A flower shower this afternoon here at the Seventh Street entrance to Tompkins Park between Avenue A and Avenue B...

... courtesy of the Kwanzan Cherry tree ...
Anyone else catch this man yelling at bikers today? pic.twitter.com/WO50ZDaMV5— steph castro (@fashionweak) April 26, 2020
Stay tuned while we work out logistics because we’re ramping up for a VERY SAFE re-launch of takeout and delivery. We hope to be brewing the borscht by the end of this week...
Virtual Tour: Matriarch of the family, Eliza Tredwell (as presented by Museum Historian Ann Haddad), is leading a room-by-room virtual tour of her home on social media each Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
Check out lectures and illustrated presentations on 19th century New York, as well as TV shows and specials starring the Merchant's House, including the popular episode of "Blueprint NYC" featured on PBS.
The concerns before coronavirus are still universal: The restaurant as we know it is no longer viable on its own. You can’t have tipped employees making $45 an hour while line cooks make $15. You can’t buy a $3 can of cheap beer at a dive bar in the East Village if the “dive bar” is actually paying $18,000 a month in rent, $30,000 a month in payroll; it would have to cost $10. I can’t keep hosing down the sauté corner myself just to have enough money to repair the ripped awning.
Prune is in the East Village because I’ve lived in the East Village for more than 30 years. I moved here because it was where you could get an apartment for $450 a month. In 1999, when I opened Prune, I still woke each morning to roosters crowing from the rooftop of the tenement building down the block, which is now a steel-and-glass tower. A less-than-500-square-foot studio apartment rents for $3,810 a month...
And God, the brunch, the brunch. The phone hauled out for every single pancake and every single Bloody Mary to be photographed and Instagrammed. That guy who strolls in and won’t remove his sunglasses as he holds up two fingers at my hostess without saying a word: He wants a table for two. The purebred lap dogs now passed off as service animals to calm the anxieties that might arise from eating eggs Benedict on a Sunday afternoon. I want the girl who called the first day of our mandated shut down to call back, in however many months when restaurants are allowed to reopen, so I can tell her with delight and sincerity: No. We are not open for brunch. There is no more brunch.