Being Bad in Billysburg
I must admit that the hyper-hipster-intelligensia faction that has overtaken Williamsburg has put me a bit off of the 'hood. However, there is no denying its urban, alterna-teen fashonista charms. So, when good ol' Maureen asked if we could reschedule our plans for a civilized cocktail at Bemelman's on the Upper East Side and, instead, go out in Billysburg I was game.
If only I'd been forwarned that there would be another hard-partying Texan in tow - Mo's elusive pal Jim. I was outnumbered. I started in with a rich, chocolatey porter from Finland in the Biergarten at Spuyten Dyvil and rapidly, a mini-bar crawl was begun. All memory that it was a "school night" quickly went out the window. I had no choice. I was under the evening's spell.
OUCH! My arm! Stop twisting it!
With Mo craving carbs, Jim led us to our next tavern destination, Clem's - with a quick pit stop to look at the latest oddities and ephemera crammed in the windows at Inspector Collector at the corner of Havemeyer and Grand. It was hard to pull ourselves away from the array of Statue of Liberty and Mr. T knick-nacks and doodads, but Mo's belly was grumbling. Pretzels were a must-do.
One step into the saloon and it was obvious that everyone there knew Jim's name - and drinking habits. Clearly, he wasn't elusive when it came to this watering hole. We bantered about vital organs visiting outerspace and large rodents from South Africa while we inhaled some salty Utz's and imbibed brewskys. (Alright - you caught me - I switched over to a Campari and soda with a splash of OJ. Sue me.)
Mo's tummy was still grumbling. Something more substantial was called for. I recommended DOC Wine Bar, but Mo didn't think she could hold out to get there - besides, she had a craving for Margaritas not Merlot. Jim quickly sussed out that top-flight Margaritas avec vittles were not to be found in a two-block radius. So, we compromised - Sangritas - a fusion between the classic Sangria and a Margarita was available at nearby tapas bar Allioli.
Tequila and tapas. Done deal.
The drinks were tasty enough, but unfortunately the food was rather feh. A plate of Dados de Datil Envuelto en Serrano (fried dates wrapped in a thin layer of Serrano ham) was definitely the best of the bunch. Losers included fried potato wedges in an overly gloppy, garlickly white sauce, and an over-wrought, paprika-doused Ensalada de Pulpito (octopus salad).
Mediocre meal aside, Mo's cravings had been satisfied. Now it was my turn - and I wanted wine and cheese.
We zipped over to DOC and immediately plopped down at one of their charming outdoor tables. A beautiful, full-bodied, fruity bottle of red wine was ordered, along with a large platter of artisinal cheeses. A few sips of the vino, a couple tastes of truffled cheese and one ecstatic moan later and I was a happy camper. A happy camper with work this morning and a 9:30am conference call at that.
We polished off the bottle and the cheese and finally realized that we had to go - it was 12:30am and all three of us were three-sheets-to-the wind. (Where does that phrase come from anyway?)
I was bad last night. Bad Vamp! Bad Vamp! All I can say, is that I'm hoping my hangover finally fades away - before I go out again tonight.