When you're smilin', the whole borough smiles with you. (James Hamilton)

Even though the Barclays Center has yet to fully stock his beer, Brooklyn Brewery boss Steve Hindy still loves the project, as he makes plain in this email to The Observer, which we excerpted in the previous story. Even when people were hating on him for supporting the project, Mr. Hindy stood by it, and he believes prospered because of it. He covered a lot of territory in his note to us, so we figured why not post it in full.

We had initially asked Mr. Hindy why we could not seem to find any of his wares at the Barclays Center, and if his failure to buy a sponsorship (a very common practice among brands at the arena) had anything to do with it. Here is his response.

Matt,

We did not do any advertising in the new arena.  The big breweries did.  The asking prices were way beyond our ability to pay.

But we expect to have a good presence there, in bottles, cans and on draft.  We did purchase a suite and we enjoy Brooklyn Lager and Brooklyn East India there.

You are correct: I did strongly and publicly support the Atlantic Yards project.  I did not expect to be a big public supporter; I sort of stumbled into it.  The Brewery did a Nets promotion soon after the project was announced.  It was a family event, with Daryl Dawkins and the Nets dancers.  People brought their kids and got free hats and t-shirts.  It was fun.

The next day, some of the more radical opponents of the arena called for a boycott of the brewery.  The bar Freddy’s, which was bought out with imminent domain (at a great price), made a big show of throwing us out.  Some bars in Flatbush and Park Slope still will not carry our beer because of the controversy.  Not to whine, but it hurt because we have put a lot back into this community.

I did not back down and ended up writing an op-ed in Metro defending the project.

I think it is a great thing for Brooklyn, and I think the housing will be a big success.  Brooklyn needs all the economic activity it can get.  Brooklyn lags behind other parts of the city and state.  Those people who pooh-pooh the new jobs, part- and full-time, do not know how important those jobs are for the people of Brooklyn.

When the arena opened, I sent Bruce Ratner a note congratulating him.  He replied with a nice note thanking me for my support, which he recognized led to personal attacks on me and the company.  Ratner’s Metrotech, Atlantic Terminal and Atlantic Yards are the biggest developments in the history of Brooklyn.  I believe they make Brooklyn a better place for all of us.

I know this was all a very small footnote to the development of the project, but it was a big deal for us at the Brooklyn Brewery.  We definitely suffered some collateral damage.

But the brewery grew rapidly in the past decade in spite of that, and we will grow 30% this year.  We hope to end up among the top ten craft brewers in the country.  (Last year, we were #13.)

Steve

(Peter Oumanski)

My pregnancy, of course, was largely dry. (Both my general practitioner and my midwife assured me that the occasional drink—even a few ounces of wine every day!—would be fine, but I found that my cravings for egg salad sandwiches and watermelon eclipsed my nostalgia for riojas and tempranillos.) It wasn’t until high summer, when I was seven months along and needing to relax after a long day at work, that I decided to break my alcohol fast, and even then I watered the two fingers of sauvignon blanc down with so much seltzer that I probably would have gotten more of a buzz using mouthwash.

I harbored abstinence-induced fantasies of glugging a fishbowl-sized glass as soon as I went into labor, but since that ended up happening at 6 a.m., the first contractions promptly followed by retching over the side of the bed into a Citarella bag, I did not, in the end, feel like bellying up to the bar, and even for the first few weeks postpartum, the suggestion to crack a bottle of celebratory champagne sounded about as appealing as doing a Jäger bomb.

That all changed by the time my son was about two months old. Once I had adjusted to the constant sleep deprivation (which, like drunkenness, tends to negatively impact your decision-making skills—as I discovered in the wee hours one morning as I hovered over the toilet, holding my wailing infant to my chest and trying to keep his swaddle out of the stream) and completed the Mensa application that is the unassisted donning of a Moby Wrap, I felt ready to resume semi-regular drinking.

This has been much easier said than done. My husband works late, and as a freelance writer I can’t afford much paid babysitting. So boozing, for me, necessitates doing it with baby in tow.

I started with an adventurous outing, meeting a friend, who in my former life had been a favorite drinking buddy, at Noho’s Five Points for happy hour. I ordered a $5 glass of wine and single-handedly demolished a bowl of complimentary potato chips with the vacuum power (and approximate grace) of a Flowbee. Nothing abnormal there. But as the dinner rush started and people filled the bar, I received some questionable looks. Because on my lap, buried under the potato detritus, sat my son. He was relatively quiet, especially given the din, but seemed out of place attempting to gnaw on the craft beer taps. My friend was proud of me for balancing motherhood and malbec, and even bragged on Facebook that she’d lured Sam out to his first bar. But I was self-conscious, and for once not willing to raise my blood alcohol level enough to numb it away.

A few weeks later, I learned that a German beer hall in my neighborhood hosted weekly “play dates” in the mid-afternoon, before patrons employed by larger and presumably more continent bosses got out of work. I showed up at 2:30 on a Thursday to find colorful mats covering the floors, and fellow nursing moms nursing hefeweissbiers cross-legged as their infants flailed beneath them.

The atmosphere seemed friendly enough, until a sour-faced twentysomething bartender approached and had me sign a sobering waiver promising never to let my child touch anything outside the boundary of the play space and swear upon pain of expulsion to use the changing table for diaper duty—which was inexplicably in the men’s room. I get that it’s health code stuff, but the contract still seemed awfully formal. That, coupled with the fact that there were no drink specials, left me cold. So I turned to my last resort: Playgroup.

Every week I meet with a small klatch of other new moms and their babies at one of their Park Slope homes. Emails are exchanged the day before to plan the potluck menu.

“I’m picking up some hummus and carrot sticks!” one will write.

“I’m trying some no-bake energy balls I saw on Pinterest!” another will chime in.

One week, the host was going through a personal crisis. I jumped at the opportunity.

“If only you were a drinker, I would bring a bottle of wine for ‘snack,’” I typed, adding a winking emoticon to communicate that I was totally kidding, ha ha, unless... she was into it.

I hit send.

Seconds later, a reply came from one of the other members: “So glad you said it—I've been dying to suggest a little boozy playgroup but didn't want to sound like the alchy mom!!”

That Wednesday we cheered impishly as we popped a bottle of Prosecco. If David Attenborough had been narrating the scene, he might have observed, “The American stay-at-home mother, shamed out of consuming alcohol under cover of darkness at the local pub, is now content to tipple away during daylight hours with others of her species.” In my pre-baby life, daytime drinking might have signaled a problem; now, it seemed the only socially acceptable time.

But though I’ve found a tribe, I do confess to sometimes feeling irresponsible. The old, wine-soaked me who worried about being too hungover to go to the gym and the new, spit-up-soaked me who worries about the frequency and consistency of someone else’s feces seem somehow at odds. It’s as if, upon conceiving, my motherboard should have been replaced, deleting my appetite for mood-altering substances and increasing my tolerance of insipid cartoons—but it doesn’t have to be a complete reprogramming.

I know that there is a line between someone like Lucille Bluth, the comically negligent, perpetually soused matriarch on Arrested Development, and a self-sacrificing teetotaler like June Cleaver (what a scold!)—and that I remain, as ever, appropriately in between. I also know that less than 2% of what I imbibe reaches my breastmilk, and that if I am sober enough to drive I am sober enough to nurse, not to mention operate the heavy machinery that is my stroller.

Finally, I know that my husband feels free to drink wherever and whenever he so chooses without fear of societal scorn. So, as long as one of us remains sober enough to be the alpha parent, the other is free to dabble, ever so often, as the alchy.

New Yorkers will get smashy.

Yesterday, the New York Post reported on a memo obtained straight out of the Division of Nanny Stateskeeping, the Department of Health's Partnership for a Healthier New York City. The document outlined a proposal to slash the number of alcohol retailers in New York City with funds from community "transformation" grants (which the Post gleefully identified as born out of the health-care laws President Barack Obama pushed through Congress):

One of the goals listed in the “request for proposal” document to community groups is “reducing alcohol retail outlet (e.g. bar, corner store) density and illegal alcohol,” the document states.

Some ideas are better left unspoken. Naturally, the Post didn't have a hard time finding people upset at the idea of the Bloomberg administration absconding with their booze. The story was posted at 1:51 AM last night.

Less than thirteen hours later, the mayor's office has dialed the idea back...to zero. Again, the Post reports (with a picture of Hizzoner swilling a beer):

Asked if the mayor backed the effort to limit booze-selling businesses, Bloomberg spokesman Stu Loeser said, “No.”

“One reason the mayor has been successful in office is because we think there are no bad ideas in brainstorming _ and then we weigh them against other concerns. We’re deeply committed to encouraging entrepreneurs to start and expand small businesses in the city,” the mayoral spokesman said.

Another reason the Mayor has been successful in office may be—and this is just an amateur analysis—that he has yet to knowingly institute the kind of mandates that would keep this city from anything resembling functionality and/or tearing itself apart at the seams in a barbaric meltdown reminiscent of something between I Am Legend and Escape from New York. Backpedaling on this policy initiative was—inasmuch as an opinion can be anything other than subjective—the inarguably correct move, here.

[Photo via James Devaney/WireImage]

fkamer@observer.com | @weareyourfek

Brooklyn Republic Vodka

We know you've been stockpiling Brooklyn whiskey and Williamsburg cigarettes and maybe even collecting those Spike Lee inspired Absolut Brooklyn bottles. Fortunately you can officially add vodka to the laundry list of Brooklyn vices, according to The Brooklyn Paper.

A father and daughter team has created "Brooklyn Republic Vodka," naturally distilled in a Navy Yard warehouse. And don't expect to find any Icelandic purified H20 in this recipe: the concoction is made with straight Brooklyn water—lead, rat poison, arsenic and all. Don't worry, though, it's been distilled a full six times, so only the whiff of Brooklyn terrior remains.

The new tipple is the brainchild of Kary Laskin and her father Gary Shokin, a Lithuanian cab driver who now owns an auto shop. Mr. Shokin crafted the recipe for the liquor himself, hopefully not working on cars as he did so. Now he has given up his business entirely, dedicating all his energy to the blossoming vodka business.

So far, the brand is carried at several local liquor stores and served—where else—at Edison-bulbed, reclaimed-wood-clad Brooklyn bars.

eknutsen@observer.com

Tequila! (MSBCreative.com)

If you're too embarrassed to go to an actual bar to take the edge off on your lunch break, just stop by the Turkish Taco Truck in Central Park. The food truck began selling beer, wine and cocktails today, the Journal reports, blazing the trail of this new innovation for the portable-food business.

The Turkish Taco Truck's owner, Burak Karacam, told the Journal that his truck's one-year liquor license is a "precedent-setting privilege."

But don't get your hopes up that every food stand on the streets of New York is going to start offering cocktails. The taco truck is permitted to sell liquor because it has a fixed location and a seating area—luxuries that aren't available to every outdoor vendor in the city.

pengel@observer.com

But do you get to have a "sure-to-be mini-bottle laden plane ride?" This is how MTV describes the voyage the cast of "Jersey Shore" will take to Italy, the chosen location for the show's fourth season. There, they will reconnect with their ethic identities, immerse themselves in a foreign culture, get blackout drunk, have sex with each other, flex, study the works of Dante, take in a day of art at the Uffizi gallery, tan until dark orange, and get blackout drunk again.

TMZ ran rumors of the new locale earlier today, and then MTV confirmed it. The release is written with a lot of voice.

While "Jersey Shore" is a popular program internationally, there are bound to be plenty of people oblivious to "The Situation" and his colorful cronies, as well as the circus of debauchery they bring with them to every locale. Who knows how the OGs of Italy will react to our self-proclaimed guidos and guidettes? Luckily, Vinny's got first generation family (wait, there's more of them?!) who'll be nearby to offer up heaps of comfort food and some guidance on the cultural ways of "the beautiful country."

There are obvious Godfather allusions to be made here -- "laying low in the old country," Apollonia, etc -- but this reminds us more of Everything is Illuminated. You think Snooki's read it?

Click for Scandal Report: Champagne Mania Makes for A Boozy Golden Globes

nfreeman [at] observer.com | @nfreeman1234

Times booze expert Eric Asimov's campaign for the frivolous -- but tasty! -- warm-time cordial was sparked by a tweet by Lockhart Steele, who explained that one should drink the pink stuff during the cold months only if it's being tested for summertime.

Yet the prejudice — what else can one call it? — endures. In a Twitter post last week, Lockhart Steele, the founder of Eater.com and other Web sites, suggested that few excuses were acceptable for drinking rosé in January. Well, excuse me, Mr. Steele, you’ve obviously never tried a wine like Jean-Paul Brun’s 2009 Rosé d’ Folie, a minerally pink Beaujolais that I would drink any time of the year, especially if I had a plate of chicken roasted with garlic, rosemary and thyme.

Why this insistence to drink rosé when it's freezing out? As a collective we've gone back and forth over when to drink certain wines, kowtowing to convention one year and throwing up our arms in concession others. A bottle of white with my bloody steak, please, because who follows the rules these days right!

Not quite. We clamor for some decency in our lives, and thus we will not touch rosé until the rebirth of Christ allows us to wear white. A bottle of red will do us more than fine.

Click for Scandal Report: Champagne Mania Makes for A Boozy Golden Globes

nfreeman [at] observer.com | @nfreeman1234

John Runowicz dug through the trash at Warehouse Wines off Washington Square Park and submitted customers' discarded receipts as his own, then received reimbursement.

Prosecutors pointed out that nobody even noticed these 10,000 receipts still read "Warehouse Wines" at the top. Another possibility: Everyone at NYU spends $1,500 a week on alcohol and expenses it.

The move comes with the stipulation that the bar and its managing partner, Greg Hunt, adhere to a list of 14 guidelines issued by residents, which include bans on outdoor seating, loud music and dancing. The board's recommendation is non-binding, but will factor into a review by the state's Liquor Authority. If any of the community's guidelines are broken following an approval, the liquor license would be revoked.

Mr. Hunt and his colleagues described the bar as a sophisticated, upscale amenity that would target patrons over 35, including visitors of the nearby Lincoln Center. It would have soundproofing and play the jazz of Billie Holiday, Miles Davis and John Coltrane, and not the thumping club music that opponents have insinuated. Light foods would be prepared off-site and heated in the bar's ovens, but no full kitchen would exist.

Mr. Hunt argued that the bar was consistent with the neighborhood's character, and he had responded to all of the community demands. A community board member said that the guidelines had been legally notarized as part of the liquor license application. "We're putting our money where our mouth is," said Mr. Hunt, a lifetime Upper West Side resident. "We've addressed every single one of their concerns."

Residents of 25 Central Park West and the nearby 15 Central Park West weren't satisfied, however.

A particular sour point is the closing time of the bar. Mr. Hunt insisted that the bar needed to stay open until 1:30 a.m. from Wednesday to Saturday, an hour later than the 12:30 a.m. closing time from Sunday to Tuesday, to attract the after-theater crowd. He added that the space only held around 65 patrons at once, so the additional four hours would be crucial for economic survival.

Residents disagreed, pointing to restaurants in the area that close earlier, although the proposed bar straddles the line between a full-service restaurant, which typically closes around midnight, and traditional beer bars, which stay open as late as 4 a.m.

An amendment proposed by a board member limiting the bar to a 12:30 a.m. closing time throughout the week was defeated, and the board ended up accepting the 1:30 a.m. closing time on some days, although residents remain opposed.

There's also the question of zoning. Twenty-five Central Park West is zoned for residential use, but a Gristedes supermarket previously occupied the ground floor of the building. The bar's lawyers argue that the fact that the space was used in a "non-conforming" way means that the bar can continue to use it in a commercial manner. But in accordance with the arcane approval process, the applicants first must obtain a liquor license before the zoning issue is even considered, and so the issue was downplayed by supporters of the bar.

Meanwhile, residents have hired a number of consultants to bolster their cause, including land use attorney Paul Silver, who is also representing Extell in their massive Riverside Center proposal. He argued against modifying the zoning of the building in order to accommodate the bar, as it would compromise the purely residential character of the area. (Ironically, Extell is attempting to get over a dozen zoning changes approved in its Riverside project.)

If approved, the project will go back to City Planning to sort out the zoning question, which will likely spark more opposition.

Until then, residents will have to get their Billie Holiday and wine fix elsewhere.

rli@observer.com

The admission came during an interview on WNBC-4's new 5 p.m. show LX New York, on which Ms. Simmons was making a guest appearance alongside Bravo executive-turned-night-show host Andy Cohen. 

Not long ago, in the spring of 2008, Ms. Simmons drew national attention when she was caught cursing out her colleague Chuck Scarborough during a live promotion.  Afterwards, The New York Post published a story under the headline "Silly Sue Simmons A Salty Swiller," in which anonymous sources alleged that Ms. Simmons regularly threw back cocktails before appearing on the air. At the time, Ms. Simmons did not respond to the Post. And eventually the maelstrom passed.

On Thursday afternoon, it was the mischievous Mr. Cohen who repeatedly raised the issue of drinking-and-anchoring. At first, Ms. Simmons seemed to skirt around the question successfully, but Mr. Cohen's persistence paid off.

"It used to be acceptable that you could go out to dinner and have a martini," said Mr. Cohen at one point (around the 3:00 minute mark). "Did that ever happen?"

"Yes," replied Ms. Simmons, who started anchoring on WNBC-4 in 1980. "But that stopped in the mid '80s, late '80s, because I looked in the mirror before--when I was about ready to go on the air--and my eyes were red."

"Really?" said Mr. Cohen. 

"I didn't feel loaded or anything," said Ms. Simmons. "But my eyes were red and that was enough for me to say...that's it."

"Oh my god," said Mr. Cohen, grinning.

At that point, host Megan Meany had seen enough. "I hate to cut off this reunion...." said Ms. Meany. 

Ironically, it was Ms. Simmons' first appearance on NBC's 5 p.m. hour since September, when the network replaced the sobering hard-news hour which Ms. Simmons co-anchored with the fizzier, effervescent lifestyle show called LX New York. To date, the show has struggled badly in the ratings--which might explain why it took a couple of days for this clip to come to The Observer's attention.