where I walk with my dog near my apartment, is also the remains of what was Fort Putnam in the late 1700’s and later Fort Washington near the Navy Yard. Not the largest park but a regular part of my routine and big enough to feel like you’re still out of the city when you’re in the middle of it.

It starts when a friend implores you to eat downstairs at La Esquina, the subterranean brasserie branch of Derek Sanders's Mexican axis of Kenmare Street. The food’s cheaper and probably better at the walk-in-only cafe around the corner from the restaurant’s entrance—a door disguised by a taqueria counter and a sign that reads “Employees Only”—but there’s a certain category of New Yorker who thrives on having what others don’t. A reservationist will ask you if you’ve “dined with us before,” and in general, it takes knowing someone in the industry, smooth talking, or (velvet-rope flashback) looking good and confident at the door, to waltz in at prime time. The reward is dining in a Mexican dungeon as styled for a Vogue shoot, complete with metalwork, distressed stone walls, and water dripping on the back of your neck (though the owners can probably thank the air conditioner for the added atmospherics). Making up the grinning crowd at secluded booths and in private cells (?): a healthy mix of models, cougars, and maybe John Mayer picking his way through red snapper ceviche, cauliflower and avocado taquitos, grilled octopus tostados, or a plate of tuna tartare with a tamarind glaze. If the food sounds light, you’re right; it’s playing to the delicious crowd.  This is, what "The New Yorker" wrote about this fantastic place!

I'm a huge Japanophile: if there's one other place I'd like to live, it's Tokyo. I must have been there seven or eight times, most recently just after the Tohoku earthquake and tsunami. Anyway, EN is a gem on Hudson Street, serving real Japanese cuisine. It turns out that EN is a chain in Japan; there are a lot of branches making lovely bosky food in cosy neighbourhood locations. But their New York incarnation is grand in scale and ambition, with solid, warm interiors (not unlike if the Whitney were a Japanese restaurant, oddly) - a remarkable hybrid of this city, and the other one that I'd love to live in.

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.

This place has one of the hottest rooms I've ever been in. The combination of barely being able to breathe from the heat to immediately jumping into a freezing murky pool is addictive. There's also a great roof patio for a change of scenery. A good old school New York spot.