Your Saturday night just got started a lot earlier. We'd conservatively estimate it at about noon.
And that's the only conservative thing about it.
We're referring to the Saturday brunch at Maison d'Azur, which launched not-so-quietly before the holidays and has steadily been building a reputation as the place to kick off a weekend of South Beach-flavored excess, one Bellini at a time.
To put it simply: It's like being out at night...during the day. The primly outfitted French restaurant takes over the patio at the Hotel Astor and successfully recreates the raucous St. Tropez-like parties you loved at the Anglers. With the aid of a couple of nightlife divas, the hedged-in patio becomes a sea of Europeans in white jeans and pastel polos, air-kissing and table-hopping to an addictive mix of 50 Cent and Bob Sinclar.
Get there before 2pm and park yourself in one of the tented cabanas, the perfect spot to watch your fellow brunchers slowly get soused on magnums of champagne. The high point occurs when the DJ rhythmically blows his whistle: Waiters emerge with sparklers and everyone tosses their aviators to the wind and starts dancing amidst plates of brioche and chocolate-covered strawberries.
White jeans might not be the best choice after all.
We're referring to the Saturday brunch at Maison d'Azur, which launched not-so-quietly before the holidays and has steadily been building a reputation as the place to kick off a weekend of South Beach-flavored excess, one Bellini at a time.
To put it simply: It's like being out at night...during the day. The primly outfitted French restaurant takes over the patio at the Hotel Astor and successfully recreates the raucous St. Tropez-like parties you loved at the Anglers. With the aid of a couple of nightlife divas, the hedged-in patio becomes a sea of Europeans in white jeans and pastel polos, air-kissing and table-hopping to an addictive mix of 50 Cent and Bob Sinclar.
Get there before 2pm and park yourself in one of the tented cabanas, the perfect spot to watch your fellow brunchers slowly get soused on magnums of champagne. The high point occurs when the DJ rhythmically blows his whistle: Waiters emerge with sparklers and everyone tosses their aviators to the wind and starts dancing amidst plates of brioche and chocolate-covered strawberries.
White jeans might not be the best choice after all.