God Save Queen City
I didn’t go into this past weekend with the intention of really getting to know Cincinnati. Before booking my flight – which finally forced me to visualize where I was headed - I had an image of a small-ish, mountainous-ish, midwestern town with mild summers. Wrong on most fronts. Cincinnati is a substantially sized, hilly, midwestern (I got that right) city with excruciatingly hot summers – like almost worse than what I’ve been dealing with in my beloved swamp, DC. Like so excruciating that my makeup sweat off my face in large, red-brown beads at 11am Saturday morning.
So, I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, I just thought the Queen City would be the backdrop for my weekend of real life face time with my boyfriend who’s been working there all summer. As it would turn out, I found a city I was readily able to fall in love with. So much in love that as we drove to the airport at the end of my stay I thought to myself “yeah I’d do this again” and then several minutes later “yeah I’d even do this again forever.” In retrospect – corny, absolutely, but nearly one week later and the sentiment still holds true.
After some tasteful revelry the night before, Saturday was to be fully dedicated to Cincy exploration. We started in our own backyard down by the Ohio River, meandering through Smale Riverfront Park, a thoughtfully designed urban garden of sorts with bench-swings and a massive in-ground piano. The day was heinously hot – I really can’t stress that enough – but the pure enjoyment that comes from wandering around a park, something I really can’t remember experiencing since 4th grade play (my school snobbishly nixed the word “recess” and gave us “play” instead), was tantamount to catching a much desired sweet breeze in the midst of the blazing July sun.
Next came an excursion to Findlay Market. En route, we caught glimpses of the Cincinnati left behind in the midst of the development we witnessed by the water only moments before. Or, perhaps, the new money and sweeping construction hadn’t reached this part of the city yet. Observing the scene from our Uber brought DC to mind where I realized – after some deep consideration as to why these sights felt so foreign – you’re really hard pressed to find too many homeless people or boarded up buildings with strung out neighborhood regulars slumped against door frames. Better for some but certainly worse for others, gentrification makes our cities shiny and new with crisply minted investment dollars. I think the process has been mostly completed in DC, but in Cincinnati it seems that the wheels of gentrification are still rolling. The proximity of the destitute homeless living in tent cities under highway underpasses just moments away from newly erected waterfront sky scrapers came as a harsh reminder of how things used to be and a harbinger of where they’re inevitably heading.
Despite that, Findlay Market seemed to be a place where all Queen City residents could gather to sell their wares and support local growers and makers. A spontaneous musical performance by two elderly men sweetly complimented the midday cocktail I snagged from an outdoor stall. It was a beautiful place, and I loved it all.
Then came more wandering from park to park to park to park to bar to park and another bar again. We sampled Thai meatballs and Umami burgers and sipped on beers in a church-turned-brewery. And then ice cream, and candle making (which produced a thoughtful exploration of rain, yuzu, and verbena scents, mind you), and antique furniture perusing, during which I found the perfect entryway console for the home I’m going to purchase once I make my millions.
Kentucky came next. Just across the river the Bluegrass State lay waiting to take us on an Appalachian culinary adventure at Commonwealth Bistro. We both ate too many biscuits and drank too much wine, and one of us probably ate too much rabbit – not me. It was then off to the Blind Lemon, a sort of speak easy joint in the Mount Adams neighborhood set in an enclosed stone courtyard with climbing vines and cushioned back yard furniture. After several cocktails I found myself singing along to the live cover band’s rendition of Marley’s “Is This Love” and perfectly willing to just bask in the much cooler evening sun until closing.
It was a fully packed day, and Sunday presented itself as a much-needed time for decompression, lots of Belgian waffles, and long winding drives through the suburbs to scout out our favorite homes (which included checking the addresses of standout properties on Zillow and amazing ourselves with how much cheaper the Midwest is than literally everywhere else).
We did a lot, and loved a lot, and I can’t recall a happier time in my most recent weeks. It could’ve been the sheer excitement of time spent together that made this weekend so wonderful, and Cincy was just the lucky pick that offered us a wonderful backdrop. Regardless, my feelings for this city have been irrevocably intertwined with this past weekend’s joy and I’ll always love it for what it brought me in that one dangerously hot weekend in July.