Carrera--Manhattan

(212) 253-9500

A lot of ground to cover here. First of all a little house keeping. We are now nine strong, as a dear friend Vapid Blond has joined our ranks, an excellent Yoga Blog--Balance in the City has joined our ranks, and the Iconman himself! And there lies the problem. I meant to follow the Vapid Blond as part of the unsaid blogosphere reciprocity that plagues the Internet these days, but instead look like a douche following myself. I'm actually afraid to unfollow myself, or block myself, because who knows what Google would do. The last thing I want to do is fuck with Google. Not even China can do that.

Okay, on with Carrera. There are two locations, but my wife and I ate at the west side location. We were in a hurry as we had about an hour before scurrying up to some hidden west village theatre to watch a very, very gay play in the Fringe festival. Knowing my gay-play sensibilities my wife does her best to get me medicated before I go in to a grueling two hour stint of homosexual conflict. I swear, the biggest curse of living in New York is off-off Broadway.

So we went to Carrera because I was already getting a head start on my buzz at The Room, and it was literally on the way. And I must say, despite it's overtly flamboyant crowd, (a warm up to what was coming) the place ruled. Finally, a use for tapas--we're in a fucking hurry get us some food quick. And they had a dish so delectable that we ended up ordering it again: The Egg in a Blanket. Fucking Genius! They had other typical fare, caprese, dates wrapped in bacon, etc.. but everything pales to that Egg wrapped in philo pastry. Why this isn't on every McDonald's menu is beyond me.

Seattle--Iconman Style

Holy Shit! Seattle. Man oh man I've been traveling like a mother fucker. A large crew of us went up to go fishing for sockeye Salmon, and ended up in Seattle for a night. Let me start by saying one word: Dick's. It's a religion. Three dollar hamburgers and dollar shakes. Not good, per se, but when you're drunk there's nothing you want more than a mouthful of Dick's.

Now aside from their phallacio obsession I must say that Seattle is full of weirdos. There's definitely an energy, but it's a weird one. A tweaked one. Almost as though everyone is depressed and juiced on coffee. We hit quite a few places in our four hours, and almost all of us, including my wife, my other wife, and her husband were all quite drunk by the end of it.

Pink Door:

(206) 443-3241

I'd say it was alright. Italian food, foo-foo cocktails, and a pretty nice balcony. Evidently it rains all of the time in Seattle, which would explain why the balcony was so fucking packed. We were there on the only sunny day of the year. It also explains why the hostess, two waiters, and the manager couldn't somehow tetris two four tops into a six top. Fortunately we were able to get some eats in our stomach, because our next stop was:

Bathtub Gin:

(206) 728-6069

Gin Martini's at four in the afternoon. This place was okay but we were sequestered to the torture chamber in an already dark bar. I get what they're after, and in that regard it was a pretty cozy little place, but Gin is a tough sell. I mean, who wants to go slurp down artesianal, craft gin? Especially on the only sunny day in Seattle? I'll tell you who, I do.

Zig Zag Cafe:

(206) 625-1146

Evidently this place has the best bartender in the world. Or United States, or Seattle, I don't know the particulars but it certainly explains why everyone that works there walks around with a hard-on. His name is Murray in case you're interested. While trying to get one of his famous cocktails we got stuck on one of those plank lean-to bar contraptions that are a good idea if you aren't stuck sitting/leaning on one. The drinks? Pretty good, though after the firewater at Bathtub Gin this guy could have pissed in my mouth and I would have been happy.

Shorty's:

(206) 441-5449

Sufficiently pickled, the reality that we had to eat didn't stop us from pissing away a bunch of cash at this nerd haven. Actually a very cool aesthetic, if you could just eliminate the leering, pinball crazed, dorks. We certainly ruffled their feathers as we liked pin ball and were good looking.

Purple Cafe:

(206) 829-2280

After much deliberation we ended up at the chi-chi Purple cafe. Not a bad restaurant, though at this point we were fourteen strong , inappropriately dressed, and didn't give a shit that we were sitting with the who's who of the Seattle bridge and tunnel social scene. Certainly not my style of place, but a pretty quality product delivered by prompt service. Think meat packing district, but with less money.

As you can tell that was a pretty impressive bar crawl, not necessarily a restaurant crawl. Alas, I forgot to give you the info on what started this trip off:

Dick's:
206) 363-7777 (There's a zillion as this bad boy is a franchise).
Short order burgers. Not that good, unless of course you've visited a zillion bars.

Prune-Manhattan

(212) 677-6221

Sort of odd to write about a place that has been around forever and is established as a restaurant, but I don't ever write about restaurants in the East Village so why not start with this one. Prune was not our first choice, but the sweltering heat forced us to abandon our originaly destination and retreat to Prune to get a seat at their four seat bar.

We had radishes and squash blossoms (that looked like unborn cabbage patch kids), chicken with aspic and celery with blue cheese, and it was all weird and delicious. The waitresses popped around in pink shirts and one of them kept checking me out until I was told that the place was largely populated by lesbians, though, that has never stopped me before.

The only notable event of the night was the pisswater Pimms cup; made by jigger. In fact, all of the drinks were made by jigger. I don't agree with the practice, though it has become fashionable in the recent months, as I like my drinks to be very strong. But when the bartender, a tubby little number, told me that owner/chef did it to control costs that's where I draw the line. I don't mind watching the almighty dollar as it's a tough business, but if you're gonna do that don't serve lousy drinks. Of course, who the hell am I? Prune was packed, and even the wretched female judge on Top Chef even came by to dine and she hates everything so you know this place must be good.

Actually, the more I dig I also remember this waif of a women with long stringy black hair sitting next to me at the bar. Her boyfriend was quite hot and since she looked like an alien she assumed she was too, and kept leaning into me and flipping her gross hair. I nearly freaked out, but the Pimms cup was so gross we elected to leave before I made a scene and got tossed by lesbo's. And not in the good way. Fucking long-haired alien women. They're taking over.