“Enough of that Nu Yawk already“ shout readers Dave and Dick from the States. (They really do talk like that, though these days with a distinct Bewdley rather than Brooklyn twang).
Sorry, loads more.
Back in Brooklyn, 3/4 of our family were wiped out by 6pm, so I had to do the hard yards myself.
Nearly all the suburbs and neighbourhoods of New York sound familiar, though I can’t yet find any Prefab Sprout references in Bedford-Stuyvesant.
Some of the best Victorian remnants in the city, says Wiki.
Gentrification of the area is indicated by the asparagus at the entrance to the supermarket.
This was a great area to wander, the South-East London of the, er, west (?).
And I really liked the Fulton Ale House.
Not because of the 18 beers on tap (no Bass).
or the bargain murk,
or the Aretha Franklin soundtrack. Or even the brewery trays, that made it seem a bit like a micropub in Burnley.
It was the really diverse crowd, mixed in age and ethnicity, that made this different to the first night.
It was so good I stayed to watch the first half of Ecuador v Chile, along with exactly zero other customers.
Mrs RM got the craft can, again.