I grew up in a neat neighborhood for a kid: tiny, winding streets barely wide enough for cars to pass and little houses stacked on top of each other. We were the loud family, seven practicing troublemakers cycling about, reenacting scenes from Goonies and E.T. and Tron, mostly happy interrupting the serenity of this little hillside. We had colorful neighbors like Dan-the-Ice-Cream-man, his Red Rooster truck our personal candy store. There was the kindly Opal and Cecil and the elderly Norwegians, Leif and Hilda. We would sneak into their backyard and crowd into their hot tub. They would pretend not to notice. There was the widow Scarvacci. One of my brothers convinced me her late husband had passed and that she kept his body in there. I was a gullible (and often frightened) child.

Then there was Pearl. Pearl was infinite. She had strange, grotesquely disproportionate pillars erected outside her tiny house, a Gone With The Wind nostalgia project gone horribly awry. My brothers avoided her house on their walks, but I would often forget and would be beckoned with hard stares and cries of “Lemonaaaaade”. I had to make excuses why I had to be home straight away. One day though, she got me. She called out and locked on me. I stammered and simply went blank with no good excuse. I was in her Tractor Beam and walked to her door with a limp “OK”. With silent glee she led me to her kitchen and sat me down at her green formica dinette. I stared at the ceiling hoping to be saved by my mother’s distant call, while Pearl mixed her famous concoction.

A fun ending would be for me to share that it was the finest lemonade I have ever tasted to this day. That would be a good ending. But Pearl’s lemonade was, in truth, pretty awful. It was just an old lemon squeezed into room temperature tap water. She apologized for being out of sugar. I sipped in silence and eventually excused myself. At a polite distance from her home, I broke into a run.

This evening we kick off our wine tasting program. It will be nothing like Pearl’s lemonade (well almost: no sugar here either). These wines are the real deal. All lively and vibrant and dry. Crazy delicious. $10 for 3 wines. Red Flight or a White Flight. Choose your own adventure tonight from 4-8pm*. Additionally, there will be an all Rosé Tasting this Sunday from 12-4 ($10, 3 wines). We will be hosting tastings every Thursday night and on Sunday afternoons from here on. Get on board.

Finally, we are also thrilled to announce our Grand Opening Party on Saturday, December 10th. Small bites and free bubbly from 4-8. Magnum raffle too! Bring your friends, your trouble-making siblings, your kindly neighbors, or an elderly Norwegian.

See you soon,

Daniel  

No stories today. 

These are the days for your own stories. Turkeygates and surprise nut allergies. Burnt pies and surprise guests. Weird aunts you didn't know you had. Overindulgence. Late night calls from exes. Remembering an old friend, jello. 

Celebrate hard. Love harder. Enjoy yourselves.

We are thankful for you.

And we are are here for you if you need us. We are open today from 10-4.

Stop by if you need a break from the in-laws, or any last minute wines, bad puns, or big hugs. We are here for you, happily.

Much love from Oakland Yard.

I don’t remember the precise age, but I can remember everything else about the day I first heard the words: sharkskin suit. My dad, who had just treated me to a cone of Chocolate Malted Crunch at Thrifty, was joking around with one of my older brothers about wearing such a suit to their Winter Formal dance. I laughed too, pretending to get the joke, but was secretly filled with fear and wonder. 

Not even a week later, I would be even more captivated. Two words again, and truly spellbinding: Chicken Slacks. The oldies radio station was common ground for our family and there was a lot of Sam Cooke in rotation. I loved “Twisting the Night Away”, particularly after the very odd dance scene from Innerspace. There is a verse in the song where a guy is tearing up the dance floor with a woman in memorable pants, but instead of hearing “chick in slacks” I thought the line was “…he’s dancing with the Chicken Slacks!”

And I wanted them. I wanted their feathery fabulousness. I would show them all when the time came for my first Winter Formal. But the time would never come. I would quickly be crushed to find out that chicken slacks do not exist and would be teased mercilessly but my older brothers when I had inquired about such an outfit.

There will be no such disappointment for you, my friends. No one will crush your dreams. The whispers and rumors and fantastical tales are true in this case. The wait is over. OAKLAND YARD is officially open. And just in time. We will be twisting and laughing and singing and slinging wines all week, and we have an insane amount of fresh, lively wines that will be perfect for your Thanksgiving weekend. We are open from 4-8pm today and will be celebrating. We can’t wait to meet you. We are kicking off Happy Mondays tonight and all wines (every Monday night!) will be 10% off (and yes, that includes the 60 delicious wines in the $10-15 range we have here as well).

Put your troubles on the run and get down. We look forward to tearing it up together.

See you soon,

Daniel

Vader. Voldemort. Sauron. The Fratellis. El Guapo. 

Many evils and many struggles, but good always prevails.

And now, sadly, a very real villain.

We too are are reeling from the final results of the election and our struggles here in our little shop seem insignificant in many ways. But we began this venture to create something that could, in a small or profound way, connect people. And we still think this is worth it. 

We've come so far on our journey to bring you the best wines you can drink. Wines you can share with loved ones. Wines for commiserating or for celebrating. We have faced many trials along the way. We went mano y mano with the Department of Health. We were beaten back by the Department of Building. Our brave friend and fabricator, Jens, went finger to blade with a temperamental table saw.

But this is indeed a good fight and good will prevail. Sometimes it takes a while.

So with our hearts bursting, we wanted to let you all know that our planned celebration for this Saturday, November 12th, will be postponed. We’re asking you to wait just a little bit longer.  We need you to stay strong, to survive. No matter how long it takes, no matter how far.

So many of you have stopped at our door to connect and to share your enthusiasm or words of encouragement. This has meant the world to us. Know that we are indeed in our final stretch here and that the wait is now measured in days, no longer months or even weeks. There will be shouting from the rooftops soon.

And while there is much fear and uncertainty of what lies ahead in the coming years, know that Oakland Yard will be a place of warmth and welcome for everyone.

We're with you.

Two things happen on the first day of kindergarten, September 1983. 

Parents are invited to stay for the morning, and they sit beside their kids in a circle to begin the day. We go around sharing “fun things we do at home.” One mom teaches us what a “bear hug” is, and we all practice this new maneuver one pair at a time. When it's my turn, I freeze. I refuse to hug my mom in front of these strangers and won’t be bullied by the staff. She looks kinda bummed. I remember feeling badly about it. I still do. 

The second act is different, although I wouldn’t necessarily say I redeemed myself. We’re in a circle again and are sharing songs we learned at home. A boy named Andrew opens with Twinkle Twinkle and suddenly everyone joins in. Whitney and her mom follow up with: “Baa Baa black sheep …” and soon it's a full chorus of “Yes sirs!” and smiles all around. This goes on for a bit. When it’s my turn, there's barely a pause before I strut into the center and belt out: “IF you think I’m sexy AAAAND you want my body, COME on baby let me know…”. There are gasps, daughters' eyes and ears are covered, adults exchange nervous smiles and some head shakes. The house is not “brought down” as I’d hoped. My mother looks somewhat mortified, but I know at that moment, deep down there is a swelling pride. A silent electricity. Her house wins. I don’t feel bad about it. I never do.

November 12th, 2016 is our Grand Opening. Our “first big day.” It will be a day of a thousand bear hugs. A thousand songs. It will be electric. Oakland Yard will not be a nursery rhyme kind of place. There will be no tidy circles. Dance, strut. Go on with your bad selves. Share your fun. Come be a part of this. 

Saturday November 12th, 12-4PM. Bubbly, bites and bands. Free!

All joy. No regrets. 

See you there, friends.

I'm not good at beginnings. 

I'm worse at endings.

Selena Sullivan was not my first girlfriend, but she was the first girl I pursued. I decided I would write her. I was in second grade. It was a short note. It said: YOU ARE NICE. Mrs. Carnevali confiscated the note and moved my seat assignment elsewhere. This kind of heat was not encouraged. 

I later chased a woman to New York in 2009. It ended much worse than my courtship of Selena. I took a job at a wine shop in Brooklyn. I was walking home after my shift one night and realized my bag was unusually heavy. I had only worked there a month but the manager had remembered my birthday. He had tucked a bottle of champagne away for me.

His name was Max. Max rules. He and I are opening a shop together. It's called Oakland Yard. You probably know that much already.

But there’s much more ahead. There is cause for excitement and celebration. A grand opening party, weekly wine and beer tastings, food trucks and food pairings... dogs and cats living together. All this and much more in the months to come. And you’ll always be the first to know. Thank you for signing up. You are nice. You are awesome. 

Mrs. Carnevali is not going to stop this love.

It's going to be epic. Action and adventure. Big smiles, big love, birthdays and bad days turned around with bottles of bubbles.

This is just the beginning, and I’m not good at those. Its going to be too much fun to bother with an ending.

Let's do this.