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Is that of basement lounges.
And, doormen rule the world? Again?
Let’s kick it off this way. You know the history of the faded, colourful booze New York past. All those hidden agendas. The underground. The really neat time in America. If you don’t, read the book Last Call, The Rise and Fall of Prohibition (for those of the “scene” still able to read). The old speakeasy back in the old ass New York day (sorry, Paul you were still living with Mom in Connecticut…wait were you born yet?) giving way to places a la Double Happiness with the white brick walls and the warm glow of red and orange. Yes, New York was still dirty and sketchy and fun. Don Hills was really dirty, sketchy and fun. Mott Street was still like the demilitarized zone. Don’t you remember? Or were you still rocking Wall Street?
Doesn’t matter. All the cool new scene on scene-ers and their money backers insist on slick interior and yes, food for the druggies, just in case the night doesn’t work out…you can always blame food poisoning.
Now you have Kenmare and the black box special Travertine‘s new lounge XIX (original title, no?) which could make Paul a shade less pale. It might be the next Kenmare to the Don Hills. It exhausts me to think of the possibility. Yes, Kenmare is the block of cool. The place where an ex-B/8 doorman can get top billing for his ex-Stephen Dorff types knocking on heavens door. Now, all the basement space looks the same, generic red booths, white booths, clean, sprawling, pricey. Nah-nah-ne-nah. Why bother to report? It’s super boring. It’s putting me to sleep now.
Good night.
Kitty Bawler wants to open Kenmare at Disney Land. Oh what fun.
Time is UP! It’s been on Paul’s agenda (between his zero star jammy Kenmare and sailing expeditions in the sound) and now the once cool edgy club is about to hit a wall. Neighbors of lower west Spring Street line up your ear plugs. And, you thought Sway was bad?
Eater says says: The new owners are promising a “return to Old Skool NYC, when downtown was downtown and uptown and uptown was uptown.”
Um, okay that makes sense.
Dear Terry; I knew I could count on you or Ollie to document when Don Hills would sink the biz. However, Ollie is holed up (quite literally) at the Standard with his new Native American chick, working his sexy angle and I can count on you to document the goings-on of downtown NYC. I really appreciate that; although you make it look much more edgy than it actually is in 2010. Don’t you miss the good ole’ days?
So; it looks as if we say farewell and good night good luck and all those pleasantries which Paul bestows on his “relaunch ideas” for his rock n’ roll fellows, A to B listers and those other hangers-on. The list is so boring even I yawn as I type this. Lucky for the Kenmare crowd to be able to venture so close to their haunt, perhaps by taxi or bicycle. Another landmark gets a jolt by a cool “club kid” even though he plays it down.
Wonder if he’ll spin during fashion week previews?
Ollie should be of sound mind by then…
Oh brother!
x Kitty.
PS: Eater says says: The new owners are promising a “return to Old Skool NYC, when downtown was downtown and uptown and uptown was uptown.”
Um, okay that makes sense.
(images: DEATH BEFORE CASTRATION… at Don Hills last night from of course, Terrys Diary)
Eater threw together a fairly witty list of the The Seven Worse Outdoor Drinking Spots in New York. I’m on the bandwagon on a few, but could easily add to the list bringing it to a total of ten. I would throw in Pulino’s on general principle; it’s impossible to believe you could sit on the corner of Houston and Bowery sipping a $15 glass of Rose in 95 degree weather. Completely down with the Dos Caminos mention and to an extent, the Cipriani Downtown, although that my friends is purely a people watching experience. And, you get what you pay for in the form of Peter Beard or some really nice Bentley. The price of gawking doesn’t come cheaply these days.
I especially enjoyed the Cipriani write-up: “We love Europeans and we love drinking outdoors. But for some reason, the two of them go together like lamb and tuna fish. Throw in a $20 drink, a kaleidoscope of pastel, … and an abundance of “professional” women and you have a terrible destination. Unless you want to wind up cash poor with a head full of overheard information about the renovations of Starvos’ ski chalet in Gstaad, we suggest you skip Cipriani’s.”
(Image: NYPOST)
Keeping in the spirit of LES dirty-good Mexican food, I would be wrong not to give honorary shots to The Hat (on Ludlow). I’m certain we all have a Hat story. The one that’s fuzzy and grainy and running in your mind. You can have a little meal there or sip a margarita or two or three. It’s been kicking since 1984 and locals and hipsters alike hit it. The portions are big,cheap and standard but its old school and ambience which keeps the crowds coming. Even a guy like Joey Little Italy.
(image: Flikr)
If you area looking for another Old Irish bar in New York, drop into McSorley’s Old Ale House for a beer (they give you two regardless…you pay for two). Your choices; McSorely’s Light and Dark. Period. And you drink them fast because they warm easy. Nice winter, early Spring spot. Plus, it’s the oldest Irish Tavern in New York City. I met my bro-in-law with various boy cronies in tow. We sat at a round table. Certainly, it’s a gents bar but the ladies broke the barrier. Yet, the boys still are a bit annoyed, at least those behind the bar. God bless ‘em.
Their site says it all: “McSorley’s Old Ale House has been a gathering place, a watering hole, the subject of art and literature and even a supreme court controversy. Established in 1854 – McSorley’s can boast of being New York City’s oldest continuously operated saloon. Everyone from Abe Lincoln to John Lennon have passed thru McSorely’s swinging doors. Woody Guthrie inspired the union movement from a table in the front – guitar in hand, while civil rights attorney’s Faith Seidenberg and Karen DeCrow had to take their case to the Supreme Court to gain access. Women were finally allowed access to McSorleys in 1970! So belly up.”
Long before the trendiness and the updated interiors, there were a few places in the hood. The Lotus Cafe, the Jamaican hairstylists with the concrete parking polls in full Rasta colours, a couple Latino hardware stores and Wylie Dufresne on his way. Caught between the lettered avenues and the (future) new world sat (and still sits) the Parkside Lounge.
There was a little hole on the wall on the corner of whatever and whatever. Literally, you may find someone from just about any part of the city. You are at the corner of everything. When you walk inside you have a pool table and lots of 1980s legit retro gear. But once inside, the back music room; the jewel of the crown inside the lounge. You just may be transported into another world. I would say the music runs from reggae, rock steady sca to new age jazz. Let the Jamieson flow. Definitely a place you can light up a spliff mate…even in today’s world.
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Rasta J is old New Yorker, an East Village legend, and LES spliff master.
LOVE AT THE BOWERY BAR, PART I
“It’s Friday night at the Bowery Bar. It’s snowing outside and buzzing inside. There’s the actress from Los Angeles, looking delightfully out of place in her vinyl gray jacket and miniskirt, with her gold-medallioned, too-tanned escort. There’s the actor, singer, and party boy Donovan Leitch in a green down jacket and a fuzzy beige hat with earflaps. There’s Francis Ford Coppola at a table with his wife. There’s an empty chair at Francis Ford Coppola’s table. It’s not just empty: It’s alluringly, temptingly, tauntingly, provocatively empty. Its so empty that it’s more full than any other chair in the place. And then, just when the chair’s emptiness threatens to cause a scene, Donovan Leitch sits down for a chat. Everyone in the room is immediately jealous. Pissed off. The energy of the room lurches violently. This is the romance of New York.”
*read more of Candice Bushnell’s brilliant boo, Sex and the City, here.
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Beyond the obvious Candice Bushnell references to the Bowery Bar; I celebrated my (urgh, let’s see here…) 22nd birthday here. And, although I’m watching the snow melt, I recall that night fondly. Outside under the car lot colored lights with dirty martinis, Silver Patron margaritas and salty Kumamoto oysters. The B Bar is mainstay and although the neighborhood is long gone (the Bowery in general) from the Sex and the City days, hijacked to mass retail and boutique hotels, it’s still a nice place to drop by for a drink, even during winter’s stay.
It’s hard to believe, I have put off writing about The Spring Lounge until today. Spring Lounge–aka The Shark Bar– is one of those places hard to put into words. It’s an experience. It’s a place you watch the seasons change. Summer and the girls in their short Tracy Feith dresses, painted toes and the boys on lowrider bikes with gold bangles and boomboxes. Fall brings rain, baseball and brown pints (not always in that order). Winter, you button up the North Face, trek down the street and watch the flurries tether. Spring arrives and the Old St Pat’s (cue the church bells). Girls are getting their toes painted again. You just can’t wait for the nice weather and the Lounge doors to stay open.
The hard wood floors with their distinct creaks and the long wooden tables with little stools. The old payphone and the sign which reads: Hippies use the Side Door. The Jute Box (even though the old one’s gone) playing the Pixies, the Beatles, Bob Seager and The Beastie Boys. There’s lovely Michelle and the cast and crew of regulars like Vinnie, usually in his Yankee cap. Ugggg… that annoying yo-yo from Pomadoro’s with the earring who speeds by for a shot before returning to the pizza scene. The cheap Schaefer beer, my mini pints of Guinness, the Sunday Bloody Mary’s (Matt used to cut the celery). No…no, not another shot.
The place where I met my now husband and where our wedding snap is tacked onto the mirror with other warm (and faded) memories. A place where I met neighborhood friends who still remain friends; even though we’ve all moved away. Even though they moved; they still drop in, always. Especially the Parks with their little brood.
Everyone in my family has been to the Lounge. I remember my brother called and said he was in DC and walked through the bar door. My mom drank a Stella and lost her new earring. My bro-in-law (Chris) and sister (Jax) et. all watched a fire truck hit two cars trying to make a turn on Mulberry with a full crowd rooting on. It’s a special corner joint where if you are lucky, people still know your name, because as I know, the times have changed. Still, the firemen come (as they did after 9.11 when the Lounge opened its doors wide). It’s a window onto the world and the walls talk.
(image: newyorkontap.com)
the candlelight glow of the Room.
sitting here on a rather gray day, i think about the Room. The first Room concept opened it’s doors in December 1995 and spawned four other spots, aptly named, The Other Room (in the West Village), Another Room (in Tribeca), The Room (Miami Beach), the Other Room (Venice Beach)…although I’ve not had the pleasure of visiting the latter two.
The Room is one of those dark, sexy places with thick candles offering up a warm hue against the brick walls. It’s a great spot for a glass of vino or a beer (long list on their chalkboard). I was always quite impressed with myself after taking out-of-town visitors to this spot. They thought I was cool. In turn, I felt cool.
During the fall, the windows open onto Sullivan street. When it’s cold, it’s a warm winter spot to chill out and talk.
I always liked it.
It’s still early in the middle west but a girl can still dream of being out of work’s trenches and free of the day’s grip.
Ah, many good nights, I would slip into Peasant where rustic farm tables and gothic rustic chic candles burned to hear the murmur of someone’s pre IPod crazed mix, a bottle of red and a helping of the bread sticks. The Ralph Lauren set designers couldn’t mimic this scene if they tried. Well…Maybe across the Bowery to Loreley for a pint and a snack mate, if it still wasn’t too dark outside, a drink at the Spring Lounge (hard to believe I haven’t touched on this one yet…soon come), or over to the long wood bar of the ever-electic, fashion crowd at Sweet and Vicious where the juke box eats your money but you might not hear your song.
In fact, sometimes, you just don’t hear your song.
Off the heels of the New York Times article The New Old Freebie; Matches Return, I’m grateful to be a collector of matches from various New York haunts over the years. My next project will be to take photos of these matches (which I will post upon my return since I’m on the road). get em’ while the collectins’ good.
Just because…sometimes you need to give props to an old mainstay like this Hell’s Kitchen joint which has been around since 1933. free hot dogs and suds. um, winner combo. that is Rudys Bar New York not to mention the ROCKING song accompanying the website. Get your java on early. It loops over and over. Tommy Ramone is on the photo list. Go to the menu and listen to Claire Robinson’s “Let’s All Go To Rudy’s.” This place truly is a classic dive in every sense of the word…DIVE. gives me a glimmer of hope on a dreary, cold Friday.
The well-worn, classic website boasts: Rudy’s bar opened in 1933 by the Rudy family. It was one of the first liquor licenses issued in New York City after prohibition ended. The present owner, Jack, started drinking in Rudy’s in 1943 when he was 16; back when Hell’s Kitchen was really Hell’s Kitchen! Rudy’s may be the most well known bar in N.Y.C., with a long and colorful history. The stories Jack can tell. Rudy’s still has the original wood door from the day it opened. When you walk through it the feel of the old neighborhood saloon is still there with cheap beer, free hot dogs, and great people!
the four screen view. image. newyork.seriouseats
