Volume 4, Issue 6
March 21 - April 3, 2002
by Rob Williams
It was late afternoon when the phone rang. It was Jessie, a girl I hadn't seen in months, in town on a 48 hour layover. She was bored, it was Tuesday afternoon and I had no time to really make plans. Luckily, just because it's a weekday doesn't mean we were stuck with TV reruns or the old standby dinner and a movie. We needed some culture, some dinner and some cocktails.
I picked Jessie up around 7 pm and we hustled over to the Funky Buddha Lounge on Lincoln. Every tuesday the Buddha hosts art shows curated by Michelle Barnes. This week's show was a treat, featuring large digital prints by Mat Schroeder. His work is reminiscent of graphic ad campaigns for "urban" gear like chunky shoes or starter jackets, but his themes go from American icons like Bruce Lee and Evel Knievel to simple stark portraits of faceless figures in space. I made a point of checking the crowd as we sipped our free champagne (available from 7-8) and noted a distinct absence of PIB. People In Black. This was not the usual art crowd. This was no wine and cheese snobby art gallery, just a trendy bar that happens to show art. Imagine a '70s disco diva in suede hip-huggers getting chatted up by a guy in a plaid sports coat, Coors t-shirt, chinos and Lugz underneath a smiling bodhisattva. It can happen at the Buddha. I can't decide if they are trying a slightly cheesy approach or if they are taking themselves seriously with the decor of the far east. The booths sport little labels like "Transcendence" or "Harmony," but get in early if you want to sit in any of them. Around 9 pm the music gets cranking and the DJs in the back can get the room moving. Be prepared to jostle/dance your way from bar to bathroom. Service can be slow when it's packed, but we came for the culture, right?
Our cultural needs sated we next turned to food. I had asked around the office for a nice quiet bistro to enjoy dinner and the name that came up was Basil Ristorante.
We got in early enough that seating didn't require reservations and the waiter was really helpful and knowledgeable. We started with the wine list. I'm no wine snob, but let me tell you about the 1998 Salice Salentino Maiana Rosso Apulia. Yeah, I can't pronounce it either. But it's the darkest, most flavorful blood red wine I've ever had. Velvety smooth and decadent. I imagine Oliver Reed drinking this from a silver chalice while seducing angels. I made a point of getting the distributor's card from the management, and I'm seriously considering buying a case.
The food proved to be as rich as the wine. We ordered silky crab stuffed mushrooms ($ 8.95) to start off. They were served hot in a light butter sauce and not overcooked. I had chosen the venison -- actually a New Zealand red deer filet served with a wild berry demi glace ($18.95) and Jessie tried the Chicken Marsala ($14.95). We marveled at the texture and precise cooking of the venison and the sweetness of the chicken. My mind's eye pictured us in Roman robes as we tore into this lusty fare. Sinful? Yes. Orgasmic? Damn near. The richness and complexity of the dishes made us positively giddy, though I'm sure the wine helped. By the time we reached dessert, fresh strawberries with créme anglaise ($4.95), we were feeling positively euphoric. I was ready to draw her a bath and read her sonnets, and I don't even like poetry. No, it wasn't cheap, but a good meal rarely is. This was romantic dining at its finest.
Our mood now fueled with culture and food, our minds turned to the aperitif, that's right, the Martini.
Now you might be surprised to know that Broadway sports a cozy martini lounge called Blue Ice. It's a little more casual than the downtown saloons but the vibe is very similar. An impressive wall of bottles, a funky curved stone bar, and lots of couches for lounging in semi- privacy, without missing out on the party. Usually the place features art by locals as well, in this case ground metal portraits by Eric Rieger. We ordered a pair of Manhattans and slid into a couch nestled under one of the shiny panels. The couches are sometimes mismatched but the mood is there. The DJ was spinning trip-hop and acid jazz at just the right level. Here and there couples danced and chatted, and groups of friends threw back spindly glasses of iced liquor. Maybe it's not the glory of Rome, but everyone needs a place to groove. Arguably, Blue Ice is the grooviest place on this stretch of Broadway, and parking is nowhere near the nightmare it is downtown. I cursed the parking cartel and downed another mouthful. We settled in and lit our cigarettes in disregard of health or well-being. After all, smoking and drinking go hand in hand, one sin to another, and this place felt sinfully good. As we smoked and sipped our way through hedonistic conversation I realized I had just pulled off a pretty damn good Tuesday night, with only one sin left to go. That's another story altogether.
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