Oh. My. Gosh. You guys.
So this definitely wasn’t the day I planned. But if we’ve learned anything from Fashion Week weather, brunch waitlists, or dating anyone named Paolo—it’s this: New York City always surprises you. Sometimes in heels. Sometimes in heels and with live jazz.
Let’s just say… I got totally lost in Central Park (don’t judge, it’s like an enchanted forest with joggers), but I ended up discovering something incredible. Like, sliding-door moment, off-the-beaten-path, “am I in a Nancy Meyers movie?” incredible.
It Started with Coffee… and the Wrong Turn
Okay, so the intention was to walk off this giant hibiscus croissant from that new French place in SoHo. You know the one—where it feels like everyone’s outfit is mood-board ready and even the dog espresso cups are curated? Yeah. There.
Fast-forward to me wandering into what I thought was the Ramble, but ended up feeling very Blair Witch Project, minus the witch, thank God, and plus a lot of ducks. I mean, there was an actual duck traffic jam.
Then—just when I started negotiating with the universe for a park ranger or magical breadcrumb trail—music floated through the trees.
Real, velvety, kiss-you-on-the-neck kind of jazz. 🎷
Welcome to the Cutest Pop-Up Brunch Ever
I followed the music like a lovesick rom-com character and—boom—parted some ivy and stumbled into the most magical little setup you ever saw.
Imagine this:
- Soft picnic blankets arranged in imperfect harmony.
- Linen-draped tables topped with tulips in old wine bottles.
- A trio of jazz musicians in wide-brimmed hats and suspenders playing “Fly Me to the Moon.”
- Everyone sipping spritzes and nibbling what looked like ethically-foraged crostinis.
I thought I’d interrupted a private party, ready to back away awkwardly and mutter something about lost poodles. But a woman in a burnt-orange jumpsuit (and the confidence of Serena Williams) waved at me and said:
“You found us! Grab any seat—mimosas over there!”
Okay.
NEW LIFE GOALS:
- Chase mysterious music more often.
- Always follow the woman in the burnt-orange jumpsuit.
Jazz, Toast, and the Kind of Strangers You Want to Get Drinks With
Turns out, it was a monthly jazz brunch hosted by this artsy co-op group called Bellwether Nooks (like… what??? It even sounds like a Nancy Meyers Pinterest board). You RSVP through their mysterious email chain, bring your own silverware, and they do the rest.
They had:
- Heirloom tomato mini toasts with whipped goat cheese
- Tiny mushroom quiches that I may or may not have hoarded
- Blood orange mimosas served from recycled jam jars (!!)
- A “free table” because apparently hot people share their pastries in 2024?
And the people. You guys. I met a spoken-word poet from Harlem, a fire dancer who lives on a houseboat in Red Hook, and a structural engineer who looked exactly like a Kate Spade campaign.
We talked about everything—jazz, skincare, astrology, the right shade of linen—and no one asked “what do you do?” for like a whole hour, which honestly felt illegal in NYC.
Things I Learned From Getting Lost on Purpose
Okay fine, not on purpose, but let’s go with it.
- Central Park is basically a treasure map with snacks.
- If you wear enough blush and confidence, you will be welcomed like brunch royalty.
- Magic exists. It’s just sometimes hiding behind the duck pond.
And most importantly?
Sometimes the most fashionable thing you can do is get a little lost. ✨
Next month I’m bringing Monica (for her quiche feedback) and Phoebe (so she can try to join the jazz band with her tambourine full of herbs or whatever). Until then, I’ll be dreaming of jazz chords and crumbly crostinis.
Kiss kiss,
Rachel 💋
Upper West Side’s Accidental Brunch Queen
Thanks for reading! If you’ve ever said yes to adventure, unexpected jazz, or linen-wrapped dreams, tap that 👏! See you next Saturday—and maybe in the Ramble?
#brunchgoals
#CentralParkMagic
#RachelWanders