Old New York: Anyone Who Would Share This Garden is a Saint

By Mitch Broder

A private garden in New York City would cost a lot if it weren't free. Happily, it is free. And you don't have to spray for beetles. You might have to let in some company, but your garden will inspire you to share. Saint Luke was a physician, and The Gardens at Saint Luke in the Fields are just what the doctor would have ordered.

They're at the Church of Saint Luke in the Fields, which is bordered by Hudson, Barrow, Greenwich, and Christopher streets in the middle of the West Village. There are six gardens, but the one for which you'll be happiest not to pay is the one called the Barrow Street Garden, even though you enter it on Hudson.

Appropriately, it's paradise, a sanctuary full of flowers and birds and butterflies, and benches for every occasion. It's tucked behind brick walls, which separate your street life from your garden life. And company tends to be well-behaved. People come here to be quiet. They can go just about everywhere else to not.

The garden is in quadrants, but you can easily ignore that and just wander the paths looking for the latest blooms. Then you can sit on a bench that's alone or on a bench that's with other benches, depending on whether you want to escape other people or want to watch other people escape you.

The church was built in 1821, and a garden was started in 1842, but the Barrow Street Garden wasn't started until 1956. Its creator was Barbara Ellen Leighton, who worked for the Port Authority and thus must have needed a sanctuary as much as anyone.

Barbara first dug into Saint Luke's in 1954, when she revived the Rectory Garden, which was the original. Her new garden was called the Corner Garden. It's not clear why its name was changed. The Rectory Garden is now known for its roses, but its name was not changed to the Rose Garden.

The North Garden has silver maples; the South Lawn has grass; the Allée has a cherry grove; the Contemplation Corner has thoughts. But of all of them, the Barrow Street Garden is the priceless getaway, especially when you don't have the price of a getaway.

There are just a few rules of garden conduct. Luke would have wanted it that way.

And there's a memorial bench that says "Exit Laughing." You may be exiting that way.

Disappear at The Gardens at Saint Luke in the Fields, 487 Hudson Street, in New York City.

Vintage New York Presents: Don't Forget to Cry Uncle

Happy birthday to Uncle Sam ...

... and to Uncle Nick ...

... and to Uncle Mario ...

... and to Brother Jimmy.


And enjoy your BBQ.

Strangely New York: We Have the Best Summer Travel Bargains

By Mitch Broder

While others were spending thousands to vacation in the Rockies, I was spending $2.25 to vacation in the Alps.

It was a surprise vacation, which made it all the merrier. I simply boarded the Times Square Shuttle and I was just feet from happy hikers. Two of the hikers were hiking right onto the subway seats. I think that's allowed whenever a mountain range uses mass transit.

I believe that the shuttle takeover was Switzerland's neutral way of enticing me to go to the Alps. But I like that they came to me. I enjoyed the fresh Alpine air during my entire trip across 42nd Street. Naturally, I snapped a couple of pictures to share with less-fortunate friends.

Switzerland has left the benches, but my vast train-trotting experience tells me that some other destination will be arriving soon on Track 3. My advice is to be prepared. Always carry a loaded MetroCard. And wear comfortable clothes. Your vacation can take as long as two minutes.

Needless to say, the MTA wants me to travel. Why else it would it paint subliminal messages all over its subway stations? But it would surely prefer that I spend my tourism dollars in New York, which is why I applaud it for bringing the rest of the world here, where I can afford it.

Have a nice time, and don't get trampled.

New in New York: At Say Cheese, You Don't Have to Be Grilled

By Mitch Broder

Stella Ballarini wants to make you a grilled cheese sandwich just like your mom’s, assuming your mom made hers with truffles or candied bacon.

And with sourdough or Tuscan. And with Gruyère or Gouda. And with a side of tomato soup with parmesan crostini.

All right, Stella wants to make you a grilled cheese sandwich not like your mom’s, which is probably for the best, because you can’t compete with Mom. She wants to make you a grilled cheese sandwich just like your mom’s if your mom threw parties for the Emmy Awards and Tommy Hilfiger.

Stella runs Scoozi Events, a boutique party-thrower. She has thrown parties for clients also including Bloomingdale’s and Mattel. And now she’s throwing a party for you, at a little shop next to Scoozi that specializes in grilled-cheese sandwiches, which is why it’s called Say Cheese.

Here a grilled cheese sandwich means Swiss, Gruyère, and Apple Compote on Tuscan Bread; or Gruyère and Candied Bacon on Peasant Bread; or Swiss, Parmesan, and Truffle on Tuscan Peasant Bread. Here a grilled cheese sandwich runs from $6.50 to $9.50. Or $2 more if you add maple bacon.

Here a simple grilled cheese sandwich is Mascarpone and Nutella. Here your mom’s grilled cheese sandwich is White American on Potato Bread. Here there are also a Pork Belly Slider with Candied Watermelon Rind, Gourmet Mac & Cheese, and, surprisingly, Tater Tots. Though you can add truffle sauce.

Stella is not the first to glorify the grilled cheese. A dozen years ago I wrote of a place on the Lower East Side called Grilled Cheese NYC. It enticed you to create your own sandwich by choosing one ingredient each from a list of cheeses, a list of vegetables, and a list of spreads. And a list of two breads.

Its cheeses included Dill Havarti and Jalapeño Yogurt. (There was no American.) Its spreads included Basil and Black Olive Pesto. To help you, it had a blackboard with a full-color sandwich schematic. (I am uneasy with such restaurants, which explains why Grilled Cheese NYC is gone.)

By contrast, Say Cheese has already created its sandwiches, potentially reducing your decision workload by hours. You pick one sandwich from a handful, leaving you time to admire the nostalgic décor or to patronize the family’s third business, Zoë Ballarini’s Girl Scout Cookie Stand.

I picked the special, which was Honey Goat Cheese and Blackberries on Semolina-with-Golden-Raisins-and-Fennel Bread. It would have taken me days to create it. I had it with Watermelon Mojito, which contained watermelon, lime juice, mint, agave nectar, and lemon juice. It would have taken me months to create that.

The sandwich came in a black skillet and was crunchy, creamy, and fruity. The mojito came in a tin cup and was fruity, minty, and agavy. These were a grilled cheese and a fruit drink, but they were flavor festivals, as was the dessert of graham-cracker-dusted toasted marshmallows on a pipette of chocolate, which I would never even have thought to create.

Stella loves making stuff like this, which is the main reason she opened Say Cheese. Basically, she was looking for a good time. “It’s something relatively simple to do, which is just what I wanted,” she says, “because what we do next door is so high-end and so labor-intensive.”

Her main challenge is the customer estimate of sandwich arrival time. Plainly put, Say Cheese is not as quick as Mom. “People get impatient,” Stella says. “People expect grilled cheese to be fast because it sounds like a fast food. But good grilled cheese takes a little while.”

Slow down at Say Cheese, 142 West 83^rd Street, between Columbus and Amsterdam avenues, in New York City.

Vintage New York Presents: Pick Your Papa (or, Dig Your Daddy)

By Mitch Broder

POP Burgers come two for $9.25, but you can't put a price on Pop. This explains why there's a Father's Day but no Father Burger's Day.

In any case, Father's Day is Sunday, and Vintage New York acknowledges it in the same way that it acknowledged Mother's Day: with a parental tour. This time, it takes you through the city to visit celebrated Pops and Papas, along with a Daddy and a Pa, but, ironically, no Fathers.

There are apparently more Mamas than Papas here, which is to be expected, since, after all, the first word in Manhattan is Ma. But the second first word in Manhattan is Man, and Papa does come in second, which is better than coming in after Sons and Daughters, who will still get a post of their own.

For now, though, cruise this gallery of City Pops. Let me know if I missed one. But please don't tell Daddy.

The parental tours were born on Eighth Street, where fate, not along ago, placed Pop's of Brooklyn directly across from the unrelated Mom's Cooking. Pop's is Poppish and Mom's is Mommish, but both serve you good food, which is what any good parent should do, even if the food is cheesesteaks. As for Pop Burger, it's unrelated to Poppy's, the deli on Avenue A, and to Poppy, the boutique on Mott Street. But it has three locations, including the one at the top, which is on 58th Street, and which, besides POP Burgers, has Popcorn Shrimp, POP Corn on the Cob, and — needless to say — pop.

Big Daddy's is one of those new diners that try to look like old diners, which can be irritating. But at least its hot dogs are famous. It has three locations, including this one, on Second Avenue at 83rd Street, none of which should be confused with Daddy-O, the bar on Bedford Street.

Beard Papa could be a lush, but he's definitely a cream puff. In fact, he's a Fresh'n Natural cream puff. This store, on Broadway near 77th Street, was his first in this country. He's not the same as Papa John, who's also all over the country but is a pizza pie, not a cream puff, and looks nothing like Beard Papa.

Papa John.

A Europa, of course, is a father from Europe. This Europa might be from Italy, but then, most Pas can make pasta.

The Mother's Day tour included Momoya, so the Father's Day tour should include Gray's Papaya. Shouldn't it?

Happy Father's Day to all fathers who are fondant of their kids.