Outpost (Newsletter)

Generally speaking, I think August is the worst month in New York. As such, I try and get myself out of the city as much as possible in search of a bit of calm before the best month in New York City… September. More often than not, shelter is found in refuge at my loving mother’s, who still lives in the same town I grew up in, about an hour outside the city. Outpost is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

Pinky Swear is an immersive art bar that recently opened on the same block as Manhattan’s most famous sex show. Last week, I gathered with a group of friends who I knew would appreciate an unconventional experience, and it helped my cause that this new establishment had close proximity to The Box. I didn’t really know what to expect, only that it would be different from the regular bars my friends and I rotate through every weekend.

I've found myself wanting to cook more than ever Opportunities to cook with other folks, whether it's Mo Scariano or Half Batch Baking, seem to be what's exciting me most these days. Compounded by the fact that I'm growing tired of eating out at restaurants, spending the money to do so, and perpetuating a lifestyle centered around it, it all feels a bit blah. When I set out to create content, I had always envisioned it being in the cooking world.

It’s here, folks. The dog days of summer are upon us. If I could have sex with one month, it would definitely be August—the epitome of Wet Hot American Summer. The Tour de France is cruising through Paris as we speak. Farmers markets are literally overflowing with produce. Get out there. Jump in the water. Bite into an heirloom tomato. Ask out that girl you see in the elevator. It’s the dog days, folks. SEIZE IT. After a few weeks of guides and such, we’re going to kick it back to the mean.

We asked, and you delivered. When we put out a call for summer reading picks, the replies poured in — memoirs, thrillers, travel writing, a few classics, and one very fresh release from a legendary New York restaurateur. Here’s the full stack.

Ah Paris... The mere mention of it brings to mind baguettes and berets, charming boulevards and dogs with hats. Even the most slack-jawed, uncultured simpletons know it is a place of class and elegance—and I am no exception. Unfortunately, as an American, I have come to learn that our ilk has fallen out of vogue in the City of Lights. Sure, maybe a hundred years ago it was fashionable to be an American in Paris, back when great minds such as Ernest Hemingway and F.

This is the most comprehensive travel guide I’ve ever written. Dozens of pubs, 15+ restaurants that I swear by, great coffee, great bakeries, and tons of boutique shops — everything from tailors to bookstores, stationery, gunsmiths with incredible garb. This thing is CHALK FULL. As a result of my office being remote for the month, I took the opportunity to rent a flat in Notting Hill, London, for 10 days.

Hello Outpost friends, it’s your token American expat here! I just took a week long trip to the Basque Coast, which straddles the border of northern Spain and southwestern France along the Atlantic coast, and man did it rock. The Basque coast still feels slightly undiscovered and, in a word, cool. San Sebastian’s raw beauty and exquisite gastronomy and Biarritz’s world class waves make for a fantastic mix of nature and culture.

The curtains are pulled, the fans are whirring, and the heat is shimmering outside my window. I’m trying to find my inner Grace Kelly, reminding myself that I’m a sophisticated writer rather than someone who just walked outside with immediate regrets. My silk dress is clinging to me like a desperate ex. I’m fairly certain Grace Kelly never had silk stick to her skin. For those familiar with the 1954 Hitchcock classic Rear Window, you remember the actress’ très chic performance as Lisa Fremont.

In big part thanks to the generosity of a friend who has been going to Capri for close to 15 years, I’ve been fortunate enough to spend time on the island every summer for the past five years. The first time I went, I stayed for just two days (one night). I got hypnotized by a magician, saw a beach or two, and left thinking, eh, onto the next one. Man, was I wrong. Yes, Capri is bougie. But it’s also, objectively, one of the prettiest places in the world.