Welcome to October.
The month of crispy leaves, borderline-indecent costume parties, breezy island paradises and the ongoing debate about what constitutes “fun-size.”
Oh, you noticed we threw “breezy island paradises” in there. We can explain...
Meet Norman’s Cay, a whitewashed, two-story tribute to the Caribbean from the Grey Lady guys, opening Friday on the LES.
Think about Grey Lady. Now halve it, strap a ’66 Cessna to the ceiling, toss in a solid helping of Caribbean sea life and move the after-hours partying to an upstairs bar. Boom, this place.
You know those friendly dinners you have with a few friends that morph into rum-fueled 3am dance parties—the Cay was made for those. First: the eating. Lionfish is the specialty here. It’s an invasive(ly delicious) species down there, so they’re exacting vengeance by spearing it themselves, then frying it whole or ceviche-ifying it. You’ll flank it with conch salad and, possibly, a spiny-tail-lobster roll.
Once that’s settled, move past the wall-mounted sailfish and upstairs. There you’re going to find a long banquette, a DJ blasting occasional reggae and yourself feeling funny after the dark-and-light-rum-egg-white-and-nutmeg killer known as the Rum Dum.
That’s what we call a truth-in-advertising drink.
The month of crispy leaves, borderline-indecent costume parties, breezy island paradises and the ongoing debate about what constitutes “fun-size.”
Oh, you noticed we threw “breezy island paradises” in there. We can explain...
Meet Norman’s Cay, a whitewashed, two-story tribute to the Caribbean from the Grey Lady guys, opening Friday on the LES.
Think about Grey Lady. Now halve it, strap a ’66 Cessna to the ceiling, toss in a solid helping of Caribbean sea life and move the after-hours partying to an upstairs bar. Boom, this place.
You know those friendly dinners you have with a few friends that morph into rum-fueled 3am dance parties—the Cay was made for those. First: the eating. Lionfish is the specialty here. It’s an invasive(ly delicious) species down there, so they’re exacting vengeance by spearing it themselves, then frying it whole or ceviche-ifying it. You’ll flank it with conch salad and, possibly, a spiny-tail-lobster roll.
Once that’s settled, move past the wall-mounted sailfish and upstairs. There you’re going to find a long banquette, a DJ blasting occasional reggae and yourself feeling funny after the dark-and-light-rum-egg-white-and-nutmeg killer known as the Rum Dum.
That’s what we call a truth-in-advertising drink.
