Cowgirl

BeanieBaby and I had plans to grab dinner for a long, long, long time. It is pathetic, on my part, how I fell so miserably out of touch with people when I worked the weekend shift. Since I started my amazingly wonderful, marvelous, euphoric, heavenly Monday through Friday schedule, I've been playing catch up with great friends who didn't forget about me even though I was out of sight for so long. BeanieBaby and I never gave up trying to meet up. We owed each other a celebration dinner for my new job and her acceptance into business school.

BeanieBaby and I have lived parallel lives for several years, but this trend will soon come to an end - I will not get into business school, nor will I ever apply. I met BeanieBaby when I moved to Boston for a summer to train with the Harvard swim team. My high school coach from Wilton, Conn., whom I was very close to, became the Harvard men's coach, and as it was expected for you to train all year as a college athlete, I chose to spend my summer with a coach I knew and loved. BeanieBaby and I met in the lanes at Harvard before we went on to be camp counselors at the Harvard swim camp. We taught more swimming technique that summer than we exercised in our thirty years combined in the pool.

Fast-forwarding five years, we ended up living a few blocks away from each other in Arlington, Va. We reconnected over many debauchery-filled nights in Ballston and Adam's Morgan. After Va., we moved to New York City at the same time, but for different reasons. Once again, our apartments were only a few walking blocks away from each other on the upper east side. This came in handy when we met up two Halloweens in a row to dress up in heinous costumes.

In a few short months, BeanieBaby will be headed north to her home city of Boston. Our plan is to go out and enjoy as many restaurants as we can before she leaves. The first night of our dining itinerary we saw the forgettable "Music and Lyrics" before heading to Cowgirl.

We went to the theater on 34th Street and for some reason I put no thought into where we would eat afterwards. We walked out of the toasty theater and into the cold and started walking briskly to stay warm. Nothing we passed in the first ten blocks inspired me. I kept asking BeanieBaby if she was okay to walk further. We were both willing to face the frost in order to find a great place to eat. As we started getting closer to her apartment in the village, we realized it was time to get serious about picking a restaurant or we'd be walking all the way to Battery Park.

"Have you been to Cowgirl?" asked BeanieBaby.

"No? Oh my god! I would love to try that place!" I freaked. She nailed it. I had no idea where it was but I knew my roommates just went to Cowgirl for a bachelorette party and they loved it. I saw pictures of the private room they rented and it looked cute and charming. From the photographs, it looked like they were hanging out in someone's living room rather than a bar.

"We're going!" I yelled with excitement. BeanieBaby started laughing and couldn't believe how my energy level shot up 110%.

A few minutes later, we stood in front of Cowgirl. What I didn't realize was I had seen Cowgirl several times without even knowing what it was. You can't miss its big windows with bright bandanas, stirrups and cowboy boots. In passing one day I thought it looked very curious, more like a set in Disney's Frontierland than a west village eatery. I thought it was something of a trendy Kemo Sabe.

We walked inside and greeted the hostess. She wrote our names down and told us our wait would be a half an hour. It seemed everyone else in New York had the same idea we did. When I looked at the long semi-circle of a bar in front of us, with plenty of seats open towards the end, I knew the time would fly by with good drinks and good company. BeanieBaby mentioned the margaritas at Cowgirl were excellent so I was looking forward to trying them.

The seats we thought were empty at the very end ended up being occupied. Thankfully, one bubbly man was kind enough to give up his seat when he informed us he was leaving shortly.

A couple rounds of margaritas later, we couldn't take the hunger anymore. BeanieBaby got up and asked if our table was almost ready and the hostess said it would be a few more minutes. I'm sure we were at the bar for a good 45 minutes before we sat down, and it seemed strange to be waiting so long for a table at such a casual place - it's not like we were in a newly-opened restaurant, or like we were up against the Graydon Carter Vanity Fair parade. If I had any doubts before, I knew we were in the "it" spot.

The bar area is separate from the dining area and there seemed to be no bar - dining room cohesiveness. All the restaurant's personality was in the dining room. The bar, though comfortably large and spacious, was just ordinary. And I don't recall the bartender or the hostess being that particularly friendly. They seemed to want as little to do with us as possible. Funny because we were extremely low maintenance, ordering simple cocktails and being politely patient when the wait exceeded the half an hour the hostess had originally mentioned.

When we finally sat down at our table, I smiled upon seeing the red-checkered dining cloths. What is it about the Italian bistro or picnic table cloths, however you see them, that puts an instant smile on my face? Maybe it's just that - everyone has some memory or association with the red-checkered table cloth. I think my earliest memory of the table cloth is from one of my favorite childhood movies, "The Parent Trap." I love the scene where Hayley Mills (playing twins) serenades her separated parents, Maureen O'Hara and Brian Keith, in an effort to get them back together. I swear Mills set the table with these same table cloths.

Cowgirl was maxed out like both my credit cards. You'd think it was the only restaurant open that night. I looked around us and people were squeezed into every open square inch of tabletop available. One of the busboys dropped this creation at our table - the answer to our prayers.

It was a black-eyed pea salsa and it was delicious. I read on the menu that the first bowl is on them, and the second is on you, so look out. After I doused the chips in some salt we were good to go. The margaritas at Cowgirl were top notch, but I was afraid of drinking them through dinner. Margaritas and school nights don't mix very well, and either do mornings and margaritas. When I heard they had Blue Moon, I was psyched and ordered us a round of those. Blue Moon is one of my favorite beers, if not the favorite.

"You'll like it, I swear," I told BeanieBaby.

Next up was a round of cornmeal fried catfish fingers served with a jalapeno tartar sauce. There were a couple things on the menu that jumped out at us, but how often do you see fried catfish fingers? Surprisingly the little suckers weren't as good as I expected. I love cornmeal anything but the fried part was pretty bland, and since the fish itself is bland, it needed a heftier batter. The tartar sauce was great but I didn't feel like drowning each bite in tartar sauce to get some flavor.

For my main meal I ordered the chicken fajitas. BeanieBaby ordered the burger and fries. My chicken fajitas were great. I love making them up as I go. One with peppers, one with loads of cheese, one with guacamole, and maybe one with all of the above. BeanieBaby looked mighty happy with her hamburger so I made sure I went in for the killer bite sooner rather than later.
The burger was the size of a hockey puck and was juicy and pink. I'd go back, sit at the bar and order a Blue Moon and a burger.

Our waitress was a pleasant space cadet. She never came to our table without us flagging her down in need of something, whether it was menus, or drinks, or water, or our bill. This was frustrating, but at least we had an attentive busboy who kept us happy with chips. Too bad we weren't handing him the tip.

If you're looking for a fun atmosphere and service isn't that important to you, by all means stop by Cowgirl. If nothing else, you'll enjoy the kitschy dining room. If you haven't seen a good friend in a long time and are in the neighborhood, stop by the bar and order up a few margaritas, just skip the catfish fingers. Chances are you'll leave giddy as a cowgirl.

519 Hudson St., at West 10th St.
212-633-1133