For four Sundays running, András and I have been pedaling from our little nest in L.I.C. over bridges and through the woods to new adventures we go. It's a tradition that dates back to one of our very first dates, and is as much about feeding as it is about finding our way in the world together.
These last few weeks, our two wheels have taken us to Boneshakers biker cafe in Greenpoint, run by cyclists who declare "Death Over Decaf" and make killer stacks of avocado, sprouts and eggs on salted bagels, and to Bierkraft, a tiny slip of a beer library with over 1,000 pints. We've lunched at the fashionable Five Leaves {try the housemade ricotta} with our friends Josh and Doris {that's Josh on his wheels above}, then rolled over to Walters in Williamsburg, past Saltie and beyond the legendary Peter Luger, promising to return another day. We've looted the curiosities of Kill Devil Hill, where on a shelf that held a pair of vintage glass piggy banks {"Jesus Saves" and "Satan Spends,"} I found just about the prettiest pickles I've ever laid eyes on, from Brooklyn Brine, and an old enamel bread box that had to come home with us. And then, we found our way to the Radegast Biergarten, where we could have stayed all day among the steins and hand-stuffed sausages, if not for the fast fading sun and the creeping cold, and that constant cup of hot cocoa back in L.I.C that beckons us home.
These last few weeks, our two wheels have taken us to Boneshakers biker cafe in Greenpoint, run by cyclists who declare "Death Over Decaf" and make killer stacks of avocado, sprouts and eggs on salted bagels, and to Bierkraft, a tiny slip of a beer library with over 1,000 pints. We've lunched at the fashionable Five Leaves {try the housemade ricotta} with our friends Josh and Doris {that's Josh on his wheels above}, then rolled over to Walters in Williamsburg, past Saltie and beyond the legendary Peter Luger, promising to return another day. We've looted the curiosities of Kill Devil Hill, where on a shelf that held a pair of vintage glass piggy banks {"Jesus Saves" and "Satan Spends,"} I found just about the prettiest pickles I've ever laid eyes on, from Brooklyn Brine, and an old enamel bread box that had to come home with us. And then, we found our way to the Radegast Biergarten, where we could have stayed all day among the steins and hand-stuffed sausages, if not for the fast fading sun and the creeping cold, and that constant cup of hot cocoa back in L.I.C that beckons us home.
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