23 NOVEMBER 2009 :: YOU'RE A NATIVE NEW YORKER
Indulgence
The mark of a good bartender is their ability to make a martini.
Christopher at The Algonquin Hotel knows a thing or two about making
martini’s. It’s been their signature drink since Dorothy Parker and
friends started The Algonquin Roundtable in 1919. A superb martini in
this New York landmark, and our home for the next 4 nights, was just
the start of our indulgence.
Not content to spend every night sipping Martini’s and discussing The
Roundtable (though, with martinis this good, it could easily be done)
we eventually made our way downtown.
Prohibition style “speakeasy’s” are making a huge comeback in New York.
A fair bit of research and a handful of polite (ok, pleading) emails
prior to arriving in NYC and we had our name down for one of the more
secret venues. For the sake of the venue, and the game itself (the
whole point is keeping it secret!) I’ll not name the location. On a
seedier street of downtown Manhattan, next to a Chinese Laundry, there
is an unassuming door to a long deserted shop front. Stepping through
this door gets you to, another door, followed by a black curtain. If
you hold your nerve and resist turning back from the niggling feeling
you could have this very wrong indeed, you’ve found a cocktail bar like
few others.
Emerging through the curtain we’re greeted by a smiling waitress in a
vintage dress, she quickly shows us to some well worn but comfortable
leather chairs. A jazz soundtrack softly washes over the room, even
softer is the candle light, there is not a single electric bulb in the
place. There are no menu’s (It’s a speakeasy, you’re served whatever
was smuggled in that day) but our waitress is happy to get some
martini’s mixed up for us. Unfortunately the bartender fails the
martini test. It’s drowning in vermouth. However, the music, lighting
and atmosphere all urge me to stay and give the bartender another shot.
A whisky collins, this time the cocktail hits the spot. It’s strong and
tasty, without being overpowering.
One bar remains on our list, The Russian Tea Room. Milling around
outside are a group immaculately dressed, wafer thin teenagers. The
girls don’t look old enough to be awake at this time of night, never
mind leaving a bar. I hear glimpses of slurred conversation in Russian
as we walk past them and reminisce about my own teenage life in a
stylish city.
Inside, we’re greeted by yet another smiling hostess. The standard of
service in this city really is amazing. She offers us a seat at the
bar, but what we’ve really come to see is the bear bar. Apparently it’s
only available for hire and special events. The look of disappointment
on our faces must be obvious as our hostess immediately offers to show
us around the bear bar. Once we’re escorted up in the elevator, the bar
itself is one of the kitchest places I’ve ever set foot in.
A towering artificial tree stands at one end of the room. Branches
drooping under the weight of, wait for it... Faberge eggs! Tens of
them, dangling from each branch! Not to be overshadowed, at the other
end of the room stood the bear. Standing atop a rotating plinth is a
six foot tall glass bear, originally designed to house sturgeon as a
caviar farm. I kid you not. Now home to some very chubby looking
goldfish. I was at a loss for words, our hostess explained we could
have our own bear aquarium made for just $300,000. Maybe next year.
Shopping
Oh the shopping. My wallet still hurts, I’ve completely given up on
checking at my credit card bill. I can’t say for sure where it began,
or where it ended. Some of the details I recall: Jackets, shirts,
boots, bags, handbags, books, jeans, cookware, hats, stockings, more
boots, t-shirts, home ware, sports ware... I could go on but my wallet
is begging me to stop making it relive the experience! Uptown,
downtown, cross town, not to mention upscale, downscale, dressing up,
dressing down, undressing... Phew! Of course, you know as well as I do,
I’d do it all again tomorrow given half a chance.
Culture
All that shopping and indulgence needs to be countered with something a
little more refined. My favourite source of culture while visiting New
York is Madison Square Garden, and New York Rangers hockey. While this
was done, how could it not be? It’s not the culture I want to share
with you.
Manhattans upper east side is home to most of the cities well heeled,
well educated and well to do socialites. We were fortunate enough to
get tickets to a piano recital in this part of town. An Armenian
performer, Nareh Arghamanyan was playing at The Frick (a small but
historic art gallery) and it’s something I’d been looking forward to
for many months.
Two things will stand out in my mind for a long time. The first, and
most memorable was the performer. Nareh Arghamanyan was mindblowing.
Well beyond spectacular, she is a prodigy. It feels like an honour to
have been able to hear her play.
Not so spectacular was the crowd. It seems money and influence still
can’t buy manners. The ambient background noise throughout the
performance was around that of a basketball game. Shoes squeaking on
the floor, tapping, banging, murmuring, talking.... Simply disgusting.
However, Nareh seemed to be able to ignore it all and continued in her
own beautiful, elegant style. This elegance was coupled with a youthful
joy and pure love of music as she returned for three, count em, three
encores! Each time managing to best the previous encore and climaxing
with “Flight of the bumblebee” which Nareh absolutely ripped through!
All this, despite the lack of appreciation from a crowd of simpletons,
who even managed an audible groan when they realised she was sitting
down for the third encore and they would not be able to leave just yet.
It’s a sad thought that some people can’t sit still long enough to
enjoy life’s simple pleasures, and realise there is beauty all around
them.
14 NOVEMBER 2009 :: I AM A BEAR - WE ARE
CAL
Warm autumn sunshine bathes fans of all ages as they make their way
across campus at the University of California, Berkeley. Past empty
lecture halls, through redwood groves, slowly and steadily converging
on Memorial Stadium. Blue and gold painted students emerge from
fraternity houses, the sense of anticipation growing with each step.
This is bear territory, Golden Bear territory.
Arriving at Memorial Stadium is like stepping into a bygone era. The
marching band weaves across the field and you can’t help but feel a
sense of community spirit. While seats are assigned, it’s in the
loosest possible fashion. Seats don’t actually exist, just row after
row of old fashioned wooden bleachers. For the most part, people sit
where they want, chasing the sun, the action, or the cheerleaders
around the stadium.
The stadium is filled with a relaxed and effortless
energy, unequalled by other sporting events. No fights, no drunken
louts, no riot police and not a single fence to segregate fans. The
game itself, is just one of the attractions; the band, mascots, fans,
cheerleaders and atmosphere all come together for an incredible
afternoon.
I’ve been fortunate enough to watch from the student section twice now.
It’s the university experience I never had ;-) 75,000 chanting fans,
the band swinging into life, crowd surfing students and the Cal Bears
marching the ball down field.
GO.....BEARS!
No TV and no beer make Homer something, something.
Homer Simpson