Hudson Terrace

The scene: it's raining cats and dogs and kittens and puppies. I had just finished my workout at NYAC (rather, my monsoon run in Central Park) and midway through getting dolled up for the Trident Swim Foundation fundraiser at the Hudson Terrace, I felt like I needed another shower. Disgusting.

I head downstairs and get stuck in "seeking-shelter-from-the-storm" traffic at the club entrance. About 20 people are hanging out under the awning, some on their cell phones, some fighting for cabs, most looking bewildered, all trying to figure out how they were going to make a run for it by getting the least wet. Some chick ran off in a white dress barefoot. Guess that's the way to go, if you don't care that you're walking through dog urine, pigeon and horse droppings, and disposed chewing gum. Disgusting.

After about five minutes of no luck on the cab front, I decided to rough it and try my luck on another block. Thank goodness I managed to steal a small, bright purple umbrella from work which felt more like an over-sized hat than an umbrella. I could feel the water from one of its broken spokes dripping down the back of my dress.

Cab! No lights. Cab! Ugh. No lights. Cab! All lights. Shoot. Wait. He's stopping.

"Whay-uh uh-yoo go-een?"

"46th and 11th?"

"OK. Gayt een."

Open door, close umbrella, saved.

"Whay-uh uh-yoo go-een?"

"46th and 11th!?"

"Oh. Sorry. Get out."

"Ya' KIDDING ME!?"

"Sorry meess."

I was so amazed I couldn't do anything but cackle out loud. Did this seriously just happen? Wow. After about a dozen more unlit cabs flew by packed with lucky, dry riders, my knight in shining yellow armor came to whisk me away to the party.

When I googled Hudson Terrace I was confused it wasn't on 58th and Columbus. Was this not the outdoor space at the Hudson Hotel? Rats. I quickly learned that's the Hudson Sky Terrace and we're going to the plain ol' Hudson Terrace. The New Yorker used to throw elaborate launch parties at the Sky Terrace and I was excited to return to my old stomping grounds. Guess I'll have to plan my own reunion.

I strolled up to the Hudson Terrace, on 46th and 12th (I ended up getting out of the cab at 52nd because the traffic on 11th was so horrendous), and the first red flag was the scantily clad woman stumbling outside the entrance like she was looking for her next hit. Disgusting.

I walked in and there were a few yuppies with clipboards holding their laundry lists of guests. Who knew the Trident Swim Foundation had so many supporters?

"What party are you here for?" Aha. Multiple events.

"Trident."

"Head to the elevator on the right."

"OK. Thanks."

I got on the elevator and I could hear thrashing club music seeping through the walls. It was only seven o'clock. The tall black man on elevator duty gave me a Cheshire cat grin. He reminded me of Djimon Hounsou with his smile and voice.

"Is that club music I'm hearing?"

"Yes. Have a good night!"

I was not ready for this. I thought I was going to a spa-like, tranquil terrace to meet some friends. When I got off the elevator I was in club central -- bright lights, shiny surfaces, bottle service and music I only listen to at 1 a.m. -- and I knew no one.

No sooner had I walked in than I couldn't wait to get the hell out of there. I invited Springbok to come join me, and I think he was considering it until I said, "Stay far far away. It's awful. I will meet you later."

Minutes ago I told JB I was writing about our night and he responded, "Yeah. Terrible. Make sure you mention all the turd-looking bankers in there." I had to wade through about a dozen groups of them until I found a familiar face.

"Activista!" I shouted. Thank god.

I scored my free sip of wine that came with my ticket and we went to the bar.

"A Manhattan, a gin and tonic and a bud light, please." The only positive thing about the place was there was no wait for service.

"Would you like that up?" The orange bartender with a grease-tight ponytail asked.

"Yes, please."

Don't ask me why, but Manhattans are my new favorite drink. In my mind I'm actually drinking more by drinking less. I watched her prepare the gin and tonic before she had to ask for help for the Manhattan. Great. I handed her my Visa.

"You can just close it out."

"Sure."

She turned around, put my card down and got ready to take on the next drink order.

"Ummm, I said close it out."

"We have a $50 minimum for charge cards."

"5-0?!"

"5-0."

I'm sorry, I just paid $40 to get in, I don't have any more cash. And could you not have mentioned that as you TOOK my CARD?

"Activista? JB?"

"We should have cash."

The three of us fuddled with our wallets like we were 6-year-olds and cumulatively did not have enough to cover the $37 tab for three drinks. Typical of the media maven/swim coach/unemployed lawyer trio. Activista offered to put our drinks on her already existent tab and the bartender woke up and realized she actually could run my card.

"I'll close you out. I'll get in less trouble doing this than -- " and she mumbled something under her breath.

Than what, taking our cash or running Activista's card? This chick was bananas.

My eyes popped out of my head while I was signing the receipt. Forty-seven bucks for two drinks and a beer? Ask anyone. I am no cheapskate. Hate 'em, can't trust 'em, don't hang out with 'em. If I have to ask you to contribute more money than you already have to a dinner or drink tab, consider yourself off the M-list. But this was out of control. I wish I'd taken a photo of the receipt because you're not going to believe me. I was charged $3 for having my Manhattan "up." Up, by the way, meant served in a martini glass without the stem. That and she added a $10 gratuity.

"Gratuity is included?"

"Yeah, it's our policy. We ALWAYS include gratuity."

I wish I had spoken to the manager. By "our policy" she meant her policy, for sure. Had I wanted to spend that much money on a drink I would have gone to Bemelman's, Milk & Honey, Tailor or any other real drinking establishment where I'd happily drop $20 on a well-constructed, artful drink.

Not only did she include more tip than I'd put down for a $37 dinner, but she got about 19 percent more than I would have given her. My patience was boiling as I nearly chugged my Manhattan to get out of there. Two hours of my life I'll never get back. Disgusting.

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Beer on Tap at the White House

Whether you're a fan of Obama's (and questions of race and his involvement in what should have been a blip on a local police blotter aside), it's amusing to think of our president holding a sort of middle school-style intervention between a Harvard professor and the police officer who arrested him on his own porch. And over a nice cold brew, no less.

I'm totally over the initial story and the hoopla it raised in my industry for nearly two weeks. Do we still need to lead with this? What happened to the Iranian elections or our missing soldier Pfc. Bowe R. Bergdahl in Afghanistan?

But once I read the word "beer" I started to care again. What will the eclectic threesome drink? A common import, a fancy export, a golden lager, a pale ale, a wheat beer, a light beer (we all know Obama's an exercise freak) or just a Bud? Whatever the first family touches turns to gold. See a cardigan on Michelle Obama and it sells out at J. Crew. Watch Obama head to Five Guys for a burger in D.C. and the place gets a run on business like it's offering a burger wrapped in a golden ticket to paradise. Will the beer of choice for this tetes-a-tetes enjoy the same good fortune?

You know him as SirDatesALot. Here's a look at what he thinks will be going down, chilled and frothy, at the White House.

What would you drink with the president? Read my last post, and you'll have my answer.

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Summers With St. Germain

"Man, I get written up in Bon Appetit easier than I get on Mona's Apple!" Spirit declared over July 4 weekend at my uncle's house in Sag Harbor.

"Psshhh. That's ridiculous," I said with a roll of my eyes, though knowing he was right. I haven't written about Spirit's creation St. Germain since his hit alcohol was the life of a First Fridays at the Guggenheim a couple of years ago.

When I see his elderflower liqueur sitting pretty and tall on a bar shelf, I get a certain sense of pride and glee.

"Oh great! You have St. Germain!"

"Uh-huh..."

"My friend created it!"

"Uh-huh..."

"As in, he INVENTED IT!?" I'll think to myself. Why doesn't anyone believe me?

The inquisitive (rare) bartender will follow up with more questions and in the absence of a cocktail menu, I'll ask what drinks are offered with it. But more often than not, the bartender plays too cool for school and either a) thinks I'm some bimbo tripping on elderflower, b) believes I'm seeking some sort of hook-up or c) he/she's too proud to admit they aren't 100% aware of St. Germain and all its capabilities.

When my mom and I spotted St. Germain at the Octagon Bar in U2's hotel in Dublin The Clarence I shrieked out loud. Who knew it'd crossed the sea to the land of Eire. I wouldn't have been surprised to see it at a tabac in France, but even the Irish are drinking it? Fabulous. I ordered a mojito with a splash of St. Germain and it was excellent. The bartender wasn't quite sure what to make of me (or it), but overall it was a success. My mom hadn't even tried it before (don't kill me, Spirit, I have no idea how this is possible) and she became a fan from the first sip.

Spotted! St. Germain at The Clarence Hotel in Dublin

Spirit is married to my dear friend CalGal. They met while we were spending our post-college, partying days in Aspen. How does someone go about inventing a liqueur? Spirit grew up in a family of distillers and he knows the industry inside and out. In keeping the family tradition alive he's now, with the help of CalGal and a small New York-based team, pushed St. Germain to a level of astounding success. It's pretty much how I judge a bar. Got St. Germain? If not, it's probably low on hotness and not worth returning to.

Over the July 4 weekend, Spirit successfully turned on several more people to the sweet flavor of St. Germain. CalGal and Spirit joined me, my uncle and several of his friends for a cocktail hour in honor of our nation's independence. Spirit walked in with an enormous tub of ingredients and went to work in the kitchen while CalGal and I sat around a table and exchanged niceties with new friends.

Our drink consisted of champagne, soda water, ice, St. Germain and a twist of lemon. (Click here for the official recipe.)

"This is delicious!" said the mother of two.

"I don't even drink champagne, but I love this drink." said the French divorcee.

"I could get hooked on this," said my uncle with his eyes wide open in shock that he was enjoying the beverage.

"I know, right? It's the perfect summer drink."

CalGal and Spirit were the hits of the party. My uncle's very tough to impress/win over and at the end of the night he invited the generous couple back to dinner.

"Am I invited?!" I teased. "Like WHOA!" I told CalGal.

Everyone wanted to hear more about Spirit and CalGal's histories, personal and professional, and most of all they wanted the inside scoop on St. Germain and the drinks you could make with it. My favorites are the champagne cocktail we drank that night, adding it to a glass of dry, white wine (or a mojito) or tossing it into a gin and tonic.

St. Germain as pre-dinner cocktail - to the left of my plate. Tear. Almost gone.

Spirit shared a new recipe with the party I'd never thought of. Sangria flora. I heart sangria, though I drink more red than white, but after I read this, I may have to convert to white sangria. So you can get in on the fun of St. Germain during the last weeks of summer that are sure to fly by quicker than the Tour de France peloton, here is the recipe:

Sangria flora

1 bottle of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc (dry white wine)
1/2 bottle of St. Germain
1 box (small) raspberries
1/2 box strawberries
4-5 peaches (white ideally)
1 bunch of white grapes and any other fruit you like
Make 30 minutes before serving.

I stole the recipe from my uncle's house so I could type this up.

"Umm, umm, are you going to bring that back?" He asked. Rats. I thought I'd snuck it out without him seeing.

"Yes, yes, of course, Uncle B-. I just want to type it up officially on my blog, which you will just have to read."

"OK, OK, well just make sure to bring it back. I'm going to make it for my next dinner party."

Spirit, I think we have a new permanent guest at the bar cabinet in Sag Harbor. Mt. Gay, this is St. Germain, St. Germain, this is Mt. Gay.

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Good Restaurant

"Have you written about our dinners yet?"

"No, Springbok. NO!"

I feel like I'm talking to our old beloved Bernese mountain dog Toby. "Down, boy. DOWN!"

"How about now?"

"No-ho-ho. Still no!" I respond shaking my head with incredulous laughter.

Springbok is riding me pretty hard about writing up our dinner dates, and while I have enjoyed each one of them: Braai, Beyoglu, Bar Etats-Unis and Taste (forgot to tell Winette we went the other night), I have a pretty thick blog-odex of restaurants I have to get to before them. Not to mention I have a policy where I don't write about dates. But if he's asking for it, he's going to get it. I fear one of these days he's going to restaurant ground me and refuse to take me out for another dinner until I write about ONE of our dates. So Springbok, if you stick around, it's coming, OK? Actually, even if you don't, you'll still get a worthy spread on the Apple. Be careful what you wish for!

Fashionista was doing one of her many beautiful apartment renovations and her mom was a hero for the week -- she offered to stay at home cooped up in the kitchen to keep an evil eye on the workers. There was going to be no funny stuff/extraneous breaks in that apartment while Mama Fashionista was on duty. Forget the workers, I wonder how she survived with Nola -- Fashionista's big, longhaired grey cat who rules the roost. I haven't managed to win over the heart of Nola, no matter how many nights I've pre-partied in her crib. She's like the disapproving mother-in-law who on the surface feigns friendship, but when you try to get too close huz-ZAH! GET BACK! WAY back!


Fashionista invited LittleMissSunshine and myself to dinner with her mom and we convened at a spot in the West Village called Good.

"Good what?"

"Just Good."

I somehow showed up early and ran into LittleMissSunshine on the way in. Both of us are notorious for our tardiness, though I am the worst offender of the two. It's awful enough being late for a friend, but for a friend and her mom? Unacceptable. I gave myself about three hours to get downtown from the Upper West Side.

You walk into Good and there's a small bar to your right. They have a marble ledge against the window where LittleMissSunshine and I plopped our stuff down. The bartender asked us if we needed anything and we decided to wait until we sat at the table. This wasn't a night-with-a-mission, here. I order martinis when I'm with my family, but I didn't need to subject Mama Fashionista to that silliness.

Good's decor is very simple. The dining room is divided into small areas of wooden banquettes so you're in a section with only a couple of other tables. Our table was sort of floating off by itself in no-man's-land. I felt like we were at the power table. I noticed the painting to our left of a giant utensil. The other decorations -- wrought-iron chandeliers, plants and pigs -- were contemporary, but had a rural, country kitchen aspect to them. The restaurant was dimly lit, which to me is key. Each table had a candle and every time ours went out, someone would come back to light it. There was just so much conversation and laughter it couldn't keep up.

Here's a list of what we ordered:

Pulled pork sliders
Gnocchi
Potato chips with a caramelized onion dip
Strip steak
NY steak
Crispy chicken salad
Mussels
Burger with pulled pork, cheese and fries
Macaroni and cheese
Chili corn bread

Yup. That's right. No we were not a table of 16 celebrating the return of sensory functions. Our server looked at us with a "You're kidding me, right?" grin and both eyebrows raised, but he kept on writing. We're big girls. We're big girls.

The first item that came to the table was the chile corn bread. I knew I loved corn bread, but the chile really won me over. Had we not ordered more food, I would have been eating this all night. Oh wait, I did anyway. I was that person that kept breaking a piece off until I'd eaten a whole slice. I hate those kinds of people. It was so moist and flavorful it didn't even need any butter.

Round two included gnocchi, potato chips and dip and sliders. The gnocchi itself was incredible. Huge and doughy and the perfect texture. I didn't enjoy the dressings as much. The slices of prosciutto were awkward to eat with the potato dumplings. You kind of had to separate the two before you could eat them. I was expecting something more with the chips. They were basically homemade Maui potato chips - I was expecting more like The Palm's cottage fries. The sliders were everything you'd want a slider to be - juicy with chewy bread. Mmm!


The most astounding dish the server brought to the table was LittleMissSunshine's burger. I've never seen the likes of it anywhere, though its height could be matched at The Sunburnt Cow. It was a grilled burger with pulled pork and smoked mozzarella cheese on a brioche bun, but the cheese wasn't sliced on top. It was actually rolled into the patty. Amazing. I don't know how LMS got her teeth around it. I should have snapped a picture of her going for the goods (though it wouldn't have come out like all of them from this evening). The burger, though nearly impossible to eat, was one of the tastiest burgers I've ever had. Sometimes function defeats taste and in this case, the flavor was negated by how awkward it was to actually consume. She ended up barely being able to put a dent in it. I tried to help but had too much of my own - the mussels and the crispy chicken salad.

The mussels were excellent with white wine, garlic and herbs and grilled country bread that I didn't need after all the cornbread I'd shoved down my throat.

I made it about halfway through my crispy peanut chicken salad with corn, radicchio and Bibb lettuce when I realized the chicken was awfully tough to cut. I love crispy chicken, but it can be crispy on the outside and break away easily in the middle. Little too rough for my taste. The honey jalapeno dressing was a great combo I just wish there'd been more of it.

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Fashionista and Mama Fashionista both ordered steak. One the grilled marinated skirt steak with a potato parmesan croquette in a parsley-garlic sauce and one the N.Y. strip with charred cherry tomatoes, arugula and smoked paprika aioli. It was like a contest to see whose was better.

"Do you like yours?" Mom would ask.

"Yeah, it's great!" Daughter would reply.

"Do YOU like YOURS?" Daughter would ask.

"Yeah, it's great!" Mom would reply.

I tried them both, and while I'm usually a N.Y. steak girl, I liked the grittiness of the strip here. The charred edges had more flavor than the New York's. Not to mention serve me a croquette and I'm DUN-ZO. Mama Fashionista could barely put a dent in it - we were eating her under the table - so she sliced off a big chunk for me.

Last but not least, the macaroni and cheese. It was a green chile mac and cheese with cilantro and tortilla crumb crust. We sort of shared this among the four of us, though I seemed to put my fork in more than anyone else. I don't know what it is. As good as it was, it still left something to be desired. Maybe what I have in my head of what macaroni and cheese should taste like just doesn't exist. Or maybe my taste in cheese ruins me for all macaroni and cheese. I like the hard and bitter or soft and stinky stuff so most macaroni and cheeses end up being pretty bland. The cilantro and chile helped give this macaroni a boost, but not enough for me to name it an unforgettable macaroni and cheese.

Our server was really friendly and super-attentive. He definitely got a kick/shock out of us gorging ourselves. I can't believe he had the nerve to ask us if we wanted dessert. What a joke.

One of the 20 definitions of "good" in Merriam Webster's dictionary is "agreeable, pleasant." Good is just that - go for a solid meal at a solid price. It would have been presumptuous of chef Steven Picker to name his spot Great Restaurant, but Good fits. I won't add it to the top of my all-time favorites list, but if you're in the neighborhood of Bank and W. 12th, stop in for some yummy comfort food. Just do yourself a favor-- don't order 98 percent of the menu and save room for dessert. Who knows? Maybe we left out the best part.

Thanks, Mama Fashionista, for dinner and a great night (oh and bon voyage)!

89 Greenwich Ave., between Bank and W. 12th
212.691.8080

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Philharmonic in the Park

The blog-friendly picture doesn't do this baby justice. I mean, it's just me on a sheet in the park, but when you look at the original size at my new friend Jacob Silberberg's Web site, it's pretty phenomenal. You can check out some of his other work here. SirDatesALot shared Jacob's photo album with me days after I almost fell over him and his buddies at last year's Philharmonic in the Park and I remember being very impressed. It wasn't your run-of-the-mill "Look at us, we're drunk and wasted!" Facebook photo album. I feel honored to be a part of this year's classy creation.

Good job to SirDatesALot on organizing the crew. We had about nine sheets packed with two wine bottles, three bags of chips and 10 kilos of hummus per person. Apart from a few rude old ladies who wheeled over my friend's head with their carry-on luggage -- "Did that really just happen?" -- and a sweaty guy who decided to plop his towel right in between a couple of our sheets, staking out our territory was a huge success. I highly recommend camping out by the lip-shaped helium balloon. That or bringing a pistol, loaded with water, of course.

Next year I'm packing a fold-up chair and a cooler. The warm white wines were tasting pretty raunch at 10 o'clock (five hours after I got there) and my knees were very sore at the end of the evening. I know most people are praying for us to get out of the recession so they can have their old lifestyles back. I'm praying so New York can bring back its A+ game in the fireworks department. This year's post-show fireworks display was beyond dismal. Total waste of time. I should have brought my own. To whoever I told to go to the show for the fireworks alone, my sincerest apologies. Hey, at least you got to hear a little something from the beloved (?) Alec Baldwin and Chuck Schumer before the show. Those Sotomayor hearings must have really done a number on Schumer. Wonder how much that shuttle trip cost the taxpayer.

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Fridays About Town, or F.A.T.

The Met Rooftop for YMP Thursday

This should be "Weekend About Town" since I'm publishing so late, but what gives? If you're in the area this weekend, here are some local diversions.

Less for the caps game (think quarters, but with Corona bottle caps) and more for Corona's Summer-bration map of where you can find buckets of the beachy brew city-wide.

Apparently there's a UFC bout this weekend (?) and a few bars are having all-you-can-drink specials, including one of my down under faves The Sunburnt Cow (go tonight for a free ice luge shot). JT's Southern Hospitality will be screening the fight as well.

A shout-out to my girl over at Fork This. She's bartending tonight at Celebrate Brooklyn.

Get those cameras ready for my favorite phenomenon Manhattanhenge.

Because this just looks sick.

The latest in glorious food porn sites for the photogs/chefs out there.

Love it or hate it (like me), it's Restaurant Week next week, so warm up your speed dialing.

Hotel Griffou smells like the next Beatrice Inn and while I've given up trying to get in to Bea, if Leo hangs out at Griffou, I'll camp out to pass go.

If you were planning a drunch (drunk brunch) at Supper, think again.

"Allons enfants de la pat-REEEE-uh, le jour de gloire est arrive..." Yes, I speak French and I'm allowed to show off from time to time. Tuesday is Bastille Day (click here for last year's ode to France) so save a little something for the Frenchies - here's an early round-up of events.

Now, if I read that Top Pot was coming to New York, I'd be really excited. Who's Tim Hortons?

If the rain comes back, go put on some ugly bowling shoes at the new Brooklyn Bowl.

Feeling lucky? Flip a coin at Kingswood for drinks.

Get your wine coolers, blankets and fold-up tables ready because Tuesday is Philharmonic in da Park! If you missed fireworks on July 4, that's reason alone to get your bootie to the Great Lawn. The fireworks at the end of the show are a stunner.

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Top 10 Best Outdoor Dining Spots in New York

from top left, clockwise: Bobo, Grocery, The Frying Pan, Gemma

TheDude e-mailed me last week:

"You ever thought of doing an e-mail mailing list? You know those ones like Tasting Table and Richard's Bits?"

I have signed up for a few mailing lists. Tasting Table and Urban Daddy are the only ones I still receive. I unsubscribed from Daily Candy and I will soon unsubscribe from Goop. In all honesty, I quickly delete these e-mails once I see them in my inbox, unless something grabs me immediately. There are occasions where I will open one and say, "Wow!" but if I need something, I'll just go to the source, rather than the random e-mail.

But TheDude brought up another good point -- creating top 10 lists. Though he's not the first to suggest this -- Dad's been trying to get me to do this for years -- I'm thanking him for relighting the fire under my cushioned chair. I will be aiming to come up with one every couple of weeks, and what better way to start off the unofficial beginning of summer, just off of July 4 weekend, with a list of my favorite outdoor dining spots. There are dozens of other noteworthy spots in the city that you won't find here, but after chasing al fresco for half a decade, these are the ones I'd return to in a heartbeat. I've included courtyards, sidewalks and even a boat.

Almost made the top 10: Raoul's, Paradou, Beyoglu, Bar Boulud and Blue Water Grill.

10. The Frying Pan. This barge-turned-bar should be on ANY top 10 list that involves the words bar or outside dining. If you're looking for a fancy dining spot, this is not your place, but its setting on the Hudson cannot be beat for a casual night out. Head in, grab a seat and hit up the bar for burgers and beer -- both recession-friendly.

9. Fette Sau. If you're in Brooklyn and looking for a picnic table, go no further than Fette. Mark your spot in the courtyard out front before heading indoors for a barbecue bonanza and a great beer, bourbon and whiskey list. Do not miss the ribs or the brisket and make sure to order a "pitcher," more like an old jug, of beer.

8. Cafe Gitane. I will always hold a special spot in my tummy for Cafe Gitane. It was one of the first places I ate at when I moved to the city and it hasn't skipped a beat since. Here the outdoor dining is sidewalk-style, and the bright blue tables, green chairs and Mediterranean atmosphere will deport you straight to Europe. Be sure to order the prosciutto salad with grilled bread. Young'un swears by the mac and cheese, though not the most desirable meal on a hot, summer afternoon.

7. Gemma wins for sidewalk-seating, hands down. They have almost as much real estate on the curb as they do inside. It's perfect for a glass of wine and snacks with friends, or even a solo jaunt with a good book. I'm still craving their zucchini flowers and multiple bruschetta options.

6. Sushi Samba. It's tough for me to put a "chain" on this list, but one of the best nights I've had in the city started on the rooftop of Sushi Samba. You'd think the service would suffer being so far away from the kitchen, but we were never left for a moment wanting anything. A tall bottle of sake still sits on my kitchen ledge commemorating the debaucherous night. Not only is their sushi zipped with flavor, but their cocktails are amazing as well (though a little on the pricey side).

5. The Mermaid Inn. You have two choices here. You can sit in the quaint garden in the back of the one in the East Village or you can sit on the sidewalk of the one on the Upper West. Either way it's a win-win situation. If anyone asks me for seafood in New York, I send them here. It's reasonable and the atmosphere is a total charmer. Not to mention the little surprise dessert everyone gets at the end. Don't worry, I won't ruin it for you.

4. Pure Food and Wine. Though I'm not really one for raw vegetarian food, I know there are plenty of healthy eaters out there who are. And if that's your thing, there is no more beautiful garden to eat in than the one at Pure Food and Wine. If you can suck up eating veggies for an evening, do it. I would be eating here once a week if they served steak. You feel like you're at a mountain resort with its plush wooden furniture and umbrellas.

3. La Lanterna di Vittorio. If you want a break from the forest of cement, pop into Lanterna for a pleasant surprise. Walk straight past the old sputtering coffee machines and down the stairs into a picturesque terrace. I felt like I was on the set of Pollyanna. The fare is light and Italian. Pick a salad and a pizza or a panini and be sold like I was. If you linger long enough through the evening head to their downstairs bar for some live jazz.

2. The Grocery. Fashionista's pick for FTDC wins a no. 2 spot on the al fresco countdown. It is well worth calling ahead of time to eat outside at this Brooklyn institution. The indoor dining room feels cramped and I'd skip it unless you do get a table outside. It is well worth the wait. The fence is trimmed with white lights and they even built a little bar around a tree. You must order the fried artichokes and the pork belly with spaetzle.

1. Bobo. Not only is this one of favorite restaurants in atmosphere in the city, but its terrace is by far the best I've been to. The white pillars make you feel like you're in a little country club oasis and you forget you just hopped off a crowded Seventh Avenue to get there. The food is solid and the cocktails are incredible. Cozy up with a Pimm's Royale and a cucumber margarita. Is it five o'clock yet?

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Dear Mona

(It is no coincidence that this clip I found has a Bernese Mountain Dog in it. Still missing our beloved Toby.)

I get so many requests from friends, friends of friends and the occasional stranger on where to eat, party, brunch, etc. that I've decided to start documenting them here. The new column will be called, you guessed it, "Dear Mona." If you have a question on where to take your vegetarian boyfriend (not sure how you can date a vegetarian, but hey, to each his/her own) or your beef-eating mom, or where to throw down for a bachelorette weekend or a post-pink slip party, e-mail me: monasapple-at-gmail-dot-com. I will try and come up with something for everyone.

So, since you are the all-knowing night-lifer (even though I know there is a bent toward food), I’m asking for your input because I am drawing a blank and tired of the same places. I have a bunch of buddies meeting up tomorrow night to celebrate an engagement (college friends, so we’ll basically get drunk and make fun of him). I’m looking for a fun bar with space, solid food and in a neighborhood that’s easy to wander. However, there are some commuters from Jersey/Westchester (hate that) involved, meaning the LES and Alphabet City make limited sense. Any thoughts? -NYACPolo

Shoot...so what are we working with here... uptown places? West Village out too? I had a really fun night at this place in Hell's Kitchen - Bar 9. A friend had his birthday party there before a bunch of people went to Terminal 5 for a concert.

Johnny Utah's with its mechanical bull would be kind of hilarious for your crew. There are always drunk girls gettin' crazy to ride the bull, if you will.

There's also 1 2 3 Burger Shot Beer, which, as it sounds, serves $1 sliders, $2 shots and $3 beers. We pre-partied here before a trip to Medieval Times - it was awesome and it's close to Port Authority (I mean, relatively).

Dive 75 is cool - Upper West Side, between Columbus and Amsterdam.

I had a fun work happy hour at a place called Kennedy's on 57th. Their burgers are ridiculous and it felt like I was almost back in Ireland. Almost.

Of course there's always downtown. White Horse Tavern, Blind Tiger or The Rusty Knot - all with great food/beer selection and fun scenes.

And going where you asked not to - Mason Dixon in LES has great bar food and a good scene, not to mention another mechanical bull. Loreley and Zum Schneider are both beer gardens, i.e. perfect dude hangouts with great German food.

And lastly, in Chelsea, The Half King or The Frying Pan - if it's nice out (don't count on it) this cannot be beat.

Hope this helps? - M

Nice. You rock, I can definitely pull something from here. - NYACPolo

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