Jersey. For many, the word connotes the Turnpike, the Boss, hoagies and a haven for mafiosos. For sportsmen, jersey means uniform, team loyalties and essential gear for either rooting or running a triathlon. As a forty-something mountain biker from this side of the Hudson River, jersey means both to me. And I’m not sure if it’s the Jersey in me or the jersey on me that makes me want to ride hard and look good while I’m at it.
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For discovery — urban or rural, musical or architectural — Cuba is fascinating and spectacularly Instagrammable, albeit in a SoHo-meets-Beirut kind of way. If you're an early adopter who treats snafus and improvising as part of the fun, get cracking before authenticity is overrun by tourists and kitsch. But if you prefer luxury over adventure, with telecom and concierge services as seamless as high-speed wifi, then wait a year (or five) for things to smooth out.
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“FOUR GINS MUST BE IN EVERY BAR.” Or so said “The Gentleman’s Companion Volume II.” In 1946, this tome’s all-caps delivery suggested not a rule, but a commandment that thou shalt have London Dry, Genever, Old Tom and Sloe Gin. Fifty years later, the rule of four arguably remains, but we’re amidst a reshuffling of the deck. It’s time to make room for an evolving category that belongs at the fore of your bar: New Western or American Dry Gins. “These gins are most certainly defined, not by the juniper itself, but by the careful inclusion and balance of the supporting flavors,” said Ryan Magarian, Co-Creator, Aviation Gin, Portland, OR. We've distilled the lot to our favorites.
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"Or as the author and connoisseur Jason Tesauro explained it to me the other day: 'After a decadent meal, amaro is like Harvey Keitel in ‘Pulp Fiction.’ It’s the cleaner that wipes away any evidence that you overdid it.'"
– Jeff Gordinier, The New York Times Style Magazine
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I crossed the Golden Gate Bridge and aimed my rental car up Highway 1 past Sausalito to the town of Larkspur in California’s Marin County. Mystery and transient sex were driving me toward the best poet you’ve never heard of. By the time I reached his address, I’d traveled 2,940 miles and still couldn’t decide if this was an obsession gone too far or a discovery that hadn’t gone far enough.
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