Wikipages Blog

My friend Rose and I wanted to go dancing. But not the kind of dancing that involves a loud, vibrating beat or a disco ball. Swingdancing! I never technically learned how to swing dance. But having done musical theatre and attended college during the swing trend, I can fake it pretty well. Rose, on the other hand, has won swingdancing contests.

We chose Swing 46, a favorite of my old theatre crowd. It’s an upscale place in Midtown with expensive food and even more expensive drinks, but the music and the vibe always pay off. After paying the $10 cover, we sat down with a couple martinis (probably about $12 each). The band playing was Double Down, a fun band that combines Frank Sinatra and Big Bad Voodoo Daddies.

We decided more alcohol was necessary. The most cost-effective way to drink more was to get a bottle. We decided to get the cheapest bottle on the menu, whatever it was. It turned out to be a bottle of, not wine, but champagne! Though, to be accurate, it must have been sparkling wine since I am sure it did not come from the Champagne Province. Whatever! We ordered it and they brought it over, silver standing tray with ice and all! It attracted some attention and some middle-aged Bulgarian men came over, asking us to dance!

So there we were, drinking champagne, and dancing with slightly sketchy, middle-aged Bulgarians. They were decent dancers, actually. (Both Rose and I are in very happy relationships, so we weren’t looking for hotties to dance with, anyway).Then Double Down changed gears and performed a swing version of Thriller. The whole band even jumped off the stage and did the classic dance!

We stumbled out of the club well after 2 am, throwing out the business cards from the Bulgarians on our way down the block, and singing Double Down’s version of “Luck be a Lady”. All in all, a good night out.

One of the best parts of living in New York is the wide variety of “little Italian restaurants” (LIR’s). Growing up in Northern NJ, going into the city to eat, I had thought Italian restaurants are everywhere. But not outside NYC. I’ve searched DC, San Francisco, and others, but have found none that compare.

I have a number of favorite LIR’s in the city, Don Giovani’s, Mezzo Mezzo, Babbo (went there once; wonderful place, but don’t know when I’ll be able to afford it again.) But none of them are as classic NYC as Carmine’s. I only go on occasion, since it really needs to be an occasion to go there.

Last Friday, my friend John Paul’s birthday, he decided naively, at 7:30, that Carmine’s would be a good place to go for dinner. Carmine’s is always packed. Tourists on their way to Broadway shows, families, mobsters, all cram into Carmine’s, especially on the weekend. Luckily, I have connections. Because I’m Italian. So I made a phone call. I seriously did. I made a phone call to a friend who could pull some strings and get us a table for that evening. I felt pretty special.

Carmine’s was packed, as usual. My friend (who pulled the strings) made his way over to us and assured us that our table would be ready in just a few minutes. And, miraculously, it was. For some unknown reason, I always seem to have the same table.

The six of us sat down and ordered a bottle of the house Chianti. My Italian grandfather always only drinks Chianti (Carlo Rossi!) and it just seems appropriate at Carmine’s. The meals are family style, so we got Caesar salad, Penna alla Vodka (my favorite dish), and some meat item or another. As always, the penna alla vodka was amazing. I’m starting to drool just thinking about it.

After a few glasses of Chianti, everyone was laughing, the stress of the work week was slipping away, and we reached that perfect comfort and contentment that every Italian restaurant should create. Then the waiters presented John Paul with a monstrously huge cake containing chocolates, fruits, and, unfortunately, nuts (I’m allergic). Even without my help, the party nearly finished the huge dessert. Apparently, it was delicious. It seemed even more delicious when the waitress gave us our bill and informed us that my string-pulling friend had taken care of coffee and dessert.

Ah, the many joys of little Italian restaurants in the city. It really is the place city on earth, for Italian food. Ok, except for maybe cities actually in Italy.