Greenpoint Halloween Watch: Saturday Night At Casanova’s

October 30, 2010 ·
Filed under: 11222, Greenpoint, Greenpoint Brooklyn, Greenpoint Magic 

Taken October 20, 2010.

Miss Heather

Last Gasp: Closing Time at Casanova’s

October 16, 2009 ·
Filed under: 11222, Greenpoint, Greenpoint Brooklyn, Greenpoint Magic 




It was an evening of business mixed with pleasure at Casanova Restaurant tonight. I didn’t mind: giving Casanova my business is a pleasure. The Mister talked baseball with the guys and I made gaffes over good vittles.

1. I said Hunter was safe. They disagreed. I reached a compromise:

In New York City Hunter is out, but as far as I’m concerned he was safe. Please do not spit in my food. (laughter)

2. True confession time:

I’m a Met’s fan… but I’d rather see the Yankees win than the Angels. Los Angeles sucks. (more laughter)

Casanova’s food is very nice for the price (TIP: ask for the arugula salad. It’s not on the menu, but if/when it is available order it!). The atmosphere is a delightfully unpretentious. It is one of the last true old school restaurants/hang-outs left in North Brooklyn.

What’s more, they’re great guys (even if they are Yankees fans). You can peruse their menu by clicking here.

Casanova Restaurant
338 McGuinness Boulevard
Brooklyn, New York 11222

Check ’em out if you haven’t already. Tell ’em New York Shitty sent you!

Miss Heather

P.S.: If you dine in insist upon being seated in the back room. It is FABULOUS!

Lost In Greenpoint: Tina Turner

May 26, 2009 ·
Filed under: Crazy Cat Lady, Greenpoint Magic 

You know, every now and then
I think you might like to hear something from New York Shitty

Nice and easy

But there’s just one thing
You see, I never ever do nothing

Nice and easy

I always do it nice and rough
So I’m gonna take the beginning of this post

And do it easy

Then I’m gonna do the finish rough
This is the way I do lost cat named Tina Turner proud!

This weekend I had dinner with some good friends of mine at Casanova Restaurant. Located on the Garden Spot of the Universe’s answer to the Champs-Élysées (READ: 388 McGuinness Boulevard), it has been my observation that many will not give this sorely underrated eating and drinking establishment a whirl. This is a shame: the food is good, the price is right, the service gracious, the wait staff courteous and the rear dining room is fabulously decadent.

What does my previous effusive endorsement of an Italian restaurant have to do with a lost cat, you ask? My answer is very simple: pleasant surroundings are conducive to enjoyable conversations. And enjoyable conversation was the main course this particular evening. Upon hearing one person’s encounter with a “rat-sized” tea cup chihuahua named “Vinny” we aired our respective opinions about pet names. One person present said he was amused by pets who have “human” names ( “Vinny”).

I told him I found pets named after inanimate objects fascinating. Especially food: “Tortilla”, “Chocolate”, “Pickles” (who I was told was dumber than a bag of hammers) and Uni, my very own calico, are examples to name a few. When I adopted Uni from her college student “parents” (who were, not surprisingly, Japanese) they said I could change her name. I didn’t want to: it suited her purrrfectly.

For better or worse what we are trained to answer to is not our decision to make. Speaking for myself my mother picked “Heather” for me because she thought it was “unique”. 30-odd years of hindsight (and being mistaken for any one of another “Heathers”) proved her wrong. But I digress.

What’s in a name? Well, in this case, quite a bit.


If anyone has seen Miss Turner please contact her person at the above-listed phone number or email address. And before you judge this pet owner for his choice of pet names I’d like to remind you I have a cat named Frances. As in Frances Farmer.

She has always been “cantankerous”, this I will confess. Shortly after I had her spayed— 15 years ago— I decided to go out of town for the weekend. When I came back home she hissed at me, climbed atop my pile of laundry, looked me in the eye and took a shit. As a senior kittizen she has slowed down considerably— but Miss Frances (AKA: “Stinky”) gets her digs in when she feels like: two weeks ago she pissed on Mister Heather’s head. While he was sleeping, no less.

What’s in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet?

— Williams Shakespeare

Miss Heather

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