The Beretta Gallery of New York City

Beretta employee, Moses Gutierrez with a 20 gauge Silver Pigeon 1 ( $2,240) 

I first bumped into the NYC Beretta Gallery about five years ago.  Town-housed among Manhattan's retail townhouses;  Hermès,  Etro,  Longchamp, Chanel, and so many others…I was actually just looking for a pair of khakis.  I pushed open the Beretta door, walked past security and was slapped in the face with racks and racks of obscenely beautiful apparel.

 

Wool and Waxed Cotton jacket in the Maremmana style ($1,295)

It was a London flashback, what with tweed, moleskin, chukka and waxed cotton.  Gravitas on the order of Jermyn Street,  Cuban cigars and 25 year old single malts drunk from engraved pheasant whiskey tumblers.

Moleskin suit with side vents (Jacket $535 Trousers $165)

Luckily I stumbled onto a sale -- Even better as I had a little money back then.  There was a lot I should've bought that day but didn't and learned a lesson.  Much of what you see in the NYC Gallery is unique to the store.  Once it's gone, you may never see it again.  Of course,  I was here for a pair of khakis.  

Second Floor

Looking back, it seems a shame  shopping for khakis in Beretta --  Sort of like visiting Umbria on the wagon.

Competition Shooting

It's hard to describe just how diverse the gallery is.  Roaming around on my last visit, I heard a man walk in and announce, "I've been invited to a shoot in Spain."  I looked down from the second floor balcony and watched as the salesman sprung into action while those words, "I've been invited to a shoot…" bounced jealously between my ears.

Main Floor

While outdoor retailer's, Kevin's and Cabela's offer over the top decor, Beretta manages to pull off the outdoors aesthetic with understated elegance.  Chalk it up to to Beretta's hometown of Brescia 'cause this ain't meatballs and gravy.

In store Italian made checks ($155)

Much of what is in the NYC Gallery is not on line and much of what is on line is not in the NYC Gallery.  Still, a past visit to the Beretta website found an olive moleskin maremmana hunting jacket, sadly long gone,  for a surprising  $99.

In store Suede chukka ($423)

A women's wool felt cap made by Pennsylvania's Bollman Hat Company is currently on sale for $37.50 marked down from $75...

Beretta Sole

And a men's quilted waxed cotton biker jacket has been reduced from $595 to $279.

Khakis ($75)

But I was looking for khakis.

And at $75, they're made in the US and something of a surprise.  I had mine cuffed and there was no extra charge.

That's the thing about Beretta.  You can find a $20 ball cap...

Or, there's a $140 number that looks like a Vietnam boonie hat I lusted after when I was in the Army.

Field watches are reasonable…

Field Watches (Quartz $229 Automatic $389)

Women's Quilted Shooting Jacket ($875)

Women's Scarves ($895)

Carafe Gift Set ($149)

The engraved carafe and glasses are available in store and on-line... 

Martini Pitcher $200

While the best looking cocktail pitcher I have ever seen is only in the store.  A steal and you're only seeing it because I gave up martinis.

Ice Bucket $2,200

I haven't given up ice but the elephant foot ice bucket is a good example of Beretta's price swing.

And like the 32" barrels on the $2,000 Silver Pigeon, there's value in Beretta.  It's under the radar for most NYC  residents.  Save those types who go shooting in Spain.

Bobby Cole: Home's Point of View

"Few are like him. He is for late hours and smoke-filled rooms and maybe broken hearts. He brings solace to torch bearers." Hollywood Gazette


Bobby Cole (1932-1996)  was suggested as an overlooked Jazz performer by Dave in his comment from the Gene McDaniel's post a couple weeks ago.  Cole had a reputation for being a self destructive hard ass not to mention a serious drinking problem.   Consequently, I'm quite fond of him.

Cole was hired by Judy Garland for her TV series after the executive producer fired the musical arranger, Mel Torme.  There were rumors Cole and Garland had an affair.  Check out this clip from the show and you just might see it.





'Poor Butterfly'  condenses into a four minutes exactly what my childhood thought it meant be an adult.  My Ex was fond of saying my idea of being an adult was booze, Playboy magazine, cigarettes and big breasts.  But somewhere deep inside was a connection to a style of music that, while it certainly has, "booze, Playboy, cigarettes and breasts…" it also offers quiet intelligence, reflection and in the end, a home that is all about Growing Old.

NEW NEW NEW 1960

A Point of View 1966

Judy Garland at home at the Palace 1967
(accompanied by Bobby Cole)

Mr. Bojangles (single) 1968

A friend of Mr. Cole remembers his friend on the blog Ill Folks. It's loaded with remembrances and unique demos. It's also very funny. Fuck the Grammys -- I'm spending tonight with Ill Folks & Bobby.


The Omen

When daylight was still sleeping under the sea
And a few lingering stars in the heavens shone
Up from her pillow rose the blushing bride to be
It was the last time she was to sleep alone

Twas a handsome youth she buried her heart and her soul in
and she vowed to make the last tide just before noon
and it's been said that once the heart of a maid is stolen
the maiden herself will steal after it soon

She looked in the glass which few women miss
In which all women find time for a sly glance or two
A young butterfly fresh from a night flower's kiss
Flew between her and the mirror shading her view

Enraged at the insect for hiding her graces
She brushed him aside, and he fell, never to rise
Ah, said the girl, such is the pride of our faces
For which the soul's beauty and innocence too often die

Covert

Merchant's House: It's the Period

From The Merchant's House Facebook Page 

First Floor Parlor

Ground Floor 'Family Room'


"Of the period." It's a common description used by historians, curators and tour guides of furniture, paintings and common household stuff that fills historic homes so that a look and feel of a certain period can be conveyed.  Merchant's House furnishings are not of the period.  Instead, it's a time capsule of just one family, from the day it was purchased in 1835,  to a day in 1933 when it was sealed and preserved after the youngest family member died in the room she was born in... 93 years earlier.

29 East 4th Street Entrance

Located at 29 East 4th Street, it is the only home left of what was once a row of townhouses.  You enter through a vestibule and the smell of the years, maybe even Seabury Tredwell's family, hangs in the long narrow hallway leading to the back of the house, and the ticket office-book store, run mostly by volunteers.  I recommend the guided tour which is offered several times a day but check the schedule on line.  Like a lot of things historical and locally run, it can change.

Kitchen

Call Bells


A kitchen and family room occupy the ground floor and we're told this was the main living area of the family.  Consequently, less stylish furniture would have been used here.  A call bell system to alert servants is still in place.  The upstairs parlor and dining room, taking up the entire first floor, were reserved for formal occasions.  I stare at a solid mahogany door with the deepest warm glow -- Like it was reflecting every party it had seen.  I touch it...with the hope I can feel at least one party.

Front Parlor

Seabury Treadwell

Solid Mahogany Door

Bedroom closets upstairs are filled with Tredwell linen, dresses, shoes, shawls, lace and a wedding dress.  A hat tub, the first I've seen, sits by a fire place.  Massive canopied beds fill the rooms. As the guide continues, I'm distracted by the simplicity of a closet.  Deep, but narrow, it stretches upward like a chimney.  I look up and for the first time feel like I'm intruding -- Poking my nose into the Tredwell's things and past. 

Rear Bedroom

Hat Tub

Front Bedroom

You can only see the servant's floor on the guided tour.  It is the highest floor of the house and there's an area between four rooms where sheets were hung and dried. Today the room is filled with furniture but I can see the sheets hanging inches off the floor and creating narrow passageways like a white maze.  I tell myself I have to come back...Wise thinking because sadly -- it might all be gone very soon.

Servant's Room

A developer is looking to build a hotel next to the Merchant's House Museum. While it will certainly affect the aesthetic of the street -- a nasty anachronistic contrast --  Merchant's House, once supported by townhouses on either side, now stands alone and any construction next door could collapse the almost 200 year old home.

Proposed Hotel

This Tuesday, March 12th,  the Landmarks Preservation Commission may vote to approve or deny the developer's application.  Six months ago the commission backed down from a vote due to the large turnout of Merchant's House supporters.  The hearing is scheduled at 10:55AM at 1 Centre St. in the Municipal Building  at Chambers St on the ninth floor.  If you'd like to show your support for the Merchant House, be there at 10:25 AM.  No voting or speaking.  Just a show of force to protect this unique home. 

16 March 2013 Update from Merchant House Museum: 

We survived! LPC sent the developers back to the drawing board.
The Commissioners' (and our) concerns: the plan does not sufficiently ensure the safety of the Merchant’s House; the scale of the proposed building is too great, and 3) the design is not appropriate for the NoHo Historic District (“banal, generic 1960s modern” and “the Hong Kong look” were mentioned.)

Humongous thanks to all who braved the miserable weather to once-again fill the room.

The Cold & the Soul: Emilio Ballato

Cab drivers love this weather. Bitter cold but bright without snow or ice. A wind comes around a corner and slaps me in my face and wallet. Easily walked blocks a couple weeks ago turn into, "Are you fucking kidding me?" I hail a cab, jump in and tell the driver, "It's just a few blocks but I'll make it worth your while."

I learned to take the good with the bad in this weather after 20 years in Chicago. It didn't matter how warm you dressed, it was gonna hurt. Brain freeze headaches. Frost bitten ears. Toes and fingers, despite the cashmere, feeling like they were falling off one by one --

But the city is beautiful in this bright Arctic light. Buildings look taller - harder - steadier. Unlike Summer's undulating heat mixing with hot dog water from a cart and a smell coming up from a subway vent that's so bad -- you don't wanna know what it is. You'll walk the five blocks because you can. Heat is annoying but it's not out to hunt you down and kill like Winter.

Soft living in southern places didn't prepare me for Chicago. Just before moving, a buddy looked at my gloves, "You'll have to get rid of those." "Why," I asked, spreading my fine black leather fingers of  lined Brooks Brothers cashmere. "Because," he said, "Those are not Chicago gloves - They're pussy East Coast gloves." He was right.

I walked east on Houston and just before Mott there was a black wrought iron sign looking like something from Europe circa 1780. Severe and purposeful, it's magic worked. Peaking my curiosity, I look at the building it's attached to and see a restaurant window with fat gold script spelling out, "Emilio Ballato."

There's a picture from the '60s over the menu with a recognizable Warhol in line behind an unrecognizable taller man with his back to the camera. A man stops next to me and tells me it's a wonderful place and that I have to try it. He smiles and moves on, like he did his good deed for the day. I shout 'thanks' to his back and frame the photo of Warhol in my camera. I snap the pic and another man stops and tells me what a great place it is and adds that the man's back belongs to Jimi Hendrix.

A minute later, as I peek between the letters and see a long room filled with picture frames and a thick air of years, a woman walks by and without stopping shouts, "It's great." New Yorkers are certainly food and restaurant proud, but this isn't Atlanta or Denver where unsolicited advice to strangers on the street is considered normal and, y'all, friendly.' "Purdy bad weather, huh? Well, you know what they say about Denver -- If you don't like the weather - just wait a few minutes...a ha ha ha..."

I get home and there's a message on the answering machine from The Nephew who's in town from Chicago and looking to buy the Golf Foxtrot (GF) and myself dinner. I get him on the horn and tell him my Ballato story. He tells me he's game... but not to shoot him. A ha ha ha...

Despite having to hang up our own coats, there's a warmness to Ballato I saw from outside. Narrow, but not too close. It's honest looking. Nothing 'Olive Tree' about it. In fact, just saying 'Olive Tree' in this place should be completely horrifying to every civilized guy on earth. We're given some decent tasting tap water and a basket filled with a prosciutto stuffed bread. The Nephew orders a Montepulciano that's earthy and strong while I bogart the bread basket.

We start with grilled octopus. Long sexy lengths of tentacled brilliance tasting more like July than January. Green hunks of Broccoli di Rape, all garlicky with squeezed lemon, join the fork with the octopus. Granted, an Umbrian white would have been my choice but at this point I really don't care, keep my mouth shut and happily drink my red.

Unrushed, the three of us polish off the appetizers and wine. It's here some mention of my discipline must be made. Had I any, I would happily have ended dinner at this point. However, I didn't and three entrees came out and were served so we could share. Two pastas, Spaghetti alla Puttanesca and Tagliatelle alla Bolognese along with a pounded and breaded veal. All of it consumed with a lighter Primitivo from Puglia.

I have a friend from Chicago who told me, "The food's not very good at the Cheesecake Factory but there's lots of it." Just mentioning Cheesecake Factory here should be completely horrifying to every civilized guy reading this but... I do it to make a point. Ballato has that something indescribable and that's so damned hard to fake. Along with the perfect pasta... the veal... was average. Just okay. But who cares. Everything about Ballato was magical.

The three of us huddled in the back of a cab for the long ride up Broadway. The Nephew and GF chatted of work and rents and NYC challenges while I looked out the window and thought of how everything in this city comes at such a high price. The price of living, working and fighting for every scrap. It ain't easy, but I've never seen so much magic anywhere else. As far as values go -- Emilio Ballato's magic comes at a small price. Even more so if your nephew pays and... you can skip the pasta. I've said this many times before and I'll say it again, I may not be able to smoke, drink or screw much longer -- But you gotta eat and there's no city in the world I'd rather do it in.