When a man sidles up to you at a bakery and tells you to squeeze the babka, there might be a couple of things going on. Either he’s flirting with you in the universal language of carbs, or he’s pretty damned excited about finding the freshest cinnamon babka. We selected the most pliant loaf (none, he said, were more than a few hours old), and when I tried it I knew it was worth the exploratory squeezing. It was easily the best babka I’ve ever had—a yeasty, buttery bundle with a delicately moist middle, swirled with cinnamon, raisins, and chopped walnuts, and capped with a substantial, braided crust like a sticky bun. Not that it’s bad the next day either, but straight from the oven, it’s a small miracle.

Although Breads Bakery has only been open since January, it’s quickly building a following for its rugelach and babka (particularly the chocolate babka, which I have yet to try but, well, just look). The bakery, which originated as a mini chain in Tel Aviv, specializes in breads from all over Europe. Their baguette and focaccia, for example, are both outstanding. The only reason I haven’t delved into the Danish rye or walnut bread yet is I cannot resist those savory focaccias, fluffy pillows lightly dressed with olive oil and salt, topped with onion, or with tomatoes and olives. Yes, I even ate black olives, the beastly things, so besotted with this bread was I.

The only item I regretted getting thus far was the almond croissant, a weighty butter bomb that some people will enjoy, but was too heavy for me. The cheese sticks, however, are downright dangerous. They’re all buttery chew and aged cheddar bite, with a salty crust that crumbles and melts on your tongue. Next thing you’re conscious of, you’ve slipped a few moments into the future, your cheese stick is gone, and you didn’t even get a photo of it. That’s the kind of bliss point that might make a food scientist swoon.

Breads Bakery
Located tantalizingly close to the Greenmarket at 18 E 16th St
Mon-Fri 7am-7pm, Sat-Sun 8am-7pm

If I were stranded at a desert island cocktail bar that served just one drink of my choosing, I’d make it an old fashioned. I suppose that would be a little like using your last genie-granted wish to ask for more wishes, since an old fashioned can take numerous guises. The basic ingredients are always booze, sugar and bitters; the cardinal sin is making it too sweet. Beyond that, there’s a lot of leeway, so my hypothetical castaway bar wouldn’t lack for variety.

The latest version of this drink to capture my attention is the McKittrick old fashioned. It uses bourbon as a base, and mellows the bite with a sweet, full-bodied sherry that’s heady with raisin and molasses flavor. A dash of mole bitters finishes it off with aromas of cinnamon and chocolate. I encountered the McKittrick old fashioned for the first time last weekend, at Milk & Honey’s new location on 23rd Street, and couldn’t wait to try creating it at home. It’s simple to make but complex in character; just the thing for a novice home cocktailer to have in her recipe arsenal.

To make this you’ll need quality bourbon, since it comprises 2/3 of the drink. You’ll also need to buy the right kind of sherry, a spirit that ranges from pale and dry to dark and syrupy. Pedro Ximénez, a type of grape used for the blackest, sweetest sherries is called for; a bottle of Lustau “San Emilio” from Astor Wines set me back $29. I already had some Bitterman’s mole bitters lurking in the back of my cabinet, but they’ll add about $20 to the overall pricetag. Still, $50 won’t get you very far in a fancy cocktail bar, while these ingredients should last well into summer.

Recipe adapted from TheLanternsKeep.com, another classy bar to check out if you spend a lot of time in the Rockefeller Center area of Midtown.

2 oz bourbon
¾ oz sherry
2 dashes of bitters

(I’m forever perplexed by how much bitters is in a “dash.” Some bottles pour a few orderly drops at the shake of a wrist, while others unleash an uncountable maelstrom. The mole bitters came with a dropper and I used 10 drops).

Stir in a rocks glass with a large ice cube and enjoy!

Let’s say that you just spent years perfecting a single sandwich. You might open a little shop with the sandwich as the sole menu item. You might, on the shop’s signage, alert your customers that they’re about to have the best sandwich they’ll ever experience. You might even design a logo with a determined pig astride a rocket, in case they had any doubts that they’re about to blast off to new heights in sandwich excellence. Fortunately someone’s already gone to all the trouble. Last summer, chef Ralf Kuettel opened Rocket Pig in former stable behind his restaurant, Trestle on Tenth. The only menu item, besides cookies and snacks, is the Rocket Pig sandwich, which delivers on some pretty ambitious promises.

T minus 10… 9… 8…

The sandwich ($14) starts with locally-sourced pork shoulder that’s brined for three days in salt, sugar, molasses and spices; then dry-rubbed with more spices, smoked over alderwood for three hours, and finally slow-roasted for three more hours. This is carved into succulent slices, slathered with red onion jam and a bit of mustard aioli, and served on a toasted ciabatta roll with a side of hot sauce and a crunchy pickle. Looking down at this sandwich you can’t help feeling that your day just got awesome. And it’s only lunchtime!

After a few profoundly savory-sweet bites, I would’ve appreciated less onion jam, to cut down on the sweetness. The pork, however, was ridiculously tender, the ciabatta was fresh and perfect, and a few dollops of the creamy bell pepper hot sauce provided the extra kick I was missing. I can’t say it was THE best sandwich I’ve ever had, but it was one of the best sandwiches I’ve had in a long while—worthy of an occasional $14 splurge, in any case.

If you’re thinking of checking out Rocket Pig, keep in mind that they occasionally run out of meat late late in the day, and aside from a single standing counter, most of the dining space is outdoors. There’s a few more counters outside and access to Trestle on Tenth’s garden. With the weather warming up, your best bet might be to get your sandwiches to go and take them to the High Line, where tourists can gaze enviously at how New Yorkers lunch.

Rocket Pig
463 West 24th St at Tenth Ave
Mon-Sat 11am-6pm. Closed Sun.

Galaktoboureko

Poseidon Bakery is a testament to the deliciousness of homemade phyllo that’s lavished with honey. This family-run Greek bakery opened in Hell’s Kitchen in 1923, and remains one of the few bakeries in the US that still makes their phyllo dough by hand. Even though I don’t often crave pastries and sweets (I know, I might as well say I dislike kittens and sunsets too), I love stopping in when I’m in the neighborhood, usually after a doctor’s appointment. There’s no better reward for enduring indignity of being poked and prodded by someone in a lab coat than a bite of Poseidon’s galaktoboureko.

I’ve had galaktoboureko served as a wedge or square in Greek restaurants, but at Poseidon it comes wrapped up eggroll-style in layers of tissue-thin, melts-in-your-mouth phyllo that’s rolled in honey. The inside is filled with semolina custard, which is lumpier than custard you’d find in an eclair, but it’s eggy, rich, and best of all, not too sweet. If you try anything here, try this!

Baklava

Then there’s the baklava, which I resisted trying at first because I’ve been burned in the past by baklavas that were actually overly-sweet toothaches disguised as tasty desserts. But this baklava is a good one, made with coarsely chopped almonds and walnuts, a ridiculous amount of cinnamon, countless layers of delicate, honey-drenched phyllo. This will definitely win you points if you’re tasked with bringing dessert to a dinner party; trust me, you don’t want to eat a whole piece by yourself.

Afali

Finikia

Other items include afali—a roll of chopped-up pistachios wrapped in crusty dough that has a hard, nutty crunch; and finikia—dense, bready cookies made with almonds, honey, orange juice, and cinnamon. These have a wonderful taste, but verge on too sweet for me. If you’re in the mood for something savory, check out the hand-sized meat and vegetable pies, particularly the spanakopita, stuffed with spinach and feta. This makes for a satisfying light lunch, though I think the pastries are where it’s at here. (Be sure to ask for a warm spanakopita unless you plan to heat it up yourself).

Just about everything is $3.00-$4.00, service is consistently gracious, and they’re closed Sundays and Mondays, something to keep in mind in you’re planning future appointments in the Hell’s Kitchen area. Also, there’s no seating, so be prepared to take your treats to go—hopefully trailing a sweet, glorious mess of sticky fingerprints and phyllo flakes behind you.

Poseidon Bakery
629 Ninth Avenue between 44th and 45th Street
Tues-Sat 9am-7pm. Closed Sun-Mon.

You may have noticed a few of your beer nerd friends in Brooklyn behaving strangely over the past week—perhaps skipping out of work early, or not answering text messages in the evenings, or looking jetlagged in the mornings (though I assure you I’ve done none of these things!) If you know someone who fits this description, it’s a safe bet they were at Tørst, the most eagerly anticipated beer bar to open in North Brooklyn in recent memory.

The primary reason for the excitement is Tørst’s carefully curated beer list and pedigree; the bar is a joint venture between Evil Twin brewmaster Jeppe Jarnit-Bjergsø, DBGB beer sommelier Jon Langley, and chef Daniel Burns of Noma and Momofuku. The menu features 21 beers on draft and 150 in bottles, including many one-off and hard-to-find brews, as well as bar nibbles, with restaurant service starting in May. Another special feature, Tørst’s custom-built “flux capacitor” allows each draft line to be adjusted individually for nitrogen, CO2, and compression. There’s also four temperature settings so you’ll be sure to get your stouts served at a proper 52 degrees and your pilsners at a brisk 38 degrees.

On my two visits, Tørst delivered on all fronts. The space is warmly lit and features wood paneled walls, reclaimed wood tables, clean Scandinavian design, and good music played at a moderate volume. Large picnic tables and smaller tables that can be pushed together provide seating options for groups, while the elegant marble bar is perfect for couples. Drafts progress from light to dark along the back wall, and the handles for each draft line match up with the beer color. The list covered plenty of unexplored terrain, including a number of sour beers. I went with Jolly Pumpkin’s Maracaibo Especial, a malty brown ale that has just a touch of tartness, as opposed to going for full lambic sourness. The Cazeau La Tourney Triple was a lovely hoppy triple, and I probably should’ve steered clear of the Evil Twin Tørst Front Room, a face-flushing 11% ABV barley wine. The winner, for me, was the De Molen Hel & Verdoemenis 666, an amazing Imperial stout aged in cognac-soaked wood chips, with complex chocolate, coffee, and vanilla notes.

View of the shaded draft handles, with the red dials of the flux capacitor at lower left. One design quibble: The menu can be difficult to read on the reflective surface.

I liked Tørst so much that I’m already planning my next visit. And judging by the opening week crowds, the rest of New York’s beer-loving folk are too. As the saying goes, “good people drink good beer,” so at least we’ll be in fine company.

Tørst
615 Manhattan Ave between Nassau Ave and Driggs Ave, Greenpoint
Sun-Wed 12pm-12am, Thurs-Sat 12pm-2am

The 11th annual Orchid Show at the New York Botanical Garden looks like it’s just one hookah smoking caterpillar short of Wonderland. Housed in the vast Enid A. Haupt Conservatory, the exhibition includes tens of thousands of orchids which float in pools, cling to palms, and hang from tangled vines in explosions of vivid color.

The show continues through several wings, traversing critterless rainforests and glass-enclosed deserts in a rambling loop. Along the way, faint whiffs of fragrance distracted me until I finally dropped my shyness and started sticking my nose in flowers, inhaling honey, chocolate, vanilla, and other scents that eluded description.

I could not stop trying to figure out what these smell like! See if you can find them; they are somewhat hidden. Also, it’s rare to spot a blue flower.

Orchid experts are on site to answer questions about these oftentimes curious flowers. I was surprised to learn that orchids have adapted to thrive in almost any climate short of the Arctic, though they’re most commonly found in tropical rainforests. They’re one of the most numerous plant species in the world, appearing in a staggering array of colors, patterns, and sizes.

One type in particular, known as Darwin’s Star, famously featured in the theory of evolution. In 1862, Charles Darwin predicted that this orchid from Madagascar must have a specific insect pollinator that could draw out nectar from its narrow, 12-inch tube. About forty years later the “hawk moth” was discovered. (Here’s a practically-NSFW video of the moth and his impressive proboscis in action).

Darwin’s Star

For serious orchid growers, there’s care and feeding demonstrations and lectures, in addition to music from different orchid-growing countries. And if you and your date want to turn the romance factor up to eleven, there’s something called “Orchid Evenings,” but rest assured, a tranquil early morning or late afternoon stroll, sans DJ and cocktails, is still quite magical.

This plant is called a “Blue Tango”

Callistemon

The Orchid Show
Enid A. Haupt Conservatory at the New York Botanical Garden
2900 Southern Blvd. Bronx
Tues-Sun 10am-6pm. Runs March 2-April 22.

Getting there: Surprisingly easy if you take a twenty-minute ride on Metro North ($12.50 roundtrip) from Grand Central Terminal to the Botanical Garden stop. The Mosholu Gate entrance is right across the street from the train station, and the Conservatory is a ten-minute walk from the gate. Tickets are $25, but worth it!

East Village pizza fans, meet your new go-to pizzera. Famous Joe’s on Carmine Street has opened a location on 14th Street and Third Avenue, marking the first time the family-run business has expanded in its 37 years. The Carmine Street pizzera is legendary, and I’ve been a fan for many years. It serves one of the best no-bullshit, high-quality New York style slices out there, something that’s been missing from the neighborhood.

I say “missing,” knowing full well the East Village has no shortage of pizza. While there’s tons of forgettable corner joints and dollar slices, there’s great pies too, at Forcella, Motorino, Artichoke, Nicoletta, Three of Cups, Lil Frankie’s, and others. None of them have what I’d call a classic New York style slice, but I’m open minded in my pizza consumption and I’ve enjoyed them all. When I put on my ex-East Villager nostalgia glasses, I even miss those frozen-cracker-crust personal pies at Gruppo. I savored those strange little pizzas at Gruppo’s bar like it was first grade and I’d just earned my very own tiny pan pizza with Book-It coupons. The evil geniuses at Pizza Hut marketing in the 1980s sure had my number.

Tonight I paid cash—$2.75, to be exact—for one of the first slices from Joe’s new ovens. My slice fell very close to my recollection of the Carmine Street location’s pizza. There was a light, even topping of processed mozzarella, a perfect amount to complement the tangy sauce, and a crust that was thin, crisp, easily foldable, and liberally charred. This is a slice you can eat with one hand at rush hour without sauce, cheese, cradle and all sliding onto your shoes.

I was both pleased and piqued. It seemed the only logical thing to do next was to hustle down to Carmine Street for a second slice. I can be thorough to a fault sometimes, but more pertinently, some days you just need to try extra hard to stay focused the good things in life. I’ve yet to run up against anything that isn’t helped by great pizza, but man, I never seem to stop testing that notion.

The Carmine Street location, in contrast, looks well-worn, a little greasy, and very familiar. While most pizza places look pretty much the same, when I’m here, watching the yellow cabs sail up Sixth Avenue, I know exactly where I am. New York City, 2013, blissing out as much as one can on pocket change. Again. It might be my imagination, or perhaps some chemical combination of an older oven and more recently-baked pie, but I thought the sauce on the Carmine Street slice was a bit zingier. The cheese and crust were identical.

Carmine Street slice

So I have my new favorite East Village pizza place. With the newly opened Joe’s hours extending to 4am every night and delivery to boot (eight-block radius to start and soon to expand), this Brooklynite can’t help feeling a little envious. Joe’s, you are urgently needed in Williamsburg.

Joe’s Pizza
150 E 14th Street between Third Avenue and Irving Pl
Daily 10am-4am
(212) 388-9474

How you feel inside the Dream House, a 20-year-old light and sound installation located in a Tribeca rowhouse, may ultimately come down to your opinion of wall-to-wall carpeting that’s steeped in Nag Champa smoke. But it’s the noise, that inescapable mind-scrambling drone, that you’ll remember after long after your clothes and hair have aired out.

We reach the exhibit from a nondescript doorway at 275 Church Street on a rain-swept Saturday night that’s chased revelers inside their swishy cocktail bars and boutique hotels. After repeatedly poking the buzzer we gain access to a steep stairwell that rumbles as if heavy machinery lurks behind the walls. At the top of the stairs an attendant asks us to remove our shoes, and then we fumble for the $6 suggested donation. Once inside, a narrow hall leads to an airless room that’s drenched with purple light, incense, and a noise that evokes a hovering alien spaceship.

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh

Four stadium sized speakers positioned in corners pour out a jarring racket: a high ringing, a lower-pitched wail, and an unsettling physical vibration as the sound waves overlap. The piece, created by minimalist composer La Monte Young, uses thirty-two frequencies at mathematically precise intervals (the math is so complex that the composition has a 105-word title) generated by a custom Rayna synthesizer. Young, who has been influenced by the humming of telephone poles among other things, has said of the piece, “Not only is it unlikely that anyone has ever worked with these intervals before, it is also highly unlikely that anyone has ever heard them or perhaps even imagined the feelings they create.”

Marian Zazeela’s Ruine Window 1992

The sound is relentless, but shifts in pitch as we change positions in the room. We investigate a few of Marian Zazeela’s artworks, suspended spirals that cast colored shadows on the walls. In a smaller back room that’s somewhat insulated from the speakers, someone is deeply zoning into a mounted rectangular sculpture and its mesmerizing symmetrical fuscia and purple shadows. Finally, we plop down on pillows in the front room, a little stunned by sound waves that command a level of alertness somewhere between a ringing phone and a smoke alarm. I suppose we were expecting something more audibly pleasant, or at least subtle (Max Neuhas’ cool sound installation at Dia, Time Piece Beacon, comes to mind). But I think that’s also the point; the sound, intensified by the shut-in environment, demands a focus that ultimately quiets other thoughts, but remains sustainable for a long period of time. Towards the end of our stay I can see how some people might not last five minutes, some might stay for an hour, and some might find the experience addictive.

Although, as we emerge from our sound-bath, the attendant affirms that extended listening can make you feel a bit nauseated. So moderation of one’s drone intake is probably best.

The Dream House
275 Church St between White St and Franklin St
Thu-Sat 2pm-12am until June 15, 2013. Reopens in Sep 2013.

I have a bone to pick with Animals, the newly opened sandwich pop-up that’s attached to The Wayland in the East Village. But first, let me tell you about their pulled bacon sandwich. (Priorities!) It starts with slab bacon, slow braised and pulled to tender, smoky pieces, which are layered with refried beans, avocado, pickled jalapeños, lettuce, tomato, red slaw, and a generous dollop of chili mayo, then tucked inside a fresh, crusty baguette. It’s a small sandwich for $9, but it’s filling and worth it for the “hell yes” moment you’ll have when you take a bite. The other six sandwich options on the menu sounded equally intriguing, and ranged from braised beef, to garlic pork shoulder, to vegan curried cauliflower steak. Cauliflower is having a bit of a moment, according to New York Magazine, although if anyone ever mistakes it for meat in my presence I’ll see it as my duty to feed them ribeye immediately. Another newly hip vegetable, Brussels sprouts, turned up shaved into ribbons and mixed with apples and honey vinaigrette in a perfect side salad ($6). I left entirely satisfied, with half a sandwich and a little dish of animal crackers in a take-out bag.

The problem? Animals is only open from 11am-5pm on weekdays, and it’s located on Avenue C, which is pretty far off everyone’s workday beaten path. Two very nice dudes behind the counter pondered every possibility to remedy my impending separation from the bacon sandwich: opening on Saturdays, moving Animals to its own spot in a few months, starting delivery service (a plan that’s complicated by the fact that they haven’t had phone or internet service since Hurricane Sandy), or opening The Wayland, including the Animals annex, for weekend brunch. They didn’t seem too sure about the next step, so I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.

But seriously, screw brunch. I only endure long lines, overpriced runny eggs, and too-early-to-be-stuffed lethargy because someone else thinks it’s a great idea. By contrast, a delicious sandwich pop-up could make a loyal customer out of a cubicle dweller dealing with Chipotle tedium and Pret a Manger ennui—assuming it’s within reasonable walking distance. At the very least, I hope they keep the pulled bacon sandwich on the brunch menu.

The upside of this out-of-the-way spot is that the shop is just as mellow as you could possibly hope for (except for the thrilling chainsaw racket, which they obligingly stopped). There’s only a couple tables, perhaps six stools around a pretty marble bar, and at least one person was sipping a large old fashioned, a drink I almost never see before happy hour. I suppose it was technically afternoon… so close enough, right?

Animals
700 East 9th St (entrance on Avenue C)
Weekdays 11am-5pm
Cash only

Banana Joe, Best in Show winner

The 137th Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show wrapped up last night with a tiny monkey-faced Affenpinscher named Banana Joe scurrying off with the Best in Show title. I’d been afraid the little squirt would win. Of all of the dogs there, I needed a photo of the winner, and seven-pound, pitch-black, perpetually-moving critters aren’t easy to photograph from across an arena. I suspected that he’d prevail, though. He seemed to have a dangerously large ego that practically soaked up cheers from a packed Madison Square Garden. It’s weird, and a little irresistible, to watch something that small exude that much confidence.

The only dog the crowd cheered harder for was my personal favorite, a magnificently fluffy 90-pound English Sheepdog named Swagger who ended up with reserve Best in Show, a runner-up award. Swagger made it to the final round in something of an upset; as a “class” dog he was a relative newcomer to dog showing with no titles, competing against champion dogs with years of experience. Class dogs were not permitted at Westminster until this year.

Swagger, reserve Best in Show winner and miracle of canine navigation. I didn’t see his eyes all night

As far as New York City events go, Westminster is one of the oldest and most massive. It’s been held in New York every year since 1877, making it the second-oldest US sporting event (behind the Kentucky Derby). This year over 2,700 dogs and 187 breeds from all over the country competed. Dogs are judged on how well they conform to their breed standard, which includes appearance, gait, and temperament. They vie for best of their breed, best of their group, which includes many breeds, and finally Best in Show. Judging occurs over two days and nights; photographically speaking, it’s an endurance sport.

Mastiff

I’m honestly not sure how judges decide who wins at the Best in Show level; these are all, technically speaking, the most perfect dogs in the country, bred by professional breeders, and shown by professional handlers. I suppose some dogs have a certain je nais se quois that sets them apart. They do seem remarkably attuned to what’s going on, especially when they win. Well, all except the dog who pooped on his way across the ring and then ate it on the return trip; way to not give a damn on national TV, buddy.

Boxer

This was my second year photographing Westminster, and I can say that if I never shoot another dog show, I know a couple things for sure. One, I was struck by how much people bond over dogs (I’ve always been a cat owner, which I guess makes me a likely candidate to be home trolling the internet or curled up with a book, missing out on all the camaraderie). And two, a lot of these dogs are bribed into being good with pockets full of chicken and treats. I don’t know what I expected before I was so disillusioned; that they were in it for the glory?

Also, my dream trivia night topic is now dog breeds. I will be unstoppable!

Cocker Spaniel. Dogs don’t seem to be penalized for jumping. I suppose that just means they’re charmingly spirited, unless they jump on me.

Norwich terrier. THAT FACE. I need one of these in my life!

Komondor, a Hungarian breed used for guarding livestock.

Terrier drama in the ring

Standard Schnauzer. One of my favorite breeds. If there is a dog that smokes a pipe in a study, this is the one.

Shih Tzus win at outrageous styling.

Tibetan Spaniel. After a few of these dog shows the handlers start to look eerily familiar.

Hey Bulldog! I always look for bulldogs at dog shows. Or any wrinkly-faced breed, for that matter.

Springer Spaniel backstage in the grooming or “benching” area

Dachshund enjoying a warm breeze

French Bulldog pooped after breed judging