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…

Since most of my friends would rather poke their eyeballs out of their skulls with hot needles than hang out with the plastic surgery, Hermes set, I went with a neighbor/old friend of mine who also enjoys the snotty pretentiousness of the UES/Gossip Girl land. I arrived at the hotel first (she’s forever late) and made my way into the slightly intimidating environment. The bar oozes sexiness, serious shopping habits, vanity and sophistication. Everyone is richer, skinnier and more beautiful than you – and all of the older woman there seemed to hate their husbands and clearly only stay with them so they can keep up appearances.

For a minute there, I felt 100% out of place and considered telling my friend that we should go elsewhere. It was a fashion show of couture and rocks. The women at the small, curved-out bar were wearing rings with diamonds the size of my eyeballs – meanwhile I rolled in rocking a sample sale cocktail ring that cost about $2 to make. After removing the garbage ring and sticking it into my coat pocket, I felt the once-over from a group of plastic-surgery science project-styled women in their 40’s at the edge of the bar. I had to stare back – how in the world could you be happy with a botched nose job reminiscent of Michael Jackson?

I stood in the corner of the dark bar by myself (surely someone mistook me for a hooker) and played on my iPhone while contemplating grabbing the cocktail menu. Let’s place a bet – the cheapest glass of wine is $17? Hmm so as I glanced over the wine list, I spotted my number one drink of choice, New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc for … $10! Delighted in my find, I ordered it and felt slightly déclassé since everyone else was drinking Rosé (which I ignorantly equate to White Zinfandel) or top-of-the-line champagne. I scanned the bar as I waited for my friend’s arrival and let her know that she will neither meet her Prince Charming, nor will we be able to snag a seat at the high, white bar. She arrived a minute later and we decided to stick around, observe and hope for an opening at the bar. My Barbie Doll-esque pair of Badgley Mischka 4-inchers were absolutely cutting off the circulation in my big toes and causing the bunion on my left foot to throb with pain. The things we women do in the name of fashion and vanity!

A couple at the bar who looked like they were visiting from a trailer park in West Virginia began scrambling for their check, whipped out a Black Amex (I guess it’s a luxury trailer park) and paid the tab, leaving a spot open at the bar for the two of us. We hopped onto the tall barstools and grabbed the drink menu. The bartender brought over some delicious snacks – rosemary popcorn, wasabi-covered nuts and homemade potato chips. We ate three rounds of said snacks – we really did look classy! The restaurant must not have been all that crowded as the hostesses from The Mark Restaurant constantly approached us, asking if we either wanted to go inside for dinner or if we had reservations. This is never a good sign for a brand new “hotspot”. We told her a few times (maybe she was drunk?) that we’re only there for the bar. Then my friend suggested we try out the Jean-Georges spot – so I suggested she expense the meal. She realized she was being a bit eccentric – when in Rome, do as the Romans – requested the food menu from the bartender, but was rebuffed. You cannot eat at the bar!

After a chatting a bit, observing the obnoxiousness of the Hermes Birkin set, and finding way more women than men, we ordered one more round of wine, paid our tab which was a mere $43 for four drinks – unheard of at a swanky hotel bar in Manhattan – and made our way over to Sant Ambroeus for a bite to eat.

We were the youngest people in Sant Ambroeus and the only females AGAIN who were lacking a nip, a tuck or anything Hermes.

God I love the Upper East Side – and The Mark Bar!

“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.

The menu draws its inspiration from the classic dishes found throughout the trattorie of Rome, and features fresh, seasonal ingredients sourced from the Greenmarket and other local farms. The dishes are prepared with straight-forward Roman cooking techniques and bold Roman flavors. Antipasti include Carpaccio di Polpo (Octopus and Heirloom Potato Salad) and Carciofi Alla Romana (braised artichokes); the Primi section of the menu features classic Roman pasta dishes such as Tonnarelli Cacio e Pepe, Spaghetti alla Carbonara, Malfatti alla Maialino (suckling pig ragu, torn pasta and arugula), and Spaghettini alle Vongole; main course highlights include Fritto Misto and Coda alla Vaccinara (Oxtails, Tomato & Celery). Pastry Sous Chef Jennifer Shelbo, who has worked under Nancy Olson at Gramercy Tavern, will be preparing freshly made desserts such as Gelato, Tartufo and Torta Della Nonna (pine nut tart), among others.

Now for the name that I cannot pronounce … “Maialino” recalls Danny’s time as a 20-year-old living in Rome and working as a tour guide for his father’s travel company. His Italian boss, Giorgio, immediately took to calling him “Meyerino” (little Meyer). Danny’s favorite part of the job was to bring his tour groups to a different trattoria every night, where he’d unfailingly order “Maialino” (roast suckling pig) for dinner. In homage to Danny’s love for pork – Giorgio transformed Meyerino into “Maialino.” Danny’s nickname had become “Little Pig.”

Oink.

Now that the word has gotten out our trips over to Maialino have been few and far between. We’re waiting for the buzz to die down. The last time we wandered into the bar, the bartender told us there was a waitlist for the bar seats AND a supermodel stepped on my toe with her damn Alexander McQueen Armadillo shoes. I would’ve started a fight with her, but she was nearly 7’ tall in those 10-inch tall claws. They do come in handy – if you must sit, you could threaten customers out of their seats with those deadly weapons.

“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!

“You know I played with Sinatra, Billie Holiday, Dizzy Gillespie,” this voice came out of nowhere. I turned around to see some crazy old dude with stars in his eyes, and too much vodka dancing around in his liver. I turned back to the bar to discover that Oscar had filled up my glass of wine—it was practically overflowing—oh hi, I am going to go black out now. Be back later.

The Bull & Bear oozes class and swank. The mahogany bar and wood-paneled room is large enough to seat at least 20 people and it circles (in a pentagon shape) a wooden carving of a bull and a bear—shocking, I know. If you’re into the stock market, there’s a ticker running in the back of the bar, but it’s pretty much so Chinese to me. The large windows look out onto 49th street and Lexington Avenue—if your perfect finance guy isn’t chugging bottomless glasses of wine at the bar, you might be able to flag him down on the corner and offer him a specialty beer or knock-you-out martini!

As one of the most historic and well-recognized bars in New York City, this celebrated steakhouse offers hearty portions of traditional fare like lobster and roasted chicken, as well as weekly specials. In addition to its impressive selection of fresh seafood, Bull and Bear was the first restaurant on the Eastern Seaboard serving the Prime grade of Certified Angus Beef®. Since I eat like a bird or a rabbit, I tend to stick to my liquid dinners. This never bodes well for the following morning.

Fast-forward eight years—I am still living at the Bull & Bear bar. Adel is still around, but Oscar retired to Florida. The drinks are still as strong as ever and the pours just keep on coming. Oh, and the people I mentioned earlier—they’re the regulars and I even know them by name!

Even though the hotel is part of the Hilton Empire, you’re more likely to catch a glimpse of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, than a Hilton. The hotel and its bars and restaurants are not only gawking spots for Kansas tourists, but celebrities have been known to hide amongst that dude who just removed his wedding band and placed it in his back pocket as the clock struck 8pm. And here comes the caravan of working girls.

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.
My sister, the meat eater, ordered a Billy’s Classic Burger with American cheese. She said the burger was indeed meaty and juicy, but also a little bit thin. It was griddled well, but she’d still prefer JG Melon. We shared a delicious side of disco fries with gravy and cheese. I was practically bursting out of my skintight dress after consuming them and contemplated running home to change before we moved onto the next spot, but we were also with my boy so it’s not like I was going to pick up anyone! Since I’m allergic to beef, I ordered the Tuscan Turkey Burger with aged provolone cheese, parsley and garlic. It was a tasty delight and a bit of a steal at $6.95.

As the “I Wear My Sunglasses at Night” crowd began streaming in, we paid our relatively miniscule tab and headed over to The Standard Hotel, where we sipped on pricey cocktails and mingled with the likes of Orlando Bloom, Miranda Kerr and Adam Duritz.

I had no choice but to ask Adam—in my beer goggled haze—if Mr. Jones and me were gonna be big stars?

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.

I personally enjoy the upstairs bar because the view is much better, the bartenders are more attentive and you do not have to deal people hovering over you while they’re trying to grab a drink. Your back is against the wall—the only thing that’ll fit in that space is an anorexic chick. What’s more, you actually have a chance to snag a seat at the upstairs bar, rest the feet that 5” platforms destroyed and wish upon that 16-foot Buddha who is seemingly floating above a virtual, reflecting pool of fish. Sometimes I think it might be fun to sit next to him—you could splash people and feed the fish rice and wine—not that I’d ever do that. I wouldn’t mind sitting in the prized, third floor Skybox either. The best seats in the house are normally reserved for private parties, corporate events and celebrities who would like to avoid appearing in Page Six.

TAO has a full bar with an interesting selection of specialty cocktails like the Bamboo Gingerita and the TAO Love Potion #9, but I still stick to what I know…New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc. As for food, I’m very fond of my Asian cuisine and I’d say that makes me pretty knowledgeable in this area. The food is average, the apps are decent—can you really screw up edamame, sushi and spring rolls?—and the vegetable sides are tasty, but I’d hold off on the entrees if you’re looking for amazing. You’d find a better meal a few blocks away at Le Colonial on 57th Street between Lexington and 3rd Avenues.

Not to diss my beloved TAO, I go for the incredible ambiance, the positive vibes, the unmistakable soundtrack, the flowing alcohol, the intriguing design and, of course, people-watching.

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.

“Friendly” is not a word in the bartender’s and waitresses’ vocabulary, but they warm up to you after seeing your face twice a month for eight years straight. The general manager, on the other hand, is awesome and will go out of his way to make you feel right at home (and he’ll even permanently remove the candles from the bar after your hair catches on fire). While taking in the sites you will notice jars full of science projects on a shelf near the door. For a minute there you might wonder if they’re preserving animals for a soon-to-be-named entrée item, but it’s just the vodka (it’ll make you forget your name)…

The Russian Vodka Room makes their own vodka. No, you won’t uncover a lost distillery in the basement, but they do infuse their own vodka. Flavors like garlic & dill, horseradish, ginger, apple & cinnamon and peach & apricot will have you doing handstands on 8th Avenue (if you don’t get sick). If you’re really brave you can try the vodka shot sampler … after you’ve committed to a flavor do as the Russians and order an 8oz., heart-shaped carafe and do vodka shots with your friends (I’d suggest this option when you DON’T have to wake up early the following morning).

In an effort to absorb the hangover-in-the-making check out the authentic Russian menu. My personal favorite is the chicken schnitzel with rosemary butter and mixed vegetables. It’s a hearty meat, potatoes and veggie dish that saves my life every time. We typically don’t get to the food portion of the evening until the bar clears out a little bit and we’re finally able to snag seats in the back corner (I’d prefer to sit at the bar – I’m a people-watcher). At this point we have switched back to beer and water and we can hear the piano player’s melodies and have learned a word or two in Russian.

The Vodka Room isn’t exactly a meat market – I guess if you understand the language you might be able to meet someone – but it doesn’t have that type of vibe. It’s a great place to go for drinks with a friend, grab a bite to eat, and catch up without random creepers breathing down the back of your neck. It’s dark, candlelit and slightly romantic, I suppose, but it’s not necessarily first date-worthy. It’s the type of place you’d go if you’ve been dating someone for quite sometime and you want to try somewhere “exotic”. As for happy hour, they have great specials with $3 infused-vodka shots and $5 beers (the Baltika is a beer and a half in a bottle so it’s completely worth it) and it is a fun place to go with coworkers, but a smaller crowd as the narrow bar makes it difficult to converse with multiple people at once.

All in all, I give the Russian Vodka Room two thumbs up. It is hands-down one of my very favorite drinking establishments in NYC, now if only I could find my way out of there…

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.

A few doors down from Bin 220 on Front Street is Jeremy’s Ale House. Jeremy’s is the less classy version (but I LOVE IT) of Brother Jimmy’s at the Seaport. This no-frills dive bar is a great place to catch the game, play beer pong, suck down buffalo wings, play a round of SORRY or Connect Four, practice your New “Yawk” accent with local firemen and drink from a 32 oz. foam cup that’s overflowing with Budweiser. The juke box – well it could use some fine-tuning. A dive bar needs dive bar music. Patrons seem confused and annoyed when “Living on a Prayer” is suddenly interrupted by traditional Spanish music.

Across from Jeremy’s is one of my favorite spots in the city, Nelson Blue, New York’s first authentic New Zealand restaurant and wine bar. Resident Kiwi, Pauli, along with the vibrant and fabulous Michelle, man this tight ship – even the décor is reminiscent of a traditional New Zealand boat. Nelson Blue can boast one of the best views in the city – it’s on the corner of Peck Slip and Front Street – a straight shot of the Brooklyn Bridge and the East River. Nelson serves true taste bud ticklers – their New Zealand-style mouthwatering crabcake (I know my crabcakes, I grew up in Baltimore) and the corn & zucchini fritters are delightful. The wine – well, this is one of the main reasons why we started coming here in the first place – New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc is the best. I’m completely addicted to the grapefruity flavors and I swear this wine might be the death of m. Nelson Blue attracts a well-heeled happy hour crowd, but it remains busy throughout the evening with locals who are thrilled to see that this pristine bar is still a bit of a secret.

Oh – make sure to ask for a glass of the “Cat’s Pee on a Gooseberry Bush”.

If you cross Peck Slip and head towards the Brooklyn Bridge you will discover many more bars and restaurants – most notably, MarkJoseph Steakhouse. Bet you didn’t know this Zagat-rated, testosterone-charged meat mecca is located practically underneath one of the most famous landmarks in the country – the Brooklyn Bridge! Ladies – if you’re looking for a Wall Street man on a Thursday night after work, this is your spot!

There are many more places to review on Front Street and I will highlight them at a later date. If you’re looking to impress a woman on her first date I’d suggest you hop in a cab and head down to this neighborhood. It’s not only romantic, but it’s nostalgic and uncluttered. Just don’t go past Beekman Street towards the actual Seaport – you might end up buying a fanny pack.

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.

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.

As we enjoyed the Mado “urban-rustic” décor (exposed brick, oversized chalkboards with the menu written on them and distressed wooden country tables), we were reminded what a small world we live in as our waiter grew up in New York City and worked at Posto, one of our favorite pizza joints, in the city (God, foodies love company). Instantly, the chatter and Big Apple reminiscing began. We settled in, opened our bottles of wine and started to exam the menu.

Mado focuses on local ingredients, partnering with regional farmers to serve the freshest produce and meats available. In addition, a majority of the ingredients are made in house—I was amazed and I am not easily impressed!!! They cure their own meats, bake their own bread and make their own fresh pastas. After that introduction, I was excited to sample the menu.

We started with a few appetizers to share (as frequent readers know, this is always my preference). Chicken liver pâté accompanied by country bread, Grain mustard and sliced pickles; it was velvety and decedent, the accouterment’s perfectly complimenting the principal dish. Secondarily, the heirloom tomatoes with sea salt and olive oil and the corn marinated in paprika and chile oil (picked that morning) confirmed that they indeed embrace the local ingredients!

We opted for whitefish baccala, with spring onions and chiies, which was a lovely compliment to the farm fresh produce. Mado uses wood grill and oven cooking preparations — the personal touch highlights the favors of the fish and meat entrees. The hanger steak was charred, adding a grilled favor/ texture maintaining a juicy and succulent center (I love these contrasts). The polenta’s pungent bite (highlighted with gorgonzola) rounded out the dish…at this point, I was reeling!

Our server recommended the whole whitefish with cucumbers, pea shoots and mint. The fish was moist, buttery and substantial. (My perspective is that fish should be served whole, when appropriate…I love the flare, the presentation and the authenticity (if you can handle the appearance of the fish head)

Although the Homemade Vanilla Bean Rice Pudding and the Almond Cornmeal Cake with sour cherry jam and goat cheese were extremely tempting (if you have time, indulge and let me know what you thought), we needed to continue our tour of Chicago and were off to Chicago’s jazz standard, Green Mill Cocktail Lounge — a little spot owned in part by one of Capone’s henchmen and a prime hangout for the boss himself.

(OK, so, despite the time constraint, we did give in and quickly enjoyed a low maintenance, but completely satisfying dessert—the Migas Bark, thin bars of dark chocolate, olive oil and sea salt. A perfect ending…)

Jazz and Chicago are akin to Forrest and Jenny…they go together like peas and carrots…Chicago enjoys a slew of authentic blues and jazz clubs, dotting the city with their unique authenticity.

I often pay a visit to jazz club classics in New York (love Smalls Birdland, and Blue Note for instance)…all I can say is that walking into the Green Mill was indeed a unique experience — the sounds of a thirty person band illuminates the soul and makes you want to just tap your feet to the intoxicating melodies.

The décor was restored to its 1940 luster — the gold velvet high back crescent shaped banquettes lined the room, and an array of landscaped murals cover the walls, while the amber lighting set the mood for unforgettable renditions of “The Bird” and “My Funny Valentine.

This century old gem has housed the likes of Frank Sinatra and Franz Jackson.

Green Mill is a must if jazz, classic cocktails, and nostalgia is your thing.

Some other suggested highlights are: The Art Institute and the Terzo Piano café, Millennium Park and the Park Grill, Gino’s classic deep dish pizzeria, The Architectural boat tour, and 16 bar in the trump building.

Enjoy and Explore!

P.S. If Indie’s your thing, check out Sufjan Stevens – an ambitious rocker , who shares his thoughts on this fine city in a song with the simple title, Chicago (quite an anthem, in this writer’s view)

To help plan your next experience please visit us at www.premiumlg.com

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. I’ve watched the bartenders concoct these hangover-eliminating elixirs and it appears they omit Horseradish and substitute it with Worcestershire sauce—and did I witness a splash of beef broth?

Not a fan of Bloody Marys? Melon’s has a decently stocked bar with an array of beers—both on tap and bottled— and a small selection of wine. The all-American menu isn’t very diverse, but I can guarantee you that everything on it is fresh and scrumptious, from the soup of the day to a BLT sandwich. And how could I forget about the jukebox? I think it might house one of the most enjoyable rotations around—everything from Billy Joel, to Rod Stewart, to 1950’s classics that mom and dad would love!

Next time you’re in the neighborhood and down for a no-frills dinner with NYC locals who have opted to leave their Bentleys at home, swing by 74th Street and 3rd Avenue for a topsy-turvy burger and a tasty beer!