bunny plates

The other night I’m lying in bed and come across the perfect gift for my generous friend Gail.  She is a lover of all things bunny.  And there, on the pages of New York Magazine, are the most adorable bunny plates.  They are probably meant for a toddler, but I can picture Gail using them to serve candies and nuts.  I must buy them for her.

I am seeing Gail tonight for a screening of Philomena.  We are having dinner before at Blue Ribbon Sushi, where she has invited me as her guest.  But before, I go to Brooklyn to get her gift.

I take the subway to Lorimer station and ask a stranger to take my picture in front of a subway map of the area.  The man eagerly agrees and says, “Oh, you must be a tourist."  I tell him I am.   "Where are you from,” he asks.   “Manhattan,” I answer. He smiles. 

I’m not sure what part of Brooklyn I’m even in until I pass a car wash announcing my location. 

This is my first time in Williamsburg, though the streets feel familiar.  They remind me of two Boston-area neighborhoods: Mattapan where my grandparents lived when I was growing up; and Allston, where I had my first apartment after graduating college.  There are no high rises here.  Just narrow, car-filled streets, lined with double and triple-decker buildings that look more than a little tired.

The Brooklyn Kitchen is a short walk from the subway, and is worth the ride to this outer borough. The store is very cool; from the plain-language sign on its roof:

to the New York cow at its door,

to the great variety of goods, gadgets, and foods inside. But I am only there for the bunny plates. It's really too bad  I have no friends with an affinity for elephants or pigs, as these wooden plates are adorable too. But I stick to the bunnies and buy two plates for Gail and have them wrapped.

I meet Gail for dinner and give her my gift.