Fast Forward New York: Bunnies & Beer

Last weekend a buddy (Let's call him Buddy) of mine was in from Philly due to the Easter holiday. I'm not much of an Easter guy; I like chocolate and candy as much as the next guy, but Easter seems to still carry far too much religious significance and not enough bunny. Hopefully, sometime in the future, Easter will go the way of Giftmas and become so commercialized that the religion is all but stamped out, leaving an (egg)shell of holiday without any of that pesky meaning. Unfortunately, the Easter Bunny currently doesn't carry the same mythology with it as Santa Claus. I think this is a shame. The Germans invented the character based upon the notorious fertility of rabbits symbolizing spring and rebirth; I would have expected some marketing guru to have capitalized on this by now and turned Easter into the national Viagra day. It seems totally within the realm of possibility that we can soften Christian dogma into a celebration of male potency. This is an end to be devoutly wished.

So Buddy's family lives in Connecticut but was holding the weekend festivities in New York. He had obligations starting at 11am Sunday, most of which just required his presence. Of course, achieving physical presence becomes more complicated after an evening out with yours truly. In fact, that sounds like an invitation for trouble. Did he heed sanity, responsibility, and the will of (the Christian) God that Easter Wild Oat Sowing Sunday be held sacred?

Of course not.

We began at Corner Bistro. Everybody knows this place, and hopefully you get the chance to go someday if you've not already been. The quick rundown: The interior of the place has the rustic, lived-in feel that one only finds in a place that's been open since before your parents were born. There are no real surprises here other than that a place like this can still exist in post-postmodern New York. It's got a standard setup of a bar out front with additional seating for diners in the back, and you'll note that the big crowd around the bar isn't just a crowd- it's the line to eat. Conveniently located next to the bar, you can slug 12oz glasses of the dark or the pale at $2.50 a pop while you wait to be seated. Buddy and I went through about four each while contemplating the length of the line and the lack of solid food in our stomachs. The menu itself is equally straightforward, totaling 9 items, three of which are variations of burger. One time as a group of 4, I simply motioned with my hand that yes, we'd like one of everything. Order a salad and you might get kicked out.

Buddy and I left the Bistro sated and semi-drunk already- the beer goes down like water over there. We made our way over to Art Bar, where we were to meet a couple of his friends from school and I had hoped a pretty dish might meet me out as well. Well, we arrived and... wouldn't you know it, the chicks are late. Further, my interest hadn't called me back and I was beginning to doubt my instincts about her. With nothing (and no one) to do, Buddy and I sat down at the end of the bar nearest the jukebox and went to work.

We like this place because we can hear ourselves think inside; it seems to be one of the dwindling few NYC dives that is geared towards people actually beings social instead of spending the night screaming in each others' ears and fondling strangers in crowds. The front space has an extra-long bar area with banquette booths along the wall for larger parties; the back is filled with couches that may or may not have been pulled off the curb. (I have witnessed some fondling occurring in the back space, but that's another matter.) Buddy and I spent our time cutting through beers and commanding the jukebox, which resulted in an overabundance of Pat Benatar's "We Belong." I decline to make excuses for that. I don't care who you are- that song rules. We overheard waitresses singing along whenever it came on, and as such I'd become convinced that despite my callous and detached persona, I'm deeply, secretly, instinctively sensitive to the needs of women. Yes, I was pretty drunk at this point, and my girl still hadn't called.

Finally, Buddy's girls showed up and wanted to go to an apartment party in the neighborhood. Buddy and I were cocked, bordering on redonkulous. We agreed to go. Things get fuzzy here, and I may or may not have embarrassed myself completely- it's all pretty unclear. I do recall breaking out my swing-dancing routine, which tends to only work if I'm sober. (Why a pretty girl might be turned off by a sloshed, horny guy falling over himself while trying to spin her, dip her, and manhandle her... I have no idea.) Eventually we wore out our welcome and went home to my apartment, as I'd offered my futon to Buddy since his sister left him in the cold. I left him in the common room with the understanding that he'd have to head off to his brunch at 10:30am or so. It was then 4:30am.

I opened my eyes at roughly noon and realized he was probably screwed. I walked out into the common room and, not surprisingly, Buddy was passed out hard on the futon drooling out the side of his open mouth. I checked my phone and noticed my girl had sent me a text, sent early the night before, indicating that she wouldn't be able to join me.

No shit.

I managed to get Buddy on his way as his sister berated him on the phone and realized that I had plans too- I was going to a Columbia Gourmet Club event in Brooklyn at and establishment known as Beer Table. (I don't go to Columbia, of course, but it's good to have connections.) While the thought of mass quantities of beer at this juncture was not terribly appealing (my hangover was manageable but still very much lingering) I decided it would be rude to not attend, especially since my friend Ray had gone out of his way to get me in the door. So I gathered up my shattered psyche, hosed myself down in the shower, and made my way over to the crazies on the F train.

It's going to be difficult to communicate how awesome this experience was. Here's the billing: "We will sample seven classic and novel pizza styles prepared with the freshest ingredients on site and served directly from the oven while learning the secrets of preparing authentic Italian and new world pizza from scratch. Each pizza will be served with a perfectly paired international specialty beer." Sound appealing? Pizza was directed by Mark Bello of Pizza A Casa, and beer chosen by Justin and Tricia Philips of Beer Table, a regular establishment that you can actually visit. Set in a shallow storefront with a dark wood-paneled interior, Beer Table continuously changes its menu providing the finest imported and domestic beers that you just can't get anywhere else. Beers range from the reasonably priced to the exhorbitant (we sampled an $83 bottle of Drie Fonteinen Schaerbeekse Kriek, which is so expensive apparently due to some double-secret cherry ingredients.) The setup is literally three tables with eight stools each. They generally just serve cheese plates and light appetizers to go with the beers, but Justin explained that they have plans to add more items as the business matures, as it had only been open for 51 days as of this event. Whatever happens in the future, I can recommend Beer Table highly now.

You know what else I can recommend? The blonde sitting across from me during the tasting. Unfortunately for you, she's mine for the time being. I'm obliged to muzzle myself, but it certainly seems possible she might get a pseudonym in a future installment. We made eyes at each other across the table for much of the event, and she laughed at most of my jokes, which was something of a shock and an extraordinarily good sign. She then invited me to a post-party at her friend's place, another very good sign. She then asked if I'd be attending the Columbia Gourmet Club's citywide pizza tour. I looked at Ray. He nodded.

Fuck yeah! Can I have your number, baby? I've lost mine!

Later I texted Buddy, asking him how he felt and if he survived brunch. He responded that it wasn't so awful and that he actually felt pretty good. "How do you feel?" he asked me.

I feel pretty good.

Until next time...

Corner Bistro