Dispatch: An NYC Artist Date in the LES

A Friday night dispatch and inspirational guide to solo dates in Lower Manhattan

Jul 13, 2025

Hey everyone,

After weeks spent wrapping a piece on South Michigan’s wine scene for Wine Enthusiast, bouncing through Long Island, and updating New York recs for the next Fodor’s Travel Bucket List USA, I realized I’d been away from the city I pay triple taxes to live in for far too long. Time for an unplanned staycation.

New York City’s pizza rat race makes it easy to take it for granted (and a lot of other places too), which is why it’s important to play tourist in your own city sometimes—not only to fall back in love with your life, but also to find a little creative inspiration along the way. Taking a cue from Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way, I realized I was overdue for an artist date.

THE ARTIST DATE:
The Artist Date is the tool of attention. It has two differing emphases: “artist” and “date.” Put simply, an Artist Date is a once-weekly solo expedition to do something that enchants or interests you. It is half artist and half date. You are “wooing” your artist. Planned ahead of time—hence “date”—this weekly adventure is something to look forward to. As with a romantic date, anticipation is half the fun.

The best part: you always do what you want on a solo date with zero drama (unless you’re the one bringing it), making it a guaranteed good time

What is the point of spending so much money to live here if you aren’t going to get dressed up and go out sometimes?

Here’s a look at my unplanned Friday night artist date, whether you’re craving your own solo night in NYC, need a nudge to get lost on purpose, or just want to add a few bucket-list recs. Enjoy.

How To Have a Solo Date in the Lower East Side of NYC

Fire escapes are popular spots to hit bowls in LES.

5:20 p.m. - Took a few hits of the Megan Foxxx joint I picked up at Smacked Village a few weeks ago because we’re both hot, and it’s Friday night. (Also, 5:20, because it’s always 4:20 somewhere.)
- The West Village jockstrap angel who only appears on the weekend has upgraded his lewk to some kind of Marvel-themed Go-Go dancer boy? Keep on dancing and doing you!
- Nearly killed twice crossing the street by delivery bikers who realized that I was not, in fact, just trying to play chicken with them and was simply completely spaced out—a reminder that everyone needs to share the road. (I mean, how else do you get from point A to point B in NYC completely unbothered? Let someone else be bothered or die trying).
- Walk thought: Give someone older a pep talk! We’re always prioritizing the well-being of children while happy to let older people quietly die off alone. Remember: that will be you someday, so try to pay it forward with good karma.
5:45 p.m. - Ran into some old acquaintances, which almost never happens. Will probably not see or hear from them again until some occasion inevitably brings us together, but offered a “call me” anyway.

6 p.m. - Weaved through SoHo to Eel Bar, a sexy little Basque restaurant in LES. Apparently this place has been around for over a year, illustrating how easy it is to miss what’s happening one block over—let alone anywhere else in Lower Manhattan. Saddled up at the bar, read a book in between bites of summer squash with olive oil, vinegar, sherry and piri-piri (smart!). Bartender was delightful and poured me a nip of the Marseille amaro from Brooklyn’s Forthave for the road, which had a lovely profile almost like tea (and is apparently sold out, so hopefully they’re making more).
7 p.m. - Walked around in circles for the sake of people-watching and catching a vibe. Passed a gothcon sample sale on Orchard and girls hitting a pipe on the fire escape above the Passage du Bowery. Noticed for the first time that ConBody, the dispensary/prison-style boot camp, had opened across the street from the Tenement Museum. Found this deeply ironic for reasons I’m still unpacking.

7:30 p.m. - Finally wandered over to Swan Room at Nine Orchard, which has been on my list forever—but I always bypass for Kiki’s and Parcelle when I’m in Dimes. Ordered an umami cocktail garnished with dried enoki that cost $24 but was strong and beautiful. Just like me. (Also: Enoki mushrooms have this subtle, earthy, almost chocolatey note I’d never picked up on before—which makes sense, since they’re used in adaptogenic and psychedelic chocolate blends).
8 p.m. - Skipped a last-minute screening at Metrograph and went in search of a loose cigarette instead (because cigarettes are back). Found one courtesy of a Parcelle chef loitering outside. We made small talk until she ducked back inside. I was tempted to follow, but remembered Parcelle doesn’t have a bar—and they were full anyway. Graciously bowed out and promised to return.
8:15 p.m - Ended up at Clandestino, a dive bar where house wine is still $14 and the outdoor patio feels like a half-secret overheated box of sin. Noticed a guy smoking what looked like Capris, but were actually Vogue. “They’re European,” he told me. He picked up a month ago while in the south of Spain, because of course he did.

9 p.m. - Meandered through Chinatown, passed a late-night ping-pong match in Seward Park, snapped some colorful signage on Essex, then criss-crossed my way back toward Bowery.
9:30 p.m. - Less than a mile from home, I decided I was too lazy to finish the walk and didn’t feel like waiting 20 minutes for a crosstown bus. Hailed a cab. It cost exactly $18.45, which made me completely irate.

Get lost and you’ll usually find some colorful and interesting things.

3 a.m. - Woke up in a pile of my own drool, fully clothed, still in makeup, a little stale from the cigarettes and booze. Washed everything off and felt sufficiently restored, inspired, and slightly hungover from my “Tourist in My Own City” night out.