Checked out the online reviews first, of course. Every reviewer ranted about the cocktail prices that apparently go boldly where no others dare to go. Some just raised an eyebrow and some ranted on. They are right; starting at $18, cocktails at the bar-restaurant in the new Crosby Hotel will turn Joe Six Pack into Joe One Tap.
Fortunately for us, G. and I are on a cocktail-hiatus but we still approached with trepidation. I picture crowds lined up outside, squeezing in to wait for their table to be called, and oh the noise, said the Grinch. As happens so often, I was wrong.
G. and I arrived first, so we have time to look around. The spacious room is half empty. The hostess is polite and doesn’t make us wait until our whole party arrived to be seated.
The decor cannot be labeled; it’s retro, it’s modern, it’s homey but not cluttered. I am so tired of the minimalist gray and black decor that screams I am trendy. Candy-colored fabric covers the booths in front, earth-tone fabric lines the back area. A Fifties-style cluster of neon-colored lamps hang from the middle of the room, but the lamps against the walls are old-fashioned wrought-iron.
The ladies room is worth a visit, even for aesthetic reasons. Two winding floors down, the restroom is larger than some studio apartments, with a pink chairs and marble walls. Two little girls with their mom dart from one thing to another, awestruck at the pink chairs and other pink accents among the gray marble.
The food? Okay. Pretty good, even. Worth the price? No, but it’s great to spend a relaxing couple of hours with good friends in a great atmosphere. The Crosby Bar may draw Beautiful People, but the comfortable atmosphere allowed no Beautiful-Person chill to enter the air.
Down in Battery Park City, as in much of downtown Manhattan, the wind is on steroids. Strong, and stoked by tall buildings and narrow streets, the winter wind saves its best work for west of the big highway where the Hudson River adds its two bucks. On any given day, the air feels at least ten degrees colder in Battery Park City, especially in seasons where you need every degree on the your side of the tote board. The wind whistles through spaces in the windows of our 18th floor apartment; it pounds on our walls and makes us huddle close to the space heater and under a comforter on the couch. This brutality is payment for the beautiful summers down here when Battery Park City is spared the sweltering stench of the rest of Manhattan, where the same tall buildings create oven walls to contain the heat. The Hudson River relents, and the mad, mad space makes you close your eyes and spin around without knocking anyone over. Among the joys of summer: The Esplanade, Rockefeller Park, and the North Cove where the yachts are moored, the World Financial Center Plaza where PJ Clarke’s and South West have hundreds of outside tables, the fountains, and the places where you can just sit outside, undisturbed. I count the days until March when I get my annual reminder that March is still a winter month. Okay, I’ll count til April then, which for some is the “cruelest month,” but not for me!
As New York City prepares for the ball-drop madness that is a Times Square New Year’s Eve, I recall walking through the empty 1, 2, 3 train corridor in the near silence of a Saturday morning earlier this month. Forget about tomorrow’s crowd. With just the normal weekday throng of commuters hustling through the station, you can easily miss the art embedded in the station’s walls. I noticed the lit, metal-framed images one quiet Saturday morning, pre-coffee, on my way to a class. Get up close and you’ll see the ceramic glazed iconic images that draw a parallel of New York revelry to Paris in the 1890s. The color and the party themes remind me of the surreal debauchery of the movie Moulin Rouge! The artist is Toby Buonaguiro and you can check out all 35 of the ceramic New York images. The New York City subway system is filled with art. You just need to take the time to notice it.
Well, ring-a-ling, it’s Christmas Eve again.
Spend Christmas in New York, that magical city, with millions of others.
There’s so much to see and so many ways to spend your money. And so darn many people.
To feel the real deal, spend a few minutes on the corner of 34th Street and 7th Avenue. The bells of the Salvation Army Santas ring louder than the sirens of impatient emergency vehicle. But we’re all impatient, aren’t we?
Try crossing that crowded intersection, especially from the northeast corner to the northwest corner. The people move in a lattice pattern with an enforced speed limit of a zombie-walk. But there are no rules of the road here in the wild, wild northeast; no alternate merge. The aggressive ones overpower the weak and the out-of-towners. Here, the best defense is a double-wide stroller.
What’s not to love? Merry Christmas, everyone!
Get home safe, or at least in one piece.
Met friends at The Crosby Bar for brunch Sunday.
