Birchwood Cutlery from Seletti

This is really cool! I've never seen anything like it before. It's a spin on your classic utensil set, great for BBQs or picnics. My one thought, however...is birchwood really practical? I'll try 'em out, but I hope I don't get any splinters!

($4 for set of three) at Thomas Sires, 243 Elizabeth St., nr. Prince St.; 646-692-4472

the closer to heaven, the better the party?

Just read a really provocative article in NY magazine about Manhattan's rooftop bars, entitled "Heaven's Gates"...hmm, interesting.

Press, the rooftop bar of the new Ink48 hotel

I speak of the rooftop bar, an institution with special relevance to New York City, where the roofs are higher, the views longer, the promise grander. In this vertical wonderland it seems only right to ascend.

But doing so is dicey, as recent skyward excursions reminded me. On a rooftop bar you indeed inch closer to heaven. But you can also wind up a whole lot closer to hell.

Icarus headed toward the sun in a heedless fashion — and more or less got burned. Don’t make the same mistake.

What's the big deal? You drink to drink, right? Who cares if your on a rooftop or in an underground club? These first little excerpts sparked my curiosity and I read on...

Then in hit me, the most obvious reason presented itself. When I think of New York nowadays, images of hipster-filled loft parties, Don Hills, Williamsburg and the L train, crowd my mind. Or "Sex and the City," pretentious, rich women with nannies and their Wall Street Husband's unlimited credit card account. Maybe, I'm just cynical, but it's all about the image here in NY. And at these exclusive rooftop hideaways where the drinks, the views, the atmosphere is literally above everything, the party-goers, so too, think they are one above. Figures.

Know for starters that many of the city’s most vaunted rooftop bars don’t merely have velvet ropes, they have velvet barricades --

With altitude comes attitude. My attempts Saturday to locate a suitable rooftop destination for three friends and me illustrated the point. I called 60 Thompson, a hotel in SoHo, to make sure its rooftop bar wasn’t closed for a private party. Experience had taught me that rooftop bars often are.

“It’s open,” the woman on the other end of the line said. “But it’s for members and hotel guests only.”

I asked, “What’s a member?” I wasn’t aware that you could join or pay dues to a hotel.

“A member,” she said, “is chosen by the hosts only.” Before I could ask who these mystical hosts were and by what mysterious criteria they made their selections, she was gone.

Even when a rooftop bar is open, it’s rarely easily accessible. You have to find a special entrance, take a special elevator, follow a trail of bread crumbs left by the last pathetic saps who dared to dream of drinks under the stars.

Harsh. But true!
The rest of the article chronicles Frank Bruni's attempt to find the perfect rooftop rendez-vous. It's worth the read.