend Pisillo," said Billy. "It's a little hole-in-the-wall, rinky-dink Italian shop, but it's got the best heroes in Manhattan."

Pisillo, on Nassau Street, was indeed tiny—and crowded! The paper menu tacked to the wall below a shrine to a favorite saint offered just one thing: giant Italian heroes. 37 options. I approached the counter.

"I've never been here before, but a friend recommended it," I said.  "What should I get?"

"The special!" said Giuseppe, one of several men with thick Italian accents hustling behind the counter.

Giuseppe (right) recommended the special (left).

This was mortadella with fresh mozzarella, sun-dried tomatoes and broccoli raab pesto.

"Okay I'll do that," i said.  "Are you all from Italy?"

"Yeah! What's your name?"

"Anne!"

"Anything else?"

"I'll have a Coke.”

"The Coke's on us!" he said. "First time here, so!"

Awww! I waited a few minutes at one of the four tables before Giuseppe called, "Anne! Here's your sandwich!"

I burst out laughing. It was the size of a nuclear missile.

"Wow, I said. "That's a big sandwich!"

"Yes it is!" said Giuseppe.

I sat down and took a big bite. Wow! Wow! Wow!

I was a quarter way though when Giuseppe shouted across the restaurant, "How is everything Anne, is it good?"

"So good!" I called back.

My adventure was off to a great start. And the Nassau Bar was right up the street.

The Nassau Bar

"Wow!" I said again, entering the bar. It was the longest, narrowest dive I'd ever seen, dimly lit by red bulbs and festooned with gold fringe. Two older men sat at the front, nursing canned beer. A sign on the wall said, "What happens at Nassau Bar stays at Nassau Bar."

I sat at the bar and ordered a Coke. The bartender poured me a fountain drink adorned with a striped paper straw.

"Are you Lefty?" I asked.

"Who wants to know?" she said.

The men burst out laughing. "Great answer!" said one.

"There's lots of people that work in this beautiful establishment," said the bartender. "I don't know who you're talking about. Who wants to know?"

"I was in City Hall Park," I said, "and I asked someone where I should go if I wanted to have an adventure, and they said I should go to this bar, and that the bartender was named Lefty, and I should say hi."

"In all my years, I never heard that one," said one of the men. He introduced himself as Vinny, the manager.

"I love it!" said the bartender. "That's f—ing beautiful. I f—ing love that. You've definitely come to the right place! Welcome to our fine establishment."

"The guy said his name was Billy," I said. "He was wearing glasses. Do you know him?”

"I know so many people," said the bartender. "I know a lot of Billys. Glasses, not-glasses, union, non-union. People come in and say, 'So-and-so said hello.' And I have no clue."

She sauntered over to the jukebox and selected a tune: Sinatra’s "New York, New York." She sang along and the two men joined her.

I was over the moon.

"How long has this bar been here?" I asked.

The answer: 54 years. Until recently, it was one of Manhattan's few remaining bikini bars. In 2020, hoping to attract more female patrons, the owner agreed to let the staff wear street clothes.

The bartender told me that after working at the bar for 35 years, and having just turned 50, she was glad for the change: "Though I could still rock a bikini!"

Some of the male customers complained, she continued. "But if you're that hard up to see ass-cheeks and tits, go to a titty bar, you cheap mother f—er!"

I left to use the ladies room. When I got back, the bartender had refilled my drink on the house. But I couldn't handle another free Coke. Plus, I had  a secret Picasso to visit!

"You have a beautiful day, sunshine," said the bartender. "Be safe!"

I stopped by Tweed Courthouse on the way to the gallery, but that was a disappointment—no visitors allowed. The gallery on Broadway was also sort of a bust. The owner, Silke Lindner, denied the existence of a secret Picasso. But she did have an idea for another adventure.

"The Dream House, on Church Street," she said. "You have to ring the bell and go up. It's an art installation that's been there since the 70s."

On the way over, I texted Billy, who had given me his number in case I got stuck: "Gallery owner denies existence of secret Picasso!" I wrote. "Maybe I had the wrong place?"

Welcome to Dream House

I'd never have spotted the Dream House if I hadn’t known to look for it.  The only clue was a small flyer hung on an otherwise anonymous door. "Dream House Sound and Light Environment," it said. "Ring Bell #3."

I rang and climbed two long, creaky flights of stairs. On the third floor landing, a young man in wire-rim glasses sat at a tiny desk. There was a tremendous drone roaring from behind a dingy white door.

"What's the deal?" I asked.

"It's a drone installation," he said.

"Drone installation?" It was hard to hear him over the drone.

"Yes, it's constant audio that's playing. And some lights, some visual art. Admission's ten dollars. You can drop it in the box behind you. We ask that you take off your shoes."

"Sure, okay," I said. "And the person who sent me here said it's been the same installation since the 70s?"

"1969," he said. "It's one of the longest-running things of this type.”

Photos and recordings are not allowed in the installation, and I don't want to say much more because I want to help preserve the mystery. But imagine being locked inside a psychedelic refrigerator!

I had the place to myself, and stayed nearly an hour. I tried to meditate, but the droning was too loud. Also, being a good New Yorker, I couldn't help thinking about real estate. How much would this loft fetch if sold on the open market?

When I came out, the fellow was still at his desk. Mason Mann, it turns out, is a volunteer with the foundation that maintains the Dream House. He teaches electronic music at NYU.

Mason Mann!

"I'm curious what was playing on the screen, because it looked like an upside-down CNN feed,” I said.

"It’s an upside-down feed from CNN," said Mr. Mann.

The place gets lots of visitors, he told me, including regulars who come every week and stay for hours.

"What do you think they get out of it?" I asked.

"It depends," said Mr. Mann. "It's a very grounding experience for a lot of people, myself included."

He told me all about the sound installation, the work of composer La Mont Young, of whom he is an admirer. "If I'm away from it a couple weeks, it feels wrong," he said. "It's nice to be around things that inspire you."

"What's most interesting to me is how much you love this music!" I said.

"It's the best place ever!" said Mr. Mann.

Back on the street, the first passerby was tiny fellow hauling a broken wheelie bag. He held out his hand. "Please," he said.

I gave him the usual dollar I give every panhandler, then remembered my intention, chased him down and gave him another $6. He looked very pleased. Was my day complete?

Not quite! A text came in from Billy. "83 Leonard St. is the gallery address," he wrote. "Just found it."

Secret Picasso here we come!

I found the gallery two blocks away. It was another buzzer situation. When I pressed button number four, the intercom crackled and a women's voice called out: "Do you have an appointment?"

"No," I said. "I'm here for an adventure."

A pause. "I can buzz you in,” she said. “But we're closed."

I took the world's tiniest elevator up to the fourth floor. When the door slid open, I was looking at a surprisingly large, gleaming contemporary art gallery.

The woman, co-owner Gigi Salomon, welcomed me in.

"We're by appointment only," she said. "Usually we don't let people up. But you sound—with the voice—it's a nice, soft voice!"

I thanked her and told her my story. "I asked a person in City Hall Park where I should go," I said, "And they said there was a gallery at 83 Leonard Street that had a secret Picasso print."

"Are you interested in the print?" said Ms. Salomon.

"Yes!" I said. "They said there is print of Guernica in the back. Is that true?"

"Yes, it is actually, but the back is a personal place.”

She lives in an apartment in the back of the Salomon Arts Gallery with her husband, Rodrigo. He moved there in 1972, "When Tribeca was desolate," she said. "Only artists lived here." It became an artists’ cooperative in 1975, and a commercial gallery in 2003.

We were still chatting when the buzzer rang again. Ms. Salomon said she had a 3 pm appointment with one of her artists—he was on the way up.

Reader, I probably could have wheedled my way into the back to see the print, but that would have violated one of my rules for life: "Don't push, don't pull." If it's meant to be, it will happen gently.

Besides, I had to get home and burn some money!

I didn't want to set off the smoke alarm in my apartment, so when I got home, I snuck to the end of Hunts Lane, the dead-end street behind my building, where I lit the remaining $2 on fire.

At first it felt celebratory, but it was drizzling out, and I had to relight the bills again and again. Finally I got bored, took them back upstairs and flushed them down the toilet. Haha! The perfect end to a perfect day!

What's the dumbest thing you've ever done with your money? Or what was your greatest backyard adventure? Leave a note in the comments or zap me an email: annekadet@yahoo.com.

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