You are currently browsing the daily archive for April 25th, 2007.
The incredibly warm weather for this time of the year has brought everyone to the streets of Philadelphia. On Saturday night, it took me as long to park the car, as it did to drive from the Bucks County to the city. Small tables lining the pavements in front of the cafes and restaurants were full of people catching up with each other’s news or simply watching the world go by. If only Rittenhouse Square and a few surrounding streets were to become a pedestrian zone, it would have been even a more pleasant experience.
My girlfriend and I were still standing in front of Rouge, wondering where to sit down with all the tables taken, when a gentleman invited us to share his table. Why not? Over a glass of deliciously sparkling Bellini we found out that he was a property developer with Greek roots, a taste for Champagne and Jaguars.
He asked us if we wanted to join him at his friend’s night club, and we thought how that sounded like fun. We walked to the club where, shortly upon our arrival, I met the Italian owner who kissed my hand. “Mio piacere,” I responded.
I did not exercise the offer of any music requests, but I did have a blast drumming. During the songs that had a very heavy beat, a drummer came out with one of the African drums. He played some interesting variations on the beat, and I tried to copy after him. Just as I would get comfortable with one, he would switch to another. That was a unique experience. There is something primeval in the drum beat that appeals to all of us.
However, I do not think that I will be dialing any of the numbers from the business card I was given as we walked back to my car.
I was in Princeton on Friday night and the place was dead. “This is a big University town, so what has happened to all the students?”, I couldn’t help wondering. They are either studying hard for their end of year exams, or cannot afford to go out after they have paid for the college.
We started at the bar in Lahieres, a restaurant I remember for overindulgence quite a few years ago that left me feeling sick. I was having a very rich dinner, starting with fois gras, and making a mistake of ending with cremme brule. My body, unaccustomed to this amount of cholesterol, rebelled, and I spent an entire night and the next day feeling nauseous. It also taught me a lesson. From that day I only choose one rich item on the menu.
As the pianist was crooning the Broadway all time favorites, I engaged in the conversation with the barman. Upon finding that I was Croatian, he extolled the virtues of Grgich Hills wines. These wines are justifiably on my top ten list, and not only for the patriotic reasons.
The next stop was Sotto, with its loud Latino techno, a music I couldn’t get excited about however hard I try. It was impossible to talk competing with all the decibels coming out of the speakers, so I danced. What made my alarm go off was a guy who sat at the bar in Lahieres withing an ear shot from us. Then he materialised at Sotto, standing with a beer in his hand and staring at me. Not checking me out, or trying to dance, or strike a conversation. Just standing there all by himself and watching. It was time to move on.
The door at the Witherspoon Grill was already locked, but the manager let us in. It couldn’t have been all that late. A couple of bachelors, regulars, as the barman later informed me, started talking to us. One of them got my attention with a great chat up line. “I couldn’t help noticing that you are a great story teller.” The usual game of ‘Link the Accent to the Location’ ensued. My girlfriend with her unmistakable Queen’s English was a dead giveaway. With me, it’s almost impossible. The undertones are definitely British, but there is a fair hint of a mother tongue being Slavic, complicated further with touches of South African accent. Therefore, I provide clues, which gives me some idea of the guy’s geographic savvy. One of the bachelors asked for my cell phone. He proceeded to enter his name and number and was a little startled to find that two guys with the same name already exist on my list. Then he dialled himself to get my phone number. A little different approach, I have to admit. Usually the guys flip their phones open, enter my number and immediately dial my cell to check that I have given them the right number.
We were given a hint that the bar was closing, by the area all around us being sprayed with the orange scented disinfectant. We only had coffee, but left 70% tip, so I don’t think we were ‘black listed’.
The bachelors’ follow up phone call was quick. Within 20 minutes my phone rang letting us know which night club they were in and to give them a ‘jingle’. I was ready to curl up on my girlfriend’s sofa and have a warm cup of herbal tea before hitting the sheets.
