It was Professor Plum, in the library, with the weekend.
This week, we’re setting you up with an exclusive bottomless sangria brunch at Salinas. And to get the post-brunch kinks out, we’re delivering two massages for half off—at your place. Plus, we’re getting you an unprecedented 30% off Rock of Ages Preferred Orchestra seats. Because we like you, that’s why.
We’ve got big buttermilk-biscuit-related news (as if there’s any other kind). The deep-frying folks at Hill Country Chicken are getting into the breakfast game. So starting at 7am, you’ll have a new spot for cheese-grit-topped waffles, gravy-soaked biscuits and egg pie. It’s Texan for quiche.
One day, the temperature will drop. Or the apocalypse will happen. And when it does, you’ll barricade yourself here: a long-abandoned stockroom beneath Chelsea Market that’s become a fortified bunker bar. Their supply cache: tap beer, stiff drinks (one’s called the Crippler) and frozen adult Lushies. You know, the nonessential essentials.
It would take a lot to make you voluntarily spend a Saturday at the San Gennaro festival. But two circus-sized tents filled with off-menu offerings from Rubirosa, Torrisi, and Wylie Dufresne’s dad just might do the trick. Nobody slow-braises a short rib sandwich like Wylie’s old man.
You hold yourself, and your snacks, to a higher standard. And while there’s nothing fundamentally wrong with a Snickers, sometimes you require chocolate that’s a bit more refined. So there’s Xocolatti, a refrigerated sweetshop in SoHo that’ll brush your handmade truffles with brut champagne and Japanese sake. Poor nougat never stood a chance.
The ’80s are back. Only this time, in Midtown mega-club form. Which essentially means your all-night dance parties will now include oversize Rubik’s Cubes, Top Gun memorabilia and the occasional live performance from Billy Idol. Apparently, he had some time in his schedule.
