I used to spend many a late night at the Tiki Bar in the basement of Niagara right next to Black Market… As well as in the Pizza Shop next door that now houses Black Market. I was worried that they’d gone all “grown up” at first, but then I had the burger. Delicious, although that’s the least I’d expect from a LaFrieda patty. Not necessarily as “hypeworthy” as folks exclaimed in the beginning, but I’ll take it, especially to line my stomach before those delicious cocktails at Lovers of Today… I’ll be back for oysters. I appreciate these guys, all in all the upgrades seem only to contribute to that most elusive of nightlife goals… to get the singleton laid.
STAND is a reliably good burger, reliably strong cocktails, reliably perfect fries. It’s like my therapist, a consistent guiding hand for those moments when a hunk of meat and bread is calling your name, but you don’t want garbage. Never a disappointment.
If you can beat the weekend rush (by going super early or super late), Il Caffe Latte is a totally worth it, a great, relatively quiet place to nurse a hangover or catch a nice strong latte.
When I was on a hunt for gumbo ingredients the other day (beef smoked sausage and possibly andouille sausage) in Harlem, I found myself in the C-town on 125th. While for a long time that grocery was the only one for miles around aside from Fairway and a few exorbitantly priced organic markets… that doesn’t excuse the fact that in general, all C-towns in the city have a faint lingering odor of under-refrigerated meat and dairy products. I braced myself and ran in, all the way to the back, where I knew the prepackaged Hillshire Farms sausage would be.
Once inside though, I was fascinated by the proliferation of “regular” groceries. I’d insulated myself in a bubble of organic fresh fruits and veggies and sustainably packaged grains and granolas for so long, the sight of hundreds of boxes of Fruit Loops and other neon cereals startled me. And then I remembered how much I *loved* Frosted Flakes as a kid, and grabbed a box.
So I quickly found the beef smoked sausage and allowed my eyes to peruse the shelf to see what other odd random “regular” groceries they had. Hot sausage by the 5 lb box, but something about it was a little too neon red to pique my interest. Then I found the beef bacon. I found duck bacon at Fairway once before and it was a delightful experience, so I figured this would be tasty if not delicious. Good god, was I wrong!
It was like salt cured beef with no smoke flavor… All grease and stringy mush. I threw it away. Couldn’t eat it.
All that said, I would be willing to bet that if I got the beef bacon from Fairway, Whole Foods, or some other fancy organic market, or from a good local source it might be delicious. No. 7 in Fort Greene taught me well that all prepared meats are NOT created equal!
But those fancy markets never had it. Because beef bacon is… gauche.
I suffer, so you don’t have to.
I’ve been in Harlem in the same apartment for 4.5 years now…Â right in the center of all the exciting new places that have recently opened (Bad Horse Pizza, Chocolat, Biergarten, 5 and Diamond), and close as well to the tried and true – and mostly delicious – places that have been here as long as I have or longer (Nectar Winebar, Billie’s Black, Melba’s, 67 Orange, etc.)
But my favorite place to eat in my neighborhood, day or night (because they stay open til 4am – yes, 4am – most nights), is Patisserie des Ambassades. It’s a French-Senegalese bakery and grill, open 7am to 4am, an experience (like many things in Harlem) and one you can neither rush nor partake in if you’re in any particular hurry. But everything, and I do mean everything because I’ve had just about everything except certain off the menu traditional dishes that I’ve been lax in ordering, is DELICIOUS. Mouthwatering, omg-what-spice-is-that, make you wanna slap your mama delicious. The omelets are divine (cremeuse my favorite) and only served on weekend brunch. The lamb chops and lamb shank are particularly outstanding if they get good cuts in, and even if not they’re pretty good, and for about $14 you get enough to feed you for at least a meal plus decent leftovers. The whole grilled tilapia has a tomato-onion relish on it that have tried and failed so many times to recreate.
They also have the best bread in Harlem, $2 for a long french loaf. It usually sells out by dinner time every day. The vast selection of well-appointed pastries, cheesecakes, tartes, cupcakes, tiramisus, and cake-lets will make you drool. I’m also discovering a “VIP” prix fixe menu from their website that I’m pretty upset I never knew existed (it’s not handed out in the restaurant).
But most nights when I’m stumbling home from a night of carousing, I get a burger. I know, tres Americain 🙁 but it’s just so damn good. It’s a hearty thick patty sliced in half with a fried egg put between the two slices of meat, dressed with ketchup and their homemade spicy mayo, all on a perfect brioche bun. Lettuce, tomato, and their sinus-searing homemade hot sauce optional. I usually opt for all three.
Let it be said that I have only finished this entire burger once. And that was after skipping a meal at some point in the 24 hours prior, possibly due to illness.
I will be revisiting the VIP menu here now that it’s outdoor-seating weather. Stay tuned!
Have you ever danced in the streets until 6:00 AM on the third day of a 72 hour binge of sleepless excess? Have you ever gorged to the point of nausea, walked it down for a few hours and then – impossibly – eaten and drank again? Have you ever spent days reposing in bed, postponing every thought of responsibility and care while you lazily nibble a lover’s affections? Pushed the limits of your physical and emotional ability to feel and reveled in the frailty of the overextended nerve ending?
The dank humidity hanging from the lush gardens of New Orleans creates a mystical aura of slow, confident calm… invincibility at times. It is a place where time slips away unnoticed because you can see, hear and taste each minute in the bud of a magnolia flower, the cadence of a marching band, the juices of a crawfish head. Subsequently there is a sense of detachment, in the moment, from the consequences of one’s actions that can be gleefully entertaining at best, and woefully tragic at worst.
While growing up as a local, there was always a mysterious allure to the nighttime that called for me even as my staunchly religious family resisted most of the secular traditions the city reveled in. My great-grandfather was a jazz musician, a trumpet or trombone player if I remember correctly, and was perpetually partially-employed. Great-grandmother was a shrew of a woman who never held her tongue and lashed with both words and physical objects, turning to religion as a respite from the hardships which came from a “sinful” life of pursuing a career in art or music. While my grandmother and her brother were mostly obedient and pursued stable careers in teaching and public service, my grand-aunt took up the family mantle and plunged headlong into nightlife entertainment.
Listen: LaVergne Smith – Stormy Weather
My grand-aunt LaVergne Smith – the New Orleans Nightingale – was a celebrated pianist and songstress on Bourbon Street for many years, for whom my grandmother sewed costumes and in general disapproved of her lifestyle choices. She recorded a number of albums with Savoy Records in the 50s and enjoyed a successful career until it was largely derailed by alcoholism and abusive relationships. I never got a chance to meet her as she passed away shortly after I was born due to complications from years of alcohol abuse. However, I was told that she held me once before she died… and I’m sure that she imparted into me not only a fever for showbusiness that took me years to shake as well as an affinity for “the sauce”, but a curiosity for all of the things that the nighttime streets of NOLA could offer up.
And so, after spending my adolescence training to become a professional dancer and safely ensconced in a religious bubble of spiritual pursuit, even to the point of preparing for ordination, I moved onto campus at university and plunged headlong myself into challenging my own spiritual, emotional, and physical boundaries as I attempted to navigate my identity as a young adult. I shaved my head, “lost my mind” many times over (abandoning a pre-ND biochemistry major for Dance and Women’s Studies), and indulged in experiences that challenged every notion I had of what was right and proper. Eventually I became involved in nightlife promotion and made a career of going out, throwing parties, and the wasting of brain cells until such a point when I cried out for divine intervention, because the fruitless frenzy I’d whipped my life into had begun to take its toll. That’s when Hurricane Katrina happened, and snapped everything back into perspective.
Moving to New York, I was exposed to a level of purpose and responsibility that I’d never known, and it was invigorating. This is a place of limitless possibility, if only you can get through the first year without being “thrown off the horse”. It was at this point in time that my entrepreneurial thirsts were rekindled, and managed to find gainful – a.k.a. salaried with benefits – employment while attending evening classes to get my MBA. The luck of my opportunity was that I was able to work in marketing and business development for a hospitality technology company, meaning that I was able to get paid to research and stalk the owners of the hottest new restaurants and bars in NYC in hopes of selling them very expensive software before they opened the doors. Not only was I getting paid to eat and drink my way through the city, but I was also developing an encyclopedic knowledge of where to eat and party in NYC. After 3.5 years there, I’ve moved on to various and sundry things that are still unfolding in the most exciting ways, but my personal obsession with restaurants and nightlife persists in a way that has led me to writing this blog.
All that said, I’m 28 years old, skipping along on my merry way around the Capitol of the World, having the time of my life…Â tag along!