It’s been a while since I gathered together a bunch of things (mostly foods) I’m feeling. Let the good vibes roll….

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I took this photo of the crispy potatoes at lunch—OK, it was probably brunch, but if you call it that I won’t generally go—at Tiny’s. They were heaven! Extremely crispy on the outside, but not rock hard. And then the next time I had them, they weren’t memorable at all. So I sat on the photo. But in the meantime, I’ve really been loving the food at Tiny’s—especially for dinner—and not for something as basic as fried potatoes. Tiny’s strikes me as the kind of restaurant that would succeed even if the food were mediocre, so I’m consistently surprised by how good it is. I can think of a bunch of dishes I’ve loved—duck with cashew-miso purée; a robust kale salad (of all things); hake with arugula and a white bean purée; gnocchi with something or other. Note: I only go for dinner Sunday through Tuesday, because I’m convinced it turns rowdy as the weekend approaches.

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Speaking of crispy: The eggplant croquettes at the Harrison are near the top of my list of new favorite things. What I’ve recently discovered about the Harrison is that I like it even more when I think of it as a small-plates restaurant. Nothing against the entrées—I’ve had some wonderful ones—but when you’re a mostly vegetarian, main courses aren’t always the best option. But the Harrison’s appetizers are a treat! If you order three, you end up satisfied but not overly full, and it’s cheaper than an app and an entrée. And while I used to feel as if I had to order a salad-like appetizer, I can now get a crispy-delicious one like the croquettes (as well as something vegetalia-related). P.S. And the Harrison’s staff is smart enough to handle the matter of what should be served when.

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I’ve taken too long to run this post, because the weather finally turned, and ice cream sandwiches probably don’t sound appealing. But when the sun comes out again, go to Tribeca Treats: Its ice cream sandwiches are the best. The one pictured is chocolate cookie with mocha-chip ice cream; other versions are available. I could eat the chocolate cookie part every single day—it’s like Nabisco’s Famous Chocolate Wafers but with a bit of chewiness and without the chemical taste.

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And now, a non-food enthusiasm! I’ve been going to Duane Park forever, since back when it was Duane Park Café and it was so delightfully dead that it made for the best Friday night restaurant—I mean when you’re so fried that the thought of other people quacking everywhere makes you want to hide under a blanket. So I was concerned when it was reinvented as a supper club. I still haven’t been to the burlesque—I’ve never been a leg man or a breast man—but I have enjoyed many musical performances on random weeknights. A couple months ago, Adam and I went for dinner there, only to learn that one Christina Sajous would be singing. (Some nights no one performs.) It’s a small space, so that’s already a delight, and then we got to also watch her interact with the musicians and the audience, which included her proud mother. She seemed to see herself as a singer in the Dionne Warwick mode, but when she belted—like in a showstopping version of Whitney Houston’s “Saving All My Love for You”—I got chills. The next week she began starring on Broadway as Arachne in “Spider-Man.” In a world—and a neighborhood—where you increasingly know exactly what you’ll get on any given night, the unpredictability of Duane Park is utterly fresh. P.S. Her eyes aren’t red in real life.

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I went to Café Clementine expecting to buy a chocolate-chip cookie, when I noticed an unfamiliar cookie. I asked what it was, and the staffer said it was chocolate, oat, and pecan—and “it’s better than chocolate chip.” Get in my belly! The oat did indeed make for a crispier crumb. I went back the next day—when I enthuse, I really enthuse—and I had to yell over the din that I wanted the chocolate-oat-and-pecan cookie. The staffer—a different one—made a sort of lassoing gesture, which I wasn’t sure what to do with. “You want the cowboy cookie?” she yelled. Evidently that’s a thing! I take the whole experience as proof that I’m always learning. Well, I still haven’t learned to snap a photo before I take the first bite….

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Did someone say “cookie”? When I met my now-friend Andrea for coffee at Locanda Verde, we ordered the cookie plate. I’ve had a few cookie plates in my time—as you can probably imagine—and this put all others to shame. We couldn’t even eat them all; there’s at least one you can’t see in the photo, and they were big. If you know Karen DeMasco’s desserts, you know how good they were, each and every one. Best of all—and I still can’t believe it, so much so that I’m sure if you go tomorrow it won’t be the same—the price was only nine bucks.

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The other day, looking for gifts for the man I’d marry if it were legal at the federal level, I finally went AboCa into Saturdays, the surf shop on Crosby that someone had told me was cool. I bought a parka lined with fake white yeti fur, a pair of gray tapered khakis, and a hoodie—all for myself. I wanted most everything that didn’t actually have to do with surfing, and I don’t much get excited about clothes anymore. It perfectly hit my post-California (I grew up there) sweet spot. And it was all pretty affordable, especially for Soho—the half-cotton-half-wool hoodie was $108, for instance, while the khakis were $115. The staff can be unnervingly handsome/cool, but that’s the way it should be. Unlike so much of America these days, I’m proudly aspirational.

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Forgive me, longtime Tribecans, but I only recently discovered how much I like Bazzini pistachios. Over the summer, Adam brought some home from the Murray’s Cheese shop in Grand Central Market, and we inhaled them with gin and tonics one Friday night. “Pistachios are the lowest-calorie nut,” he announced, and it became a running joke. (I don’t care if it’s true.) I called Bazzini to see if the pistachios are sold anywhere in Tribeca, and I was told they’re at Dean & Deluca, Gourmet Garage, and Agata & Valentina. “I really like the nuts,” I said, “but not enough to go to the Upper East Side for them.” UPDATE: I’m being told that Bell Bates has them! (Someone should let the folks at Bazzini know.)

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P.S. The last Enthusiasms installment included the garlic fries at Mehtaphor, which is now selling them alone, as a side order. Go.