The weekend knows how to make a big entrance.
You have an appreciation for the classics. And it’s that respect for your elders (and thirst for aged scotch) that’ll bring you to this newly reopened, turn-of-the-century watering hole, still featuring many items from the original 1900s run. Though not the food. We’ve been assured that’s new.
Tomorrow, the Jets begin their run to Super Bowl XLV. However, should this year (like the previous 41) end short of an appearance in the big game, you’ll at least have a specially ordered 2.5-foot Torrisi sandwich as consolation. Apparently, chicken parm tastes equally good in defeat.
The last time you attended a festival, you left with a three-picture deal. So expectations are high for the Winter Jazzfest, taking place this weekend in the West Village. Six venues, 60 acts—and at least one of them has to be looking for a recorder player.
The holidays came. The holidays went. And now it’s way overdue that you swapped your reindeer sweaters for an animal a little less seasonal. Like a polo horse. Emblazoned on a wool peacoat. A cashmere scarf. Or any number of things your Aunt Dotty couldn’t sew.
From the folks who brought you the most infamous missile crisis and the most coveted cigars (allegedly, of course) comes the next great brunch. We’re talking Coconut Pancakes. Cuban French Toast dipped in vanilla custard. And rum-spiked beverages. All significantly easier to sneak through customs than their other exports.
There’s technically no wrong way to eat a hot dog (though you’re suspicious of anyone who uses ketchup). But if there were a right way, it would be deep-fried, wrapped in bacon, topped with pineapple and green onion, and served amongst a collection of vintage skateboards and arcade games.
