Tucked away on the second floor, it’s easy to forget you’re in the middle of Manhattan. Order the Ika geso (squid legs) and the nankotsu (chicken cartilage), my personal favorites. You might notice people waiting around a nondescript door inside the restaurant; this is actually the entrance to the speakeasy bar Angel’s Share.

I discovered the Frick my first week in New York, during a heat wave in August. The galleries were surprisingly empty, with only the occasional visitor strolling through the rooms, gently creaking the floorboards. I stood for a while in front of the Bronzino, a portrait of a boy standing against a background of green drapery, and then sat in the courtyard for a long, cool hour.

The beauty of the light on the water, with a full view of the changing skyline, always awe inspiring.

Long afternoon naps rarely happen here, sadly. But I never stop fantasizing.

It’s photographer Jay Maisel’s studio building on the Bowery. The fact that he hasn’t sold out to the manic gentrification of everything in New York is even cooler. Makes me happy that the whole place is covered in piss stains and graffiti when everything around it is all polished and shiny and expensive. It’s like a giant middle finger raised to those disgusting, bloodthirsty, city-raping real-estate developers. Awesome.