b) Yes, I subscribe to Pointless Holidays Quarterly.
c) This is irrelevant, because a spacious, sexy den of sushi is opening below the Dream Downtown.
The correct answer is C (and technically, A). And said den is called Cherry, a sumptuous, underground ode to raw fish, Japanese spirits and Japanese-tinged French gastronomic decadence. It’s from the Bondst guy, and you can go on Wednesday.
This used to be Romera. Which, hey, was a nice effort. But now it’s, well... sensual. A you-delicately-chopsticking-foie-gras-short-rib-gyoza-while-sinking-into-a-tufted-velvet-wraparound-chair kind of sensual.
You’ll enter at 16th Street, right off the hotel lobby. There’s a red neon sign. Says “cherry.” Open sesame. Descend the stairs. You’re feeling randier with each step until—there it is.
The bar: if you look past that comely hostess, you’ll find it. It’s a veritable treasury of sakes and rare Japanese whiskeys (which you can buy and store here by the bottle).
But you’re here for more. You’re here to woo. So as hard as this is, ignore that spectacular, mirrored, gold-brocaded expanse to the left and go right, into the curtained-off alcove, for some miso-glazed sea bass and butter-soft amberjack.
As the night wears on, you’ll sense a loungey transition afoot. Go with it. Up the sake intake. Summon a plate of almond shrimp tempura. Suddenly, it’s 4am.
Time flies when you’re ensconced in velvet.