Day 14: Never have I ever... tried to knit

Knitting has always seemed like the kind of repetitive, mechanical craft that I'd be good at. I've always wanted to try it, despite missing the hipster knitting craze of the mid 00's. So I looked up knitting classes in Brooklyn, and found one that was free (free!) from 5-7 PM on Saturdays. Most others are upwards of $100, which was out of my blog project price range, so despite the undesirable timeframe, I decided to give this one whirl. Enlisting a knitting buddy in my friend Beth, we set off for the Brooklyn Yarn Cafe. 

First of all, the journey to the store was an adventure in itself, through some of Brooklyn's neighborhoods least likely to ever make it to New York mag's annual liveable list. The main drag was sparsely populated and bleak. Having had my car broken into two years ago mere blocks from this location, I was extremely wary of leaving my Golden Girl on the street. But luckily, we found a spot right outside the yarn store, and I had to admit... it did look like an adorable shop with it's bright window painting of yarn and cupcakes. It was a warm and inviting oasis in the middle of a sparse, gray, run-down area.  

Enthusiastic beginnings

Miss Rosemary, the proprietor and teacher, greeted us. Her business was eclectic, to say the least: café/yarn shop/laundry service. It took me a while to catch on to that last part. I couldn't understand why people (mostly men) kept coming in with large, bulky bags... until I eavesdropped on an interaction between Miss Rosemary and a mystery customer. I guess peddling yarn isn't the most profitable endeavor, and Rosie seemed like the resourceful type. A girl's gotta pay the bills! 

We waited for a long time in the "back room" with a Guy Friday-type employee named Al. He was a young guy from Tennessee with a molasses-thick accent and black newsboy cap. We endured his random dissertation about the nuances of Tennessee county politics with a smile, but when we asked if he knit and his reply was "I'd love to, but where I'm staying doesn't allow me to keep needles," well, that's when things started to get weird. Would this class start already? Finally, Miss Rosemary came in to help us pick out some yarn and announced the class would be starting in the front room. I looked at my watch, she was starting 45 minutes late. But, hey, it's hard to complain about a free class, right?

Yarn Disaster

Right away, I could tell Miss Rosemary was a thorough teacher. She first taught us about "casting-on", or starting the yarn on the needle, which was a skill I picked up right away. This was easy! I would have this baby blanket done in no time! But no, she had a system. She made both Beth and I do and undo our stitches 4 times, to ensure we had the skill mastered. After about 45 minutes of this tedium, we moved on to the actual knitting. This is where it all fell apart for me. My smug mastery of casting-on meant nothing now. I fumbled with the needles and simply could not visualize the stitch. Finalllllly, I finished the first row after about 45 more minutes. Something looked weird. When I got to the second row, it became clear that my work was beyond repair. It was a tangled mess of pink and blue fuzz. Miss Rosemary took one look, and promptly ripped the whole knot off the needle. All of my hours of fine motor skill down the drain. MY MASTERPIECE!?!?! 

I doggedly started again, but had less patience this time. It was 8:15, and I was getting hungry. Now, it's important to mention that the knitting class was also attended by four interesting and friendly ladies. Their intimate tone made both Beth and I assume that they were a group of friends. Turns out, they met last weekend at the shop, and had come back for another stitch n' bitch sesh. They welcomed us right into their group, allowing us to truly understand the concept of a knitting circle. There was something profoundly connective (and quite relaxing) about rocking back and forth, as our fingers worked away, our mouths laughing and chatting, our eyes micro-focused. Who cares that it was a Saturday night, and most of NYC was getting dressed in their best for a hot night on the town. We were knitting ladies. 

But we were also hungry ladies. Bob (female), a spunky and spritely massage therapist who lived in the apartments above the shop, was very enthusiastic about a group dinner. It's uncommon to meet random, new friends and head out for dinner within a few hours of making the acquaintance, but hey, what did we have to lose? Bob's husband Lez joined in to complete our eclectic group. So the ladies-plus-Lez packed up our projects, paid for our yarn, thanked Miss Rosemary, and went to a nearby Japanese restaurant owned by Bob and Lez's friend. 

Sushi "Bombs"

It was the kind of secret place you have to know to find. It blended into this mostly industrial neighborhood seamlessly. There was no sign. No sound from the street. But once the massive, wooden door opened, we stepped inside an intimate and aromatic secret sanctuary. Long wooden tables filled with the hipster glam. A funky music mix of Duran Duran b-sides, Dr. Dre, and Fela Kuti. And a totally bare, minimalist asian design of the small space. The friendly owner, Phil, greeted our new friends with hugs and kisses, and showed our group inside. He asked us how much we wanted to pay per person, and announced he would do all the ordering for us. $25? Ok. Any food allergies or aversions? Nope. Great. Sit back and enjoy. 

Pork Perfection

With minutes, the courses began to arrive, one after the other. Salad with fresh miso dressing (made six times nightly for optimal flavor), braised lotus fruit, pickled japanese vegetables, perfectly crunchy vegetable tempura, three plates of "sushi bombs", crispy dumplings, and the pièce de résistance: a ring of pork belly slivers with crème fraiche in a salty, bacon-y broth that we sopped up with sticky rice. Did I mention the potpourri of freshly made sauces and purees with interesting ingredients like yuzu and 6-hour soaked chiles? This meal was thebomb.com, and was only $25 a head?! We were getting hooked up. Look at all these other suckers in here. They have to look at the menu. Order food? We just chatted with our new friends as plate after plate of deliciousness was presented to us in bountiful quantity. We felt special. Phil was treating us like old friends rather than new customers. It was delightful.  

As I parked my car in my neighborhood at midnight, hours after my anticipated 8PM homecoming, I couldn't help but think "This is exactly why I'm doing this blog experiment." Openness to new experiences can lead to the most unexpected adventures.... 

Results: I sucked at knitting, but I intend to keep trying. It just takes practice, I'm sure I'll get it down eventually. However, the social aspect of this classic American craft* led us to make some unique, new friends and share a very special meal. It's a night I won't soon forget. 

Status: Craft FAIL; Life SUCCESS! 

*Knitting's origins date back as early 300 AD with Romano-Egyptian socks, but the knitting circle is an iconic American symbol of domesticity and female community.