The Premium Life

I absolutely love and miss living downtown. There’s so much history in the Financial District – and the area has been completely revamped since I moved to the Upper East Side. Aside from my great love for the South Street Seaport, the cobblestoned passageway known as Stone Street, two blocks south of Wall Street, is not only lined with some awesome restaurants, but it has one of the BEST outdoor happy hours in NYC. In warmer weather, the street is lined with picnic tables and benches – all of the restaurants and bars cater to the Wall Street happy hour set. If you’re a woman on the prowl, I guarantee you there is no better pick-up spot for intelligent, hard-working, deep-pocketed guys who look freaking amazing in their suits! I used to frequent this happy hour at least twice a week and though I never really met any guys who sat high-above the assbag status, I did catch onto the common practice of dropping their wedding bands into their back pocket once they met a gold-digging Jersey girl who could be fun for the night.

I took a trip back down to Stone Street two weeks ago and discovered a few new spots: I will divulge on Vintry first and foremost, and then explore Gild Hall Hotel’s quaint bar and the stunning Bar Seven Five in the brand new, gorgeous Andaz Hotel on Water and Wall Streets!

I received an email update from Thrillist a few months ago announcing the opening of the new Stone Street boîte, Vintry Wine & Whiskey. They called it a “downtown ode to upscale imbibing” and I knew it had to be in the Wall Street area. I immediately forwarded the email to a few of my downtown girls and we all agreed that we needed to pay a visit to this place as soon as we pay off our holiday debt. After reading all of the reviews, I simply couldn’t wait to pop into the newest venture from Peter Poulakakos, the guy who brought you every other place on Stone Street and Front Street, including Ulysses, Adrienne’s and Nelson Blue.

I arrived at Vintry 45 minutes before my friend drunkenly showed up because, apparently, being late is the new black. I plopped down next to a big dude who was all alone and looking for some company. I am NOT that girl. He tried chatting me up and I immediately gave “Peter Griffin” the drop dead glare and stood up in my 4” platforms that make me 6’3” in an attempt to make him feel like even more of a midget douche. Go home to your wife…

As I awaited the arrival of Miss I-Drank-Too-Much-Tequila-At-Happy-Hour-And-Forgot-About-You, I scanned the bar, looking for potential suitors for my friend. The bar is made from a rare African redwood — the molding above and below is hand-carved maple. The marble table tops, port-colored custom leather stools and vine-y stool legs added to the African forest feel. For a Thursday night, it wasn’t packed with the usual happy hour crowd of Wall Street guys. I’d say it’s more of a date spot, a place you’d go with your boss to discuss a deal or a place you’d take your office husband or wife. The bartenders, who were very attentive and outgoing, seemed to wonder why I was all alone and offered to introduce me to some of the regulars. I declined, but at least they tried! I continued to fiddle with my phone and the menu.

Vintry offers 80 wines by the taste, glass or bottle, with an additional 350 on the bottle list. Scottish, American, Japanese, Canadian and Irish whiskies make up its whiskey selection and there are over 100 whiskeys offered as either a one- or two-ounce pours. The whiskey cocktails start at $10. Its tapas-style, small-plate menu includes veal meatballs, lobster-stuffed mushrooms, lamb spareribs, a dry aged rib-eye, cheese and cured meats. I was tempted to order some food, but I had no idea when my friend would show up and if she’d even want to stay since it was couple city.

A few minutes later, she burst through the door like a bat-out-of-hell. Her makeup was smeared all over her face. She looked like she had just gotten out of bed from a rough tryst with a European man. I contemplated ordering another glass of the Pinot, but opted to go home.

Next time I will either show up on a date or with a friend who won’t stand me up for $3 margaritas!

“Darling, I love you, but give me Park Avenue!”

As I was crossing over Park Avenue on Friday night I had that god-awful, Green Acres song stuck in my head – as if I’ve ever even seen that show! I was skipping along, super excited to meet my friend at the newly revamped Mark Hotel on 77th Street and Madison Avenue – I did mention this renovation a few months ago – it is finally open!

The Mark Hotel is an original 1927 building, but the old-school-styled set was recently revamped and merged Art Deco glamour with modern furnishings, lots of marble and beautiful artwork. The Mark turned to renowned French designer Jacques Grange, whose clients have included some of the world’s greatest and most exacting style-setters, among them Yves St. Laurent, Valentino, Karl Lagerfeld and Caroline, Princess of Monaco.
Grange has unleashed the full range of his talents, creating public spaces that engage and delight, and private rooms and suites that calm and soothe. In addition, he not only oversaw and designed furnishings, he collaborated with the Parisian design gallerist Pierre Passebon to commission a host of objets d’art, furniture and lighting fixtures, specially created by celebrated artists and artisans, including Ron Arad, Vladimir Kagan, Mattia Bonetti, Paul Mathieu, Eric Schmitt, Rachel Howard, Todd Eberle, among others.
The hotel has layered one-of-a-kind offerings, including a full service salon by iconic Frederic Fekkai called CHIC by Frederic, a state-of-the-art gym and a restaurant by the famed Chef Jean-Georges Vongerichten, called The Mark Restaurant. On your way into The Mark Restaurant, you’ll pass through the modern, swirling “cloud” bar at Mark Bar. This place is already a staple with the hoity-toity Park Avenue crowd – and soon to be with my crew as well… Read more »

Front Door

Picking a first date place is always hard.  Especially in a city with thousands upon thousands of choices.  It was a Thursday night in the middle of February and I had to do just that—decide my first date avenue of choice.  Luckily, a friend (and by friend, I mean, person who was drinking at my apartment with my roommates) told me of this “really great speakeasy” in the West Village, which “was always good on a Thursday”.  Many times when I trust a random stranger with my after hours plans; I end up bumping booties with overly tan men in the Meatpacking District.  So, I was pleasantly surprised when I met my date on the corner of 7^th avenue and Leroy Street, in front of a non-descript brown door with a small gold placard that read “Little Branch”.

Fortunately for myself and the man of the hour, it was a balmy-ish February night, for Little Branch was exactly one would expect a speakeasy to be like—in the middle of nowhere.  Many would pass Little Branch up as being nothing of importance, but the small queue at the door almost gave it away.  However, unlike many of the establishments frequented by the Manhattan glitterati, this line was not because the bouncer was a big burly hard-ass with an affinity for douchebags carrying black cards and the plastic breasted women that love them, but because the establishment itself was so tiny, it was literally a fire hazard to have over 35 patrons.

Waiting in line among the dirty snow beds with wind whipping through my freshly blown out tresses proved to strangely be perfect first date material.  We bonded over the crisp winter air and conversation was never at a loss—perhaps because if we stopped speaking we would realize that we were standing outside in 30-degree weather.  Once inside, the thirty-minute wait was out of mind as we descended the stairs into a warmly lit basement space.  A live band was playing jazz in a nook to the side of the room.  There were couples sipping cocktails at tables in the back behind a friendly hostess and others were crowded around mahogany stools scattered in front of the small bar.   We put our names down for a table, but unfortunately, never made it that far.  I’m not a lightweight, but after two of Little Branch’s expertly made cocktails, I was pretty much done for the night. Read more »

Despite my suggestion that she wait until Sunday to brave the crowds and the bad weather, mom insisted on touring NYC last Saturday. I met her on the 1st floor of Macy’s (I can’t seem to escape this place!) where I tried my best not to whack some pathetic soul in a bright red North Face jacket with my wet umbrella. After shoving a few people out of my way and practically down an elevator shaft, I insisted we try somewhere that’ll be a little less midwestern-tastic so we hopped in a cab and headed over to the Time Warner Center. The cab driver, of course, took us through Times Square which mom was thrilled about, but made me want to taser him and take over the steering wheel.

We finally pulled up to Time Warner’s winter wonderland after having a minor fender bender with Santa and his sleigh. Even as a jaded, bitter New Yorker I found the decor to be quite gorgeous, especially as the snow fell onto the trees. The crowds inside TWC weren’t even remotely as obnoxious as the scene at Macy’s—I breathed a sigh of relief—even mom agreed and she thought Macy’s was as exciting as discovering the fountain of youth. I suggested we hightail it upstairs to Rande Gerber’s Stone Rose bar for a glass of wine and a beautiful view of Central Park. We definitely deserved it after surviving the past hour of freezing rain, snow and people who consider Snuggies fashion-forward.

The escalator dropped us off on the 4th floor and we wandered over to Stone Rose only to find that it doesn’t open until 4pm! Seriously? (the drunks in my family enjoy drinking before noon—or maybe that’s just me?)

“That restaurant looks cute and open.” Mom said as she pointed to Per Se.

“Are you prepared to shell out $600 for lunch,” I asked as we walked by a small space called Clo Wine Bar + Shop for the second time. She thought I was joking … so naïve. “Here’s a wine bar, right in front of us. It looks cool.”

I recently caught reviews of the newly-opened Clo on TV and in the local magazines — the press has seemingly fallen head over heels for this place. I could see why — gorgeous views of the city, amazing wine and a state-of-the-art wine menu! The hostess offered us a seat at the wooden, communal table and instructed us to sit where the Ewinebook was turned on. This interactive touch screen communal table uses overhead projection stations that enabled us to choose our selections with tasting notes that include varietal, region and price.

Clo is the latest concept created by sommelier Andrew Bradbury, former wine director of Aureole Las Vegas. Bradbury introduced the Ewinebook, the world’s first electronic wine list using Hewlett-Packard Tablet PCS and Microsoft technology. The Ewinebook features ninety-six wines — cult, boutique and rare vintages — which are presented in custom made, perfect temperature and humidity controlled dispensing machines, allocating 4 oz tasting pours.

Using a prepaid debit-style card for our wine, we each tasted a few wines (a Reisling, a Pinot Gris and a Soave), but I was slightly turned off by the prices — anywhere from $3 to over $100 per tasting — at least mom’s paying! She became a little tipsy and since I can score a case of wine for the price of one tasting I asked for our check. Clo has light snacks and cheese for your wine, but we were in desperate need of a full-fledged dinner in the Lincoln Square area so we left, but not without checking out their retail shop where you can purchase wine glassware and other merchandise. I will definitely be going back to Clo with someone who can drink a little more than my mother.

It’s true, one of my closest girlfriends is a brandy and scotch connoisseur. She’s typically the only girl—and hot one—who bellies up to the bar and orders a scotch, neat. Guys are always impressed and this habit has warranted multiple faux marriage proposals. One blustery, winter afternoon she shot me a text, wondering if I wanted to grab a drink with her. Given the fact that it was below freezing and it was Saturday, she wanted to warm up with lots of scotch.

“Where might we find a place down here that has an amazing selection of scotch?” She asked. Did I mention I’m apparently a walking Zagat Guide?

I began scouring for places in TriBeCa—we lived down there and I figured, with Wall Street so close, surely there must be a place downtown that specializes in such manly boozing. After scanning my Zagat Nightlife Guide, I stumbled upon a place called “Brandy Library” and realized I had hit the jackpot!

“According to the website, they even do single-malt scotch tasting every Saturday from 5 to 8 p.m.,” I exclaimed. “Would you be down for that?” Now, mind you, I don’t drink brown liquor. The scent alone activates the vomit reflux, but I decided to man-up. If she can do it, why can’t I? Oh probably because I can’t even swallow Sam Adams without whining about how much of a “boy beer” it is.

I arrived at 25 N. Moore Street, walked up the stairs and opened the heavy door.

“Do you have reservations?” Inquired the very well-spoken maitre d’.

“Nope, I’m meeting a friend here and we’re hoping to join in on today’s scotch tasting!”

He looked at me in disbelief—after all my hair was curled, nails were perfectly manicured, I was rocking a brand new Rachel Roy dress and I had on 4” stilettos—definitely didn’t look like the girl who was going to throw down scotch! I walked over to the bar where I picked up the bible of booze. I scanned the in-depth menu that’s packed with 10 pages of single-malt Scotches, including the very rare 25-year Talisker, but had a hard time finding beer and vodka. I also scanned the food portion of the menu—I might require something to absorb my brown liquor gluttony later on. The Malai Tikka chicken breast morsels in yogurt and spices immediately grabbed my attention, along with Gratin Dauphonios, or potato pancakes. The dessert also looked amazing—might have to save some room for the Valhrona chocolate cake! I bypassed the food and went straight for the booze. I started off very girly—I ordered the Peaches & Cream—which consisted of cognac, cream, crème de peche and port wine reduction. YUM!

Brandy Library’s wood-paneled space and glimmering, tile-topped bar oozes sophistication, wealth, intellect and maturity. It’s designed like a library—the vertical shelves on the walls are meticulously stocked with over 900 bottles of every type of hard-to-find bourbon, scotch, brandy, cognac and whiskey imaginable. The faux fireplace and buttery leather chairs add a cozy and romantic touch—not exactly first date worthy, but if you suggested it to your guy on a third or fourth date, he’d be highly impressed. Read more »

The Meatpacking District used to be the place to see and be seen. As an intern who was being paid in glamour and status I couldn’t afford the drinks at Lotus so we’d prebooze at nearby dives. The Village Idiot had an awesome shot and a PBR special—we could afford that—it was only $4. Then they closed their doors because they were giving away their drinks, allowing homeless people to move in and apparently not paying rent so we moved over to Hog Pit.

Hog Pit didn’t have the fabulous specials, the smell of stale beer and vomit, the toothless men or the rotting bar (that was a lawsuit waiting to happen), but we still loved it. Most of the patrons had the same idea that we did—drink for cheap and move onto a more pricey location. Sometimes we’d have such a great time there we wouldn’t leave! In fact, I spent one evening boozing it up with Tommy Hilfiger—he wasn’t douchey at all—he was awesome. Just like every great dive in NYC, the Hog Pit was priced out of their location and had to shut it’s doors. Never fear, they reopened on 26th street between 6th and Broadway and I’ve been a few times after work, but it’s not the same.

I heard rumors that Ralph Lauren had purchased their old location and planned on opening up a Black Label Store, but then the truth came out. Mr. NYC chain restaurants himself, Steve Hanson, bought the spot on the corner of 13th street and 9th Avenue and was turning it into a burger joint to rival JG Melon and Shake Shack. I had to test it out.

We rolled into Bill’s Bar & Burger on Saturday night after a few drinks at one of Steve’s other joints, Bar 675 (he’s slowly taking over the city). The place was packed, but it is tiny. We snagged a spot at a high table in the front room—perfect for people-watching. Bill’s quickly reminded me of P.J. Clarke’s, the original one on 3rd Avenue, minus my coveted, afterwork suits. The crowd was trendy, not trashy, but you had a decent mix of the out-of-towners trying to get in—my little sister was in town—that’s why we were doing the Jersey/Long Island party in the MPD on a Saturday.
After settling in and checking out the TV (no more sports, please) we placed our beer order and requested a plate of Boneless Buffalo Chicken Wings. I’ve had an insatiable craving for wings for a month—I knew the time had come to forget about dieting and my Christmas vacation to a beach—let the pig out party begin. Even though the sauce was delicious and the strips themselves were quite satisfying and tender, my craving had not been met so I guess I’ll be paying a visit to Brother Jimmy’s next week. Read more »

I have a confession to make: I love TAO. Yep, I’m talking about good old TAO on 58th Street between Madison and Park Avenues. You know the one that opened in 2000 and has a fat Buddha statue plopped down in the center of the restaurant? Oh let’s not forget the fact that they knocked it off in Vegas and turned it into a shitty nightclub so a bunch of Oklahoma cowboys can say they’ve partied at TAO while slamming back oh-so-NYC Long Island Iced Teas (do people really drink those disgusting things outside of trailer parks?).

I met a friend after work for a glass of wine to discuss another friend of ours who, despite our warnings, thought it was a good idea to drunk bike through NYC—well, she got hit by a cab and fractured her arm. People never listen to me! Anyway, last week I discovered that an old friend of mine is the General Manager at TAO so of course I suggested we meet there because I’d rather spend my money at Barney’s than on booze.

I’m sure you’ve been to TAO or you at least know all about it due to the media hype. I pretend the one in Vegas is non-existent because I’m allergic—we’re only focusing on New York City, people! Walking into TAO New York is like walking into a private club. Once you get past the heavy front doors (hopefully without breaking a nail) and enter into the dimly lit downstairs bar area and restaurant you instantly feel sexy and celebrity-like. Why? Because the place is loaded with tourists and they swear Paris Hilton is going to stroll through the door and trip over her hair extensions so expect star treatment for 15 seconds. In reality, celebrities do go there—on a Monday night at 10 pm when hungry Park Avenue Investment Bankers who wouldn’t care if Tiger Woods was sitting on their table will swing by for a bite after work.

Fun fact time: TAO was originally built in the 19th century as a stable for the famed Vanderbilt family (would they like to adopt me?) and then became a balconied movie theater before becoming one of the most famous restaurants in the states. Read more »

Herald Square — home to the Miracle on 34th Street and a human parking lot. When I leave my office it takes me approximately five minutes to plow through the crowds and arrive at the subway — it’s a half block walk. By the time I see the sign that reads “Broadway,” I’m so over the tourists and slow walkers, all I want to do is sip on a glass of wine until the crowds diminish (apparently bad people come out at dusk so the tourists scurry back to the Comfort Inn).

A glass of wine — where would I find something so basic in a neighborhood that Guiliani overlooked? There are quite a few bars in this neighborhood that have the nerve to charge $9 for a skunked draft of Coors Lite — I’m through with shelling out money for toilet bowl-worthy beer. Might I ask for a local wine bar?

I met a friend of mine after work to discuss boy drama — let’s face it, we all have it. She did her homework and stumbled upon a place on 31st Street between Broadway and Fifth Avenue called Ayza Chocolate & Wine Bar. I was a little weary at first, but was not in the mood to fight off Jersey-bound men at the Brother Jimmy’s across from Penn Station, so I obliged.

It was the perfect night to sit outside, but I become all goose-pimply quickly so I headed inside to the sleek and modern bar where I was cheerfully greeted by an eager bartender (I probably should’ve gotten her name). I ordered a pretty decent glass of Viogner for $7 — this is a STEAL for Manhattan — and waited for my friend to arrive as I crunched on the bar snacks.

But it only got better!

Despite the fact that this place is located next to the Herald Square Hotel, I would definitely say the crowd was more local businesspeople than tourists. It even has a live jazz band on Monday nights!

I didn’t dive into the menu — we were there to gossip — but couldn’t miss the bartenders arranging plates of Jacques Torres chocolates. The guy sitting to my left had Angry Chicken Lollipops — they smelled delightful!

We only stayed for one drink — duty called — but I am so happy I discovered this diamond in the Herald Square rough. It is the perfect upscale, yet lower-priced, afterwork hideaway in a neighborhood that is lacking in the nightlife aspect. I will definitely be frequenting and writing it up again!

The bright lights of Times Square – to visitors it’s considered heaven in the center of Manhattan – to locals it’s hell on earth. Tourists from every part of the world congregate in the land of adult Disneyland to stare at stupid shit, chow at chain restaurants that turn rats into sushi and buy knock-off handbags from men who convince you it just “fell off the back of a truck.” Real or fake, nothing screams visitor louder than a Coach bag! I’m not going to completely diss the square – I’ve both lived and worked there and I honestly think Herald Square is a bit more maddening (I currently work here and break out into hives on an hourly basis) – but the trick to the square is to know where to go and when!

Stroll down Broadway at 7pm on a Friday and run the risk of getting arrested … you’ll eventually lose your mind and shove someone out of your way and into the path of a speeding cab. If you walk down that same street at midnight on a Monday night in January you’ll own it (aside from New Year’s Eve – I’d rather be in jail), but you’ll also turn into an ice sculpture. I lived in Times Square for four years, not exactly on Broadway, but I was so close that I would have to show proof of residency in order to get into my apartment on New Year’s Eve and one year the cops STILL wouldn’t let me in at all so I went to a local bar on 9th Avenue and drowned my “I’m never getting married” sorrows in a Grey Goose martini with my roommate. We eventually picked ourselves up after that never-exciting ball came crashing down and walked over to our favorite little hole in the wall on 52nd street and 8th Avenue, the Russian Vodka Room.

I’m not sure who introduced me to the Vodka Room – might’ve been one of the 8,000 men I’ve dated in NYC (and I’m still single) – or we might’ve simply stumbled upon it in a drunken stupor one evening when we were dodging out-of-towners. Either way, it’s pretty rare that anyone ever seems to remember leaving the RVR. This diamond in the rough, no-frills bar/restaurant is a bit reminiscent of someone’s basement, equipped with a piano player. The dark entryway leads you into a world full of Russians speaking Russian – guaranteed you’ll feel like a foreigner in your own country. Russian mobsters, wannabe supermodels and suits escaping the office line the mahogany bar to drink Batika 3 beer while slurping on delicious borscht and sucking down vodka shots. As someone with a Ukrainian background I’m embarrassed to say that I had never tried borscht before the Vodka Room and now I eat this beet soup every time I go there. It makes the dead-of-winter chills a little more bearable. Read more »

I’m sure you’ve heard about Andre Balazs’ Standard Hotel — not the one in *cough cough* LA — the one straddling the High Line in Manhattan. I credit this place with giving Hogs & Heifers an excuse to raise their cover charge — maybe they’re just trying to keep the dancing girls off of the bar! Anyway, I’ve already done the Standard Grill and the Biergarten (yep, I’m that cool). The Grill reminds me of Pastis — with more southerners than Euro — and the Biergarten is — well, I can drink tons of German beers and practice my manly belching skills.

In addition to the Standard’s 18th floor Boom Boom Room (did they really need to steal this from the Black Eyed Peas? I did hear they’re changing the name to QT) they’re also opening up another bar across from said horribly-named spot that I refuse to repeat. This sexy addition to the Standard’s adult Disneyland features a large hot tub, a pool big enough to hold at least twenty people and a Swine Flu vaccine — I kid, I kid — but they do sell condoms and bathing trunks.

Since this room’s existence is still on the hush hush, I’d venture to guess that you should expect an opening sometime before the official holiday season kicks off (judging by the pics, which are courtesy of Eater.com). I’m slightly allergic to bathing suits, but with the right amount of Grey Goose vodka and an amazing view of the Hudson River in a snowstorm, I might be tricked into spending an evening in the hot tub.

the hallway