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Our East Coast Trip, 12/07
Hey Thrill Seeker...
Just got back from "vacation" on the East Coast, burning thru New York,
Jersey and Philly in a week. Delta is still looking for Monica's missing
suitcase. Here's the rundown before that:
ALL THAT JAZZ
We did it all, or enough: the 3 hour boat tour (around Manhattan, not
Gilligan's Island), Christmas cocktails at THE ALGONQUIN
(outstanding); Monica's birthday dinner at
TAVERN ON THE GREEN (nice atmosphere but
surprisingly mediocre food); the 10 minute $45 Handsome Cab ride thru Central
Park (cold but cool); lunch at THE RUSSIAN TEA ROOM
(love that Russian Margarita, with Hangar
One Vodka, from Alameda!); the GUGGENHEIM (I dig the outside more than the
inside); the MUSEUM OF MODERN ART (if they say so….); an off-Broadway musical
about the life of Cuban pop icon Cecila Cruz, hot stuff; THE ROCKETTES CHRISTMAS SPECTACULAR at Radio City – totally lived up to its legend
; ice skating at Rockefeller Plaza under the
Christmas Tree (Monica did, I just watched since I can't even stand up on
those things); and a million other memorable little moments compressed into a
few days, you get the picture. One place that stood out was a Mexican-Asian
fusion restaurant near Needle Park which some theater friends of Monica's
took us to, CITRUS
Monica did think local favorites White Castle burgers and Gray's Papaya hot
dogs were over-rated. But then in our experience there wasn't any cuisine or
cocktails you can't match or surpass here in the Bay Area. We're totally
spoiled. Still, East Coast pizza, whether from a Times Square hole in the
wall or a South Jersey restaurant, beats the hell out of pizza here. Maybe
it's just the taste I grew up with. The closest is NEW YORK PIZZA on Park
here in Alameda. But still, no cigar.
THE BURNT PRETZEL
On our way to the NATURAL HISTORY MUSEUM, a childhood fave of mine, Monica
stopped to order a hot pretzel from a street vendor, which seemed very New
York to her. "I'm in New York, and this is the worst pretzel I've ever had,
what the fuck!" Later she had some pretzels that took the initial bad taste
out of her mouth, but she was totally disillusioned for a while. Philly has
better soft pretzels overall anyway.
THE PERFECT FRENCH 75
Ever since Monica was introduced to the French 75 at MARTIN MONKEY'S at the
San Jose airport this past Thanksgiving, she has been giving random
bartenders the French 75 challenge. At THE RAINBOW GRILL atop Rockefeller Center
she asked the right guy: "Chief." When I request a certain recipe from a
bartender, I want one of two reactions: instant recognition, or they look
totally insulted you even asked. "French 75? I was in the New York Times for
my French 75!" Chief told us about 75 times. That is a legit source of pride
and he lived up to his rep. When I asked if he could make a Trader Vic's Mai
Tai, he looked, you got it: Insulted. He made me the perfect Vesper, the
original James Bond recipe. Favorite quote: "I don't make disco drinks." When
at the Top of the Rock, ask for Chief.
MANHATTAN IS NO FORBIDDEN ISLAND
Our New York Tiki Crawl with some good friends was short but sweet since the
only two real tiki bars in Manhattan are both on the lower East Side. All
I'll say about WAIKIKI WALLY'S is it doesn't live up to its web site
OTTO'S SHRUNKEN HEAD is much cooler, even though it's more like a Village
hipster/punker café with tiki culture imposed on it than a true vintage tiki
lounge. Still – good drinks and décor and you can tell they "get it."
"THE MATTHEW BRODERICK INCIDENT"
This true and truly bizarre story is either hilarious or pathetic depending
on who you talk to – me, or Monica. In any case, it will go down as an
infamous chapter of Thrillville Lore.
It all started when we had to leave my favorite place in the city, THE 21 CLUB
, where many scenes from one
of my favorite flicks, "Sweet Smell of Success" was shot. I sat in JJ
Hunsecker's booth! It still looks and feels just like the movie, totally
frozen in time. Great cocktails, ancient waiters, jazzy art on the walls,
just the most, cats. I had to cut our visit there short though, since the
young friends from Berkeley we were meeting, theater students Monica once
taught, didn't meet the dress code – jacket and tie for gents, classic Old
School Cool. The maitre d' told me Burt Lancaster himself was once refused
because he was wearing jeans. Love it. Anyway, we took a cab directly from
"Sweet Smell of Success", which is definitely me, to "Sex in the City," which
is definitely not me. I don't even know the name of the trendy joint Monica's
friends took us, but I do recall it was on 46th right off of Broadway, since
it's down the block from BROADWAY JOE'S, where we had dinner the night we saw
the Broadway production of YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN (good, but I liked the movie
better, except for the "Puttin' on the Ritz" routine, worth the price of
admission). This joint was okay, they played black and white flicks on the
TV, and apparently it's quite a celebrity magnet. Right away Monica's friends
pointed out some dude who writes for the Village Voice and some comic from
"The Aristocrats," and a few other people I'd never heard of. Anyway, the
manager, some snooty bitch I'll refer to as the Celebrity Nazi, never heard
of a Trader Vic's Mai Tai, so I ordered a vodka martini, which was served in
two small vases, one of which was inside a tumbler filled with ice. Still
drunk from the superior cocktails at 21, I stupidly poured the vase of vodka
into the tumbler and drank my martini, which I'd ordered up, "on the rocks."
The Celebrity Nazi noticed and replaced it. She was keeping an eye on me, I
could tell. Monica got up to chat with the Unknown Comic from "Aristocrats"
and I was going to follow suit when the Celebrity Nazi literally put her hand
in my face and ordered me to stand down. Stunned and bemused, I backed off
and shut up. I spilled my martini and ordered another. Matthew Broderick
breezed in unnoticed by me but creating quite a buzz at our table. I only
made it thru the first 10 minutes of "Ferris Beuller" so I was unimpressed.
Still, when Monica pointed him out some inner impulse instructed me to get
up, walk to the bathroom, and stop by his table on the way. Our eyes locked
and I shook his hand and said simply but directly, "The remake of Godzilla
sucked, but you're a good guy." I can't swear to his reaction since my vision
was blurry but he did take my shake. The Celebrity Nazi was right on my ass.
She took our drinks, handed us our coats, and made threats of forcible
removal. Outside smoking patrons let me know I was not the first to be tossed
out for Feeding the Animals. It was so over the top, like a skit on "Saturday
Night Live." Give me a break – I wasn't rude or intrusive, I made a passing
comment, and famous people who don't like being famous shouldn't go to a
public bar. I spent a lot of time around celebrities in LA and trust me, they
love the attention. But at this particular joint, I'd crossed some Invisible
Line, and inadvertently embarrassed my wife in the process. All in the name
of Godzilla. Even though Monica compared me to Larry David she was not
amused, and still isn't. I think her pals got 86's too but I'm not sure since
we haven't heard fro them since. I still think it's funny. Just don't bring
it up in front of Monica.
"YO! MONICA!"
After New York we spent a couple of days in Philly and Jersey, where I grew
up. My favorite memory of the whole trip was Monica running up the stairs of
the Philadelphia Museum of Art listening to "Rocky's Theme" on her iPod,
laughing maniacally all the way. Unbearably cute.
PHILLY ROCKS
I love Philly. It gets the same bad ugly step-sister rap as Oakland. Along
with all the history there are some hip places to visit in Philly. Our
favorite two are both themed joints, part of the Starr chain: EL VEZactually named after the famous Mexican Elvis,
and THE CONTINENTAL CLUB ,
a modern 50s diner/supperclub. Food, drinks and décor at both are excellent.
In Philly we stayed at one of the most comfy hotels in our experience,
SOFITEL
But we didn't just do chains, we did check out the local cuisine, and I don't
just mean Tastycakes…
THE CHEESESTEAK CHALLENGE
Monica did the taste-test at two legendary cheesesteak joints directly across
from each other in South Philly: PAT'S
and GENO'S
There's an old neighborhood rivalry going on. Monica gave the slight nod to
Pat's. Safety tip: don't state your preference out loud while there…she also
checked out JIM'S on South Street,
Philly's consolidated version of Haight/Telegraph/Piedmont, that came in at a
razor close 3. On South Street I also went to a comics shop and scored old
issues of EERIE, CREEPY and VAMPIRELLA, stuff I grew up reading across the
Ben Franklin Bridge in….
JERSEY, BABY, JERSEY
I took Monica on a tour of my childhood schools and homes through Glassboro,
Lindenwold, Clayton, Pennsauken and Collingswood in South Jersey. She had the
best calzone she ever had in Pitman, so maybe it was worth it for her. It's
been 30 years since I'd been to most of these places. Mostly it matched my
memories except for two things: the paranoid post-Columbine security (at
every stop some teacher grilled me about my presence, I explained I was a
former student back when "Welcome Back Kotter" was a hot new show); and the
ubiquitous Pod-Malls you see marring the landscape in West Coast towns like
San Leandro and Hayward is also the case there: old neighborhoods being
replaced with cloned strip malls of Verizon and Crate & Barrel and Home Depot
and Starbucks, etc. Still a lot of Dunkin' Donuts, though. Most of the
Catholic schools I attended are closing and merging, too. I was not Catholic,
my stepmom sent me there for some reason, she wasn't Catholic either. My days
of clip-on ties and the Bee Gees are far behind me, thankfully, but it was a
cathartic trip down Memory Lane, even if that lane is now just part of the
American Corporate Highway.
FINAL WORD
I could live in New York – my birthplace - if I had to. But I don't have to.
It's my third favorite city after Honolulu and Palm Springs. But home is
where all my crap is, plus I'm walking distance from Forbidden Island, where
can get a perfect French 75 and Vesper and Trader Vic's Mai Tai, and they
don't kick you out for talking to Tura Satana.
It's good to be home.
ADDENDUM: BOYCOTT THIS BAR!
I just found out the name of the trendy Manhattan bar where that snooty bitch
kicked me out for deigning to speak to Sir Matthew Broderick regarding his
critically acclaimed work in the esteemed remake of "Godzilla":
BAR CENTRALE
324 W. 46th St., Second floor, New York, 10036-3801
Or if you don't boycott it (as if you would go there anyway), next time
you're in New York, go in and ask for Matthew Broderick, you heard he hangs
out there a lot...tell the hostess/manager/bouncer/celebrity bodyguard Will
the Thrill sent you, and remind her the remake of "Godzilla" sucks.
It's allegedly the new "Sardi's", the hip post-"theatre" (note the phony
British spelling) meet-up place. And openly advertised as a celebrity
hangout. This is from PlanetOut.com:
Bar Centrale
(324 W. 46th St; 212/581-3130) Get your celebrity fix while soaking in the
speakeasy-esque ambiance of Bar Centrale, located above Joe Allen's in the
Theater District. Bring some buds post-show or on an off night and you're
bound to see a coterie of Broadway actors, TV stars and the perennially chic
sipping martinis and eating oysters in its cozy two rooms.
"Speakeasy-esque," my ass. I know a speakeasy when I see it. I work for one.
Basically what bugs me is they're promoting themselves as a place to gawk at
famous people, but at the same time, you're not allowed to speak to them like
regular humans you'd see in any other bar. Bars are a social venue, strangers
talk to strangers all the time, that's the point. They want to attract the
star-gazing public without alienating the very celebrities they're using as a
draw. I can understand if I threw my tiny vase of vodka at Matt, or sat down
in his booth and put my arm around him, all cozy-like - all I did was
briefly stop by his table on the way to the bathroom and drop a one-liner
with a handshake. And he didn't seem to mind, either. It's not like I was
dangling my legs over a tiger's den in the SF Zoo. We were all in the same
den, the famous along with the lowly anonymous riff-raff, all drinking their
over-priced cocktails with the curious presentation protocol (remember my
vodka martinis, served in two tiny pitchers with a tumbler of ice? How about
a martini glass or is that no longer "cool"?) I really hate pretentious crap
like this, especially when I'm the unwitting victim of it, which is why I'm
not letting it go. Last time I'll mention it in public, but this bitch -
probably a frustrated actress herself - needs to know she messed with the
wrong B movie lounge lizard! So I am passing the info on to the masses, and
moving on.
Oh yea, for the record the comedian Monica talked to there was BOB SAGET. I
still don't know who that is. And I still don't care. He was on some TV show
popular with kids, Monica told me (though this is still a sore point with
her, she does not see the humor in it, too bad for me.) The hostess literally
got in my face for even trying to say hello to this hotshot while he was
chatting with my wife. I think the hostess/bodyguard had it in for me because
I initially asked for a Trader Vic's MaiTai and she felt one-upped.
I am really sorry I ever left "21" - a real classy joint - to go to this
non-petting but co-mingling celebrity zoo. I loved the waiters and bartender
at 21, they loved me, I was in comfortably in my element. When I asked the 21
bartender gal for a Trader Vic's MaiTai, she admitted she did not know the
recipe but I'd love it anyway. I did. It was damn strong. Maybe too strong.
And they served my vodka martini IN A MARTINI GLASS. Sigh. Make sure to go to
the 21 Club when you're in NY, but wear a suit, they have an old school dress
code (Monica's friends didn't know this, which is how we wound up at Bar
Centrale.)
Remember, this is not about Matthew Broderick. He means nothing to me. This
isn't even about me, really. It's about Godzilla, a REAL celebrity. Next time
he's in town I hope he takes a destructive stroll down 46th Street...
This is also why I always tell people I am not from New York, though I was
born there. I am from New Jersey. And proud of it.
By mrthrill
1:30 AM
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