Summertime! The sprinklers in the parks are back on, Willa and Phoebe’s knees are all skinned and scabbed, and it’s time for rosé and BBQs. Unlike many renters in Brooklyn who are forced to drag their grills to Prospect Park to light one up, we’re extremely lucky to have backyard access. Granted it’s down two flights of stairs and a trek through a dungeon-like basement. And the yard itself is nothing to take pictures of, filled with weeds and mosquitos. But none of that really matters once the taste of grilled meat hits your tongue.