Foxhole

FoxHole
If you're one of us "bright young things," (and if you're one of the "I make +100K plus per year" set), then I highly recommend you check out "Foxhole" which is behind Barton G where the old "Loading Zone" used to be.

Yes, you, too, can party where once LeatherBears came on the floor.

I'm not kidding.

The atmosphere has changed (not that I ever went to the Loading Zone, regrettably), and the crowd is one I literally haven't seen since we used to flood "The Angelic Brewing Company" in Madison, WI, when we all had a set of freshly minted fake IDs from South Dakota (that ID was never, but NEVER confiscated). But I don't say that in a derogatory manner - stepping into Foxhole is like stepping into a slightly-better Purdy Lounge / whatever that club used to be that was on 36th street, 7 years ago (SoHo Lounge!). It's awesome.

Their drinks are strong, their music is late 80s, and their crowd is needy Jewesses, regretting stupid, bitchy decisions into their manicured nails.

It's a fun time. You'll run into people you know there...and even if you don't, you'll meet people you don't give three shits about there, where you'll all knock a couple back and then end up at... the Deuce. And then La Sandwicherie.

Bottom line? The people drinking are pretty and affluent. The bar staff is attentive enough to justify the auto-gratuity. The space is huge, and the music is what they play at Sports Club LA, during a dance-lab session. If you go there four consecutive weekends, you're almost certain to know everyone hovering at the bar...so it's only natural that you'd thereafter move to the upper decks. (There's an upper deck.)

South Beach, we've found ourselves a higher-class Purdy -- you can now bankrupt yourself and ruin your liver -- but it'll be slightly more conspicuous and slightly more embarrassing when it happens -- but you'll be able to "black-shirt" yourself into the JAPpiest den of drunken debauchery since the Astor went out of style.

Woody Allen and his Dixieland Jazz Band.

Tonight, for Chanukkah, Gael and I saw Woody Allen play with his Dixieland Jazz Band at the Fillmore on the Beach.

Even though we were the youngest in the crowd by about 50 years, it was an awesome show. But then again, I love both Woody Allen and Dixieland jazz.

So...

If you don't like one or the other, you should probably skip it. But if you do like both, you should go because it was awesome (even though Woody seemed a bit off his clarinet game tonight on some of his solos...) and the music is toe-tapping, and you're IN THE SAME ROOM AS WOODY ALLEN!!!

Hooray for Lincoln Road.

Never in ten years of living here, have I gotten such responses to a Halloween costume.

I put on a bunny mask with my friends Gael and Ashley. A bunny mask, a green plaid shirt, and some jeans. The mask, combined with slow, deliberate movements, and staring down people garnered us countless photos. I have never been photographed so many times on Halloween... I think because we were pretty effing creepy.

Maybe you saw us...

Vizcaya this year was a load of crap.

If you didn't spend $160.00 on a ticket to Vizcaya's annual Halloween Party, pat yourself on the back. If you did, and you're reading this, you probably don't have a hangover. And let's vow never to go back -- and to demand a refund.

The party this year was an EPIC failure. EPIC. Like... indescribably bad.

So it rained. No big deal. They can't control the weather, and they had...two... tents erected. Two puddly, steamy tents.

So, they didn't have a DJ, but a live band. A DJ is better for that sort of thing, but whatever.

What I, and everyone else are LIVID about, was the booze. And the ticket prices. And the fact that they jacked the ticket prices up forty bucks AND slashed 1) the quality of booze; 2) the availability of the booze; and 3) the number of bars.

There were two full-liquor bars (in years past there were... upwards of seven?) and those bars were out of Vodka by 10 p.m. It was impossible to get a drink at those bars, because they were MOBBED. There were two bars serving Stella that would intermittently run out of beer (and the cunty [and I don't use that word lightly] bartenders would bald-facedly lie and say "That's it. No more beer tonight."), and then there were bars serving Patron tequila (barf) and rum and cranberry juice (barf.)

Getting drinks was impossible. I was so wet and miserable and sober, I seriously considered venting my rage by setting fire to the Mansion itself.

This was the worst Halloween I think I have ever had. And that's including the first time I went to Vizcaya in 2004, broke my nose, lost my phone and my friends, and wandered from Vizcaya to Merrick Park before throwing myself on a taxi and demanding it take me home.

Epic failure, Vizcaya. You screwed the pooch AND jumped the shark...

Barceloneta?

Me and a group of kids tried to go to Barceloneta last night. That's the new PubBelly venture on 20th Street on the Beach...

I mean, we went... and we had eleventeen white sangrias at the bar (which were delicious!) and which were served by friendly, speedy bar-staff... but we never got to the food.

Why, you ask?

Because, despite arriving at the restaurant when it was EMPTY except for the outdoor portion, at about 8:30 p.m., the Hostess couldn't figure out how to seat a part of four.

Literally.

We were the first name on the list and asked to be sat outside, and an hour and ten minutes later, as the restaurant went from empty to full, and as we watched tables outside turn over, we were STILL at the bar... waiting for our table.

"You should have made a reservation!" you crow. We tried. They don't take 'em -- it's "first come, first served," but that's with a caveat - it's "first come, first served" if your party happens to be a party of three. We were a party of four. Every outdoor table appears to be a "three-top" which is a pretty weird size for a table. (They're actually two-tops, with an extra chair dragged over.)

The hostess, even knew our party's name by the end of the evening, and at one point (shortly before we gave up), while I was standing near her station (away from the bar), ratcheting my jaw off the floor, after watching her seat two three-tops that had come AN HOUR AFTER WE HAD PUT OUR NAME IN, she came up to me, asked me if I was with the "___" party, and on my confirmation that yes, I was, and assured me that tables were leaving and we would be the next table sat.

Ordinarily, this would have been reassuring, except that we had heard this same spiel several times -- notably when we got to the restaurant. An hour before. When it was empty. So, it was bullshit.

Fifteen minutes after that happened, we threw in the towel and went to PubBelly. Which is delicious, but I later realized was owned by the same guy as Barceloneta, so it's not like my business went "elsewhere," I just went to a different restaurant of his. That annoyed me. But I love Pubbelly.

Here's my take on Barceloneta - maybe I'll try again. But I'm not sure, actually. It almost felt like we were being profiled, which was the reason we weren't sat -- since we weren't cougary Latins with obscenely-plumped lips and dry, overprocessed blonde hair, and since I wasn't wearing boot-cut jeans with sparkly rhinestones on the pockets and pointy douchebag shoes. (People fitting that description were sat.)

I know they were open for like two days before we got there. But seating people is like...the easiest part of a meal. And the fact that they were so cavalier about that -- because if we didn't eat at Barceloneta, we would have likely overflowed to another one of the restaurants owned by the same group (which is exactly what happened) left me with a delicious taste in my mouth (Pubbelly) but with heartburn.

Yardbird!

I have this uncanny knack for going to any restaurant on its second day of being open. I always. do. that.

Tonight, I went to Yardbird Southern Table and Bar at Lincoln and Lenox. First - the name - the name is obnoxious. It's five-words-long, and, frankly, sort of douchey. Actually, the more I think of the name, the more annoyed I get so I'm going to move on, because by and large, it was a really positive experience.

I like the way they decorated the place - I remember the space when it was a gross, roach-infested bodega, with its original frosted glass windows (they should have kept some of the original windows, actually). It's decorated with sort of an Edwardian-Industrial-Meets-Plantation-House vibe, which totally works.

And the food is totally decent, although I can't see myself eating some of those dishes more than two or three times... Stuff was pretty tasty like the Chicken Biscuits and the macaroni and cheese. There were some things that were clearly ganked from Gigi's menu, like the pickled cauliflower and bread-and-butter pickles and the short-rib meatloaf (which were both delicious, but had both made an appearance at Gigi's.) The obsession with bacon, however, is sort of getting tiresome. The fried green tomato sandwiches with bacon were...okay, but the bacon ice cream with sweet potato beignets in crushed blueberry sauce... that bacon ice cream was a bit much - sort of like the one time I had truffle ice cream at the Setai. (Full Disclosure: I may not be a "savory ice cream" person...)

Service was friendly, and they've got a TON of staff - I think there were like two or three managers on the floor directing the staff, which were really hustlin'.

I drank most of their specialty cocktail menu, and the smoked pear was my favorite (it's the drink with the rim of crushed smoked almonds...) and the drinks are good.

In all, it's a solid place. I'll be back.

Pie is amazing and what's the deal with Scarpetta?

Hi.

A couple of thoughts:

1) My birthday is tomorrow. Well, in 23 minutes. It still feels wrong to be sober watching your birthday tick over from 11:59 to Midnight. I wonder if that's unique to having gone to college at Madison, WI, or if everyone feels that way... or if I just need to admit that I have a problem. (I don't have a problem. There are just some events you should be drunk for: Your birthday, the 4th of July, Halloween, the day before Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve, St. Pat's, and...I think that's it. Veteran's day? No... Memorial Day...? Nnnooo.oooooo. [Maybe.]) The fact that I'm not drunk as I turn another year old just shows me what a difference there is between like 25 and now. I'm a COMPLETELY different person. I miss 25-year old me. And his waistline. Which brings me to my next thought:

2) OH. MY. GOD. PIE!!! ??? !!! ??? !!! BOURBON PECAN??!?!!? I KNOW, RIGHT?!

Why did no one tell me about this before?! HUH?! It's salty and sweet and chewy and creamy and crispy, and bitter and sweet and salty and crunchy and viscous, and rich, and thin... It's like an effing SYMPHONY in your MOUTH!

I made a pie last night that was like the Second Coming of Christ. WHO. KNEW?! It's so good, it makes me want to punch a wall, which is the complete opposite reaction that I should be having from the waves of ecstasy shooting into my soul through my... ... ingestion of a baked good.

3) Tried to go to Scarpetta tonight because I hear their Spice Menu is a religious experience (like the pie I made. Did I mention I made a phenomenal pie that is like an exploding firework that is full of RAINBOWS AND TAP-DANCING CARTOON FROGS IN TOPHATS AND TAILS?!). That didn't work. Scarpetta suuuuuuure is annoying with reservations and only having a table for an hour and a half after you want to go to the restaurant. Both calling in (where they tell you they gladly accept walk-ins).... and walking in (where they send you to Gotham Steak instead). We went to Gotham Steak which was an enjoyable experience... but I really wanted that polenta, SCARPETTA.

Next week. Hopefully.