Ortine

Have you ever been served an ice cold glass of white sangria made with cherries grown from the cherry tree above your table, at almost ear-level? And then had the chef come outside to ask your help in picking a few more for the next batch? 'Just the really red ones, please!'

I have. With Josh on Sunday at Ortine on Washington ave-- just a hop, skip, and a jump from my own front steps. He had the eggs florentine. I had the goat cheese and organic sausage. We both sipped cherry sangria and talked about the economy, about Brooklyn, about non-profit art orgs and about life after Olaf.

We sat under the cherry tree and traded sunglasses and listened to the impromtu acoustic guitar solo from some neighbor in some unknown window near Ortine's little garden out back. Brunch lasted three hours and no one rushed us out of our little blue wicker chairs. They let us sit, enjoy the day, and sip the sour wine for as long as we pleased.

Now, why would anyone ever go into the city for some overpriced, overbooked, overhyped LES brunch hot spot? Just give me those cherries and give me local Brooklyn.

Happy Summer, all!