Friday, December 19, 2008

Triumphant Sun, Pt. 15

Much delayed, I'm afraid. I'm outlining the plot for the next few installments - rest assured great things shall happen. But I want it to really be good, so I'm taking my time crafting that part.

***

Billowing clouds of off-white smoke obscured the street from the entrance of Evan’s building. He peered into the haze and perceived the shape of an old pickup truck, spewing out clouds of some mosquito repellent. Probably DDT, he reflected ruefully. Beams of sunlight filtered through the air, refracted into twisting edges of light. He seemed trapped in a bubble – unable to see beyond the corner of the street, the sounds of the city muffled and distant.

For a moment, he paused, watching the mist swirl, then pushed through, holding his breath, to clearer air down the street. Tendrils of white curled around the trees and fences, snaking under the cars and casting the whole scene in a kind of impressionist fog. A soldier leaned, head bent in the act of lighting a cigarette, against his wooden post. Evan took a deep breath, and coughed slightly. An ache in his side reminded him that he still hadn't eaten yet, and he headed for the corner.

A small crowd had queued in front of the compact pastry stall, crouched at the corner of two dilapidated colonial buildings, run by a Saidi named Hamid. His ashy, charcoal skin and oddly square, professorial spectacles gave him the demeanour of a tenured professor of African Literature. He had an aversion to smoking that relaxed only long enough for him to share his clientele with the ahwa across the street, but he chewed packs of imported gum with a singular ferocity.

"Sabah al-khayr," called Evan as he reached the stall.

"Sabah al-nour, sabah al-fuul, replied Hamid effusively, playing the old Egyptian game of topping another's greeting with one's own, more dramatic reply. Thus, 'morning of goodness' gave way to 'morning of light' - and, oddly, of chickpeas. Uncontrolled, it could swing back and forth until someone dropped a game-stopping 'Morning of Allah,' which, for obvious reasons, could not really be topped.

"Just a couple with honey, Hamid." Evan's stomach rumbled as he watched the man expertly flip circles of flat, light pastry dough onto a griddle and pour honey from a rusty iron bowl. The result was a flaky, sweet meal that was good just as long as it remained hot.

Thursday, December 4, 2008

Drinkwater's Cambridge

Gary Drinkwater looks the part of a seasoned veteran of Boston's menswear scene. With a grey beard that brings to mind Ernest Hemingway and an elegant, understated style, he fits in perfectly at his Porter Square store, Drinkwater's of Cambridge.

The quirky, studio-sized retail space is the result of four years of what Mr. Drinkwater calls “bootstrapping” - he built the business with his savings and turned it into a profitable enterprise with the sweat of his own brow. He runs the store without employees and relies on a loyal, “quietly affluent” customer base.

A heavy antique table dominates the center of the showroom, covered in a glittering array of 4-fold ties from makers like Robert Talbott and shirtings from Hilditch & Key. In fact, the store has a partnership with the antique shop “Room With A View,” so if you need to buy a 19th century French armoire or a gilded lamp when you pick up your suit, Drinkwater's is prepared. Despite this, the prices are affordable – Mr. Drinkwater says he's appealing to people who want to move up from brands like Banana Republic and Bennetton while staying beneath the stratospheric expense of a Louis Boston or Ermenegildo Zegna.

A local company from Lawrence, Southwick Clothing, cuts all of the suits and odd jackets for the store. Most of them are from a fairly conservative but sleek 3-button profile called Nicola, although Mr. Drinkwater's fondness for checks and Prince of Wales patterns is displayed in the window. Indeed, dressing and arranging mannequins is where he got his start in the clothing business over 25 years ago, and his experience in the area shows. One of the suits will run you between $700 and $1300, while a sportcoat goes for $600 to $900.

The other half of the store holds the streetwear lines from new brands like Engineered Garments and European companies such as Wellansteyn. Again, the emphasis is on quality construction and reasonable, although not cheap, prices. All the bases are covered – you could build your entire wardrobe here. Shoes come from Paraboot, a French company that became famous making boots for paratroopers, and there is even a selection of pocket squares in silk and Irish linen($18). Details are important, and a well-folded pocket square or proper cufflinks can set clothes apart.

But the greatest attraction is Mr. Drinkwater's personal attention to detail and encyclopaedic knowledge of men's clothing. From Louis Boston to the now-defunct Stonestreet's in Harvard Square, he's seen most of what there is to see in Boston's sartorial world.

Behind the register where he hand-writes credit-card charge slips, a pair of patched, frayed, hippy-era bell-bottom jeans hangs on the wall. They are a reminder of his younger days as an art student, a partly ironic and partly nostalgic symbol of another era of clothing.

Work, Work, Work...

One of my jobs just launched a blog, and as part of the cycle of incestuous web references, I felt that I should drop a link to it. It's one of my two jobs - the other being Libretto - and it's a great place to work. Basically we work with kids one-on-one, tutoring them in how to write essays, research papers, letters, pretty much anything that uses words.

Obviously those who know me have probably heard plenty of stories, and I'd be willing to bet most of you reading already know me! I won't go into the gory details, but it's a good place that I think is doing pretty important work. So that's always good.