First, a draconian anti-soda regime was brutally rebuffed by the sweet libretto of lady justice.
And now, you’ve got a hauntingly beautiful place to watch burlesque and eat rack of lamb tonight.
Regarding the latter...
Welcome to the new home of Duane Park, a palatial Southern manse of jazz and live erotic whimsy, opening tonight in the East Village.
This space was the Bowery Poetry Club. Now it’s dedicated to the sweet poetry of suggestive bodily undulation and America’s jazziest art form (hint: it’s jazz). And plates of pork tenderloin. And it looks, well, a hell of a lot like the old Duane Park—elaborately etched wall ornamentation, excessive candelabras, partial nudity. But with a few twists.
For one, the parquet stage: it, uh... twists. As in “around.” That new staircase perched over the vintage grand piano will be used for various impossible and revealing human contortions. Which, if you play your cards right, you’ll be viewing from the VIP area with a gin-ginger-lime cocktail (created by a Fedora vet) in hand.
About that VIP area: you’ll enter the place through a narrow hallway. Look right. Behind the hostess stand there’s a pull-down attic trapdoor. Charm your way in there, and you and... whoever it is you bring to burlesque shows... have a little viewing nook to yourselves.
Best attic ever.