The Premium Life

“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 »

A few months ago I walked into the office on a Monday morning to find a very chipper coworker at my desk (I wanted to punch her in the face).

“So a friend of mine from high school just got hired as the Wine Director for Danny Meyer’s new restaurant in the Gramercy Park Hotel. I’m going to the opening! You should write this place up!”

“Danny Meyer is HUGE,” I replied. “What’s the name of his new place?”

“Maialino — can’t wait to tell you all about it!”

Of course I felt a twinge of jealousy, knowing that she was going to the opening of this restaurant — I knew it would be a hit, even in bitter NYC. My boyfriend lives across the street from the Gramercy Park Hotel so I figured I’d make a cameo appearance soon enough. I tried to tell him all about it, but couldn’t remember the name (or how to pronounce it). A few days after the opening we decided to be lazy fools, crossed the street and ventured into Danny Meyer’s first shot at Italian goodness, Maialino, a Roman-style trattoria.

We immediately snagged seats at the bar and began reading the wine list — it’s written, chalkboard-style, above the bar. I’m not a huge lover of Italian wines so I ordered a Soave and the boy stuck with some version of Pinot Noir (perhaps it was a Pinot Noir, I just don’t remember – blame it on the al-al-al-al-alcohol). I caught a glimpse of my coworker’s friend, Wine Director Stephen Mancini, and contemplated asking him for some help with the whites, but I didn’t want my actions reported back to the office. After all, what happens if I call out – uh *cough* SICK. I decided to remain anonymous. (I’m really not as big of a lush as I make myself sound). The wine list is pretty extensive, the all-Italian list features 85 bottles; 18 of those selections are available both by the glass and quartino. The restaurant currently offers six Italian beers all by the bottle – including my fave, Peroni!

The long, walnut bar (which is where we always end up) backs up to three windows, overlooking the famed Gramercy Park (watch out for Julia Roberts). The tables, chairs and barstools are custom-designed walnut, adding to the rustic, Italian feel. The wood-planked floors are made from reclaimed, locally found oak and the blue and white checked tablecloths drape over the tables, adding to the homey atmosphere. In the center of the restaurant is Maialino’s cucina, featuring a salumi, cheese and antipasto station on one side; with a coffee, dessert and bread station on the other.

The Executive Chef, Nick Anderer, hails from Gramercy Tavern.  This is his first Top Chef spot! Though his menu has been awarded two stars by the New York Times and has been hailed from coast-to-coast, I’m not exactly blown away. We went there for brunch a few weeks ago and I had to order three (very altered) meals in order to fill my finicky stomach. I felt like I was in a commercial where the couple goes out to eat dinner AGAIN after their meals at the newest hotspot restaurant – the portions couldn’t stuff a rabbit. I’m a freak when it comes to food, so pay no attention to my dislike of goat cheese, red meat, egg yolks, the other white meat, fish of all kinds, milky substances and dessert. Read more »

Straight out of a scene from Sex and the City, three of my girlfriends and I were wandering down Lexington Avenue, checking out the men in suits. While husband shopping, the most horrific thing that could’ve possibly happened to four girls dressed like classy hookers did occur—we got caught in a torrential downpour. Since all four of us were relatively new to the city, we weren’t sure where to go to wait out the summer monsoon so we wandered into the Bull & Bear Steakhouse bar at the Waldorf-Astoria.

“Do you have any idea how expensive this place is going to be?” My friend Lisa asked.

I scanned the bar that The New York Times called “one of the world’s three greatest, classic bars” and made an executive decision. “Um, this place is packed with older men. We’re like babies to them … I think it’s entirely possible to score some free booze! We’re staying.”

We shook ourselves off like dirty dogs and walked towards the bar where a gentleman not only cleared a space for us and gave us his seats, but he also offered to order our first round of drinks.

“Oscar, get these beautiful ladies whatever they’d like. It’s on me!”

I gave my friends the “I told you so” look and we made ourselves comfortable. The bartender came over and introduced himself to us, his name was Oscar and his partner-in-crime/bartending, Adel, soon followed. “We’re going to get you good and liquored up—be prepared.”

It was 2001 and none of us had “real” jobs, so despite the fact that it was a Tuesday night, we were down for the challenge. To the disapproval of Oscar, I ordered a chardonnay. He suggested I try the Brancott Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand —this was the beginning of the end for me because I am now beyond obsessed with this wine. I took one sip of this grapefruit-y drink from the gods and it was lights out. My friends ordered the same drink and we settled into our seats and entered into heaven.

The place had a few tourists, but it was mostly older Wall Street/Park Avenue men looking to booze it up after work and avoid their nagging wives and annoying children. A few creepy guys who could’ve been my grandfather began hitting on me. I chatted them up because—quite frankly—I didn’t want to pay for my drinks.

The one gramps leaned in to whisper a sweet nothing into my ear. “Do you know Judy Blume’s sitting on the other side of you?”

What? Judy Blume?! I grew up reading her books! I was thrilled to discover that I was sitting next to Ms. Are You There God, It’s Me, Margaret. After a few drinks I got up the nerve to speak to her—turns out she’s a bit of a regular—I’ve seen her at the B&B multiple times since then. She’s always very sweet and entertaining. After deciding to leave her alone, I turned my attention back to the rest of the bar. There was an older lady in a hat who seemed to know everyone at the bar—she typically wears these hats while sipping on martinis—we dubbed her “Crazy Hat Lady.” There was this total phony of a guy who claims to be Mediterranean royalty, but after googling him I realized it was just the Makers Mark talking. Then I met a guy who said he’d like to set me up with his son, but it turns out he wanted me for himself … and how could I forget about the guy who looked just like Frasier from Cheers! He told me he was going to help me find a job, but he just wanted my phone number—and my friend’s! 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 »

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 »

The South Street Seaport surely invokes visions of dreaded tourists dancing in your head. Before I moved down to this neighborhood I felt the EXACT same way. I was so close to SoHo, TriBeCa and the West Village – why would I dream of hanging out in a neighborhood that is overrun with fake Coach handbag carrying Midwesterners and the guys who sell them?

Well, when you’re facing a fifteen minute walk to the 4 train in the dead of winter on a rainy Saturday night in a leather mini-skirt, 4” stilettos and a sleeveless shirt you’ll begin to think differently. At first I would jump on the train at all hours and head to Marquee or Cain in an attempt to catch Lindsay Lohan make her clothes disappear or to verbally abuse reflective sunglass-wearing guidos. The following winter at the Seaport something changed – I grew up – and began to explore the area. Would I really want to date some guy who hangs out at those “hotspot” clubs and lounges on a Thursday, Friday or Saturday night anyway? Not anymore.

Once a good friend of mine moved into 45 Wall Street we began exploring since we had each other and were always too cold to head uptown. Now keep in mind that we didn’t hang out at the actual Seaport, we headed a block west and north of the Seaport – this hidden gem of an area begins on the corner of Front Street and Beekman Street.

On the corner of Front and Beekman you will come across Salud Restaurant and Bar, a homey Spanish tapas spot that has knock-you-out coconut mojitos, live Cuban music on Thursday nights and fantastic happy hour specials that attract lots of the AIG men. I’ve never had a bad time here, but then again, I don’t think I’ve managed to leave sober – the drinks are so addictive you can’t have just one!

Next door to Salud, towards Water Street, is Fresh Salt. It’s one of the neighborhood’s best kept secrets. It’s a borderline divey, nautical-themed bar/restaurant that’s jam-packed with local businesspeople and natives who are attracted to the dimly lit interior, fresh munchies, drink specials and late night hours without the tourists.

On the other side of Salud on Front Street is Stella Maris, a dark and sexy Irish Restaurant and Bar that serves lots of traditional cuisine and seafood. After work it’s a bit of a meat market scene – married men tend to congregate at the bar and always offer to pay our tab – not that we’ve ever minded this. While disapproving single women in corporate wear shoot nasty looks in our direction … it’s a tough life, but someone’s got to live it. The wine list is impressive and the pours – well, they’re even better!

Diagonally across the street from Stella Maris is Bin 220, a cozy, mellow and romantic Italian wine bar. A local fave – Bin 220 is not only a fab date spot, but you can also converse with friends or clients without being interrupted or hit on – which can be very annoying when you’re frantically searching for a chilled out evening. Read more »

I consider myself to be a bit of a Bloody Mary connoisseur – I sample one everywhere I go. This past weekend was not an exception; I set out to find the tomato juice-enhanced hair of the dog and ended up in the well-hidden Freemans Alley on the Lower East Side.

Fully armed with a wretched Cooper Square Hotel-induced hangover, my friend and I stumbled over to celeb-friendly Freemans Restaurant at 11am (my pounding headache was making sleep an impossibility) where we plopped down at the back bar. I’m not a Freemans virgin in the slightest, I’d just prefer to avoid this neighborhood during weekend nights – too young and hipster-ish for me then. It’s normally packed with a fashionable, in-the-know crowd.

“So I heard a rumor that you have exceptional bloody marys?” I asked Bobby, our incredibly chipper bartender.

“I made the mix myself just a few minutes ago,” he said. “Hands down one of the best bloody marys in town; I even added chunks of fresh ground pepper to give it a little kick.”

“We’ll both have one, but make mine extra spicy!”

As he concocted my elixir of life, I took a quick walk around the family-filled restaurant to find the restroom. Freemans is homey, rustic, low-profile and low-frills – it looks like a restaurant you’d find at a ski resort, a national park or even The Haunted Mansion in Disney World. The cabin feel and woodsy ambiance is accentuated by the unfinished plankwood floors and the taxidermy lining the walls. Is that a peacock, a turkey or a unicorn behind the bar?

After I came back from my trip around the stuffed zoo, I sat down at the bar and sipped on my zingy, caper-berried bloody as I scanned the savory brunch menu. Should I have the grilled cheddar, tomato, and watercress sandwich with a mixed green salad? Poached eggs, roasted tomato, and cheddar cheese grits with buttered sourdough toast? Or Beef brisket hash with fried eggs and piccalilli relish? This wasn’t exactly a difficult decision for me – I had the poached eggs, roasted tomato and creamy cheddar cheese grits. As someone who is moderately OBSESSED with tomatoes, I must say they’re amazing. They were cooked to absolute perfection and the rosemary topping was the right touch. The eggs were a little too heavy for my still-queasy stomach, but the cheddar cheese grits were divine and contained the perfect amount of grease – not even a southern mother could’ve made them more authentic.

After another round of scrumptious bloodys and multiple glasses of water – neither of which cured my pain – we bid adieu to the fabulous Bobby and began our slow walk back towards Gramercy Park.

An hour later, once we arrived back in the neighborhood, we popped into the Gramercy Tavern for a glass of Muscat and mushroom lasagna. The sweet Muscat threw me over the edge and I headed home with one of the worst headaches of my life.

Gramercy Tavern will be properly reviewed next time – when I’m well enough to sit among the jet set.

Last week I headed off to Chicago for a family wedding. I used to head to “Chi-town” quite often, when I was a student at the University of Wisconsin Madison. I have always viewed this bustling metropolis as one of the most under rated cities in the US, offering its guests awe-inspiring architecture, swinging jazz and delectable dining. These gifts often go unnoticed as the jet set tend to favor New York and LA over the Windy City, which becomes inhospitable in the winter months.

This week the Windy City once again found a warm spot in my heart…I encourage you to give it a chance, if it hasn’t found a special place in your heart.

Although our itinerary was, for the most part, consumed by wedding festivities, we did sneak in some low-brow, high quality eats.

My sister came across an article a few months back in the New York Times on Mado. It is located in Wicker park, an upcoming area with some breathe taking residential apartments.

The restaurant is BYOB but they recommend Red & White, a chic wine store, down a few blocks. He staff was charming and extremely helpful as they are very familiar with the Mado menu. Read more »

Last winter, when I made the difficult decision to move to the Upper East Side from the South Street Seaport I was saddened by the loss of the Front Street bars and restaurants. This area truly is a hidden gem in the city, but I will divulge on this at a later date. I’ve always thought of the Upper East Side as a collegiate playground—I avoid the local bars for fear of being humiliated by a bouncer requesting my AARP card; forget about my driver’s license (why do I have one? I haven’t driven a car in eight years).

Don’t get me wrong, the neighborhood isn’t entirely Romper Room and cheerleader uniforms—I have discovered a few diamonds in the rough—there’s David Burke Townhouse, Philippe, Elaine’s, Elio’s, Orsay and JG Melon. I’m not going to get all hoity-toity, even preppies and yuppies enjoy slumming it on the weekends. JG Melon is an undercover socialite’s paradise.

Melon transports you back to the 1930’s with its old school charm, green-and-white-checkered tablecloths, pressed tin ceiling and melon decor, but this landmark opened in 1972. Local Wall Streeters, Tory Burch-clad women and grey-haired regulars flock to this tight-spaced, narrow, cash-only bar/restaurant to nosh on their famous, thick and juicy burgers, crispy waffle fries and sip on (or chug) one of the BEST Bloody Marys in the city. Read more »