30 to Midnight

The Blue Seats, Lower East Side

Thursday, 7:30pm

The Blue Seats
1576 Ludlow Street (Stanton St.), Manhattan

We were having a conversation about Scoreboard Gourmet and cell phones. Actually we were screaming in each other's faces about cell phones. You know, those things you use to call people, those communication devices that once seemed smart but now are dumb, the ancestors of the smart, now removing all manners from society. Really. No longer do we set and keep plans. Why commit to anything when you can send a last minute text to bail?

Thursday, however, we needed to make actual plans, the old fashioned kind, because Sara lost her cell phone, the old fashioned kind. She loses her phone about once a week but this time it was serious; it wasn't in one of the many pockets of her bag. So, when we agreed to 7:30pm reservation at The Blue Seats, there was no turning back.

That's how they do it at that "high end Sports and Media bar" (their words and capitalization). You make a reservation for 4 or 6 or more and you get a seat. Walk-ins are directed to the small bar in the back. It's loud everywhere. Headache in your ears in three minutes loud. Uncomfortably loud. Unpleasantly loud. We don't know how all those AAs - suits, blondes, single-gender small groups, mixed-gender large groups, quite white - can take it. And the service, though friendly, is terrible. Would be useful to hire another waiter.

On the upside, the burgers are delicious, cooked to requested temperature, but served on undercooked english, which makes Sara want to kill someone. Fries follow the undercooked theme. We'd tell you about the wings but there was some confusion in the process of ordering (not by us). Cabernet for some unknown (and unasked because after three hours we needed to get out of there and replace our eardrums) reason is $15/glass. Heinekin is $6.

Would we go back? This is hard. We want to say yes but they must do something about the acoustics, and the toasting of the english.

Essex Street Ale House, Lower East Side

Thursday, 10:30pm

Essex Street Ale House
179 Essex Street (Houston St.), Manhattan

Open windows, high heat, jukebox, blood-stained pool tables on which you cannot rest your beer, this tiny bar is ready for anything. And by anything we mean any holiday - halloween, birthday, birth of christ, mardi gras - the celebration is up to you; the accoutrements are dangling and hanging from the red walls and ceilings. That is a long sentence. What's amazing about the Essex Street Ale House, besides being surprisingly Age Appropriate in a generally AI 'hood, is the bathroom. It's exactly what you'd expect - compact and scribbled-upon - yet so much better. The word 'awesome' came up, sans sarcasm. As Karina put it, "It's not the awesome of Yerba Buena - fancy, pretty tiles - it's its own awesome." She actually used em dashes as she spoke. Kidding. That's all us (in case you haven't been reading). 30toMidnight really needs to get into the bathroom business.

Art! in New York City

We're all about celebrating New York City today. Actually, we're all about celebrating New York City most every day, especially those really hot ones when the subways run late and crowded and you're assaulted by urine and garbage on the street, or the sideways raining ones when the second avenue subway construction displaced rats are in your trash bins, or when the Yankees Are In The World Series and It's Game One and The President Is Coming. Is it confusing when we employ sarcasm and plain speak in the same sentence?
What's our point? Oh yes. New friend of 30toMidnight (we're pretty popular for people who sometimes prefer their couch to a bar stool): artist Tom Matt. Tom takes a daily newspaper (whatever strikes him when he arrives at the newsstand) and paints upon it. And, as you can see by the picture here, he's damn talented, and Age Appropriate. Go to his site and check out his work. There's a Paris series too. It's all fantastic.

Take 200 Of These And Call Me In The Winter

We haven't been going out much lately. That's partially a product of post-summer-back-to-work, partially a product of thankfully-we-have-work, and partially a product of spending way too much money on Yankees playoff tickets. We're kind of broke these days. Not no-furniture-ramen-noodle broke (AI), more like limited-wine-bar broke. We did make it to dinner at Poke last week (AA patrons, fresh fish, delicious nori and wasabe and ginger and everything edible, teeny portions (get sashimi), rushed service, relatively inexpensive, cash only, byob), and we have other outings we need to write about, but first we need to talk to you about health care.

We're sort of sickly. Well, Sara is sort of sickly. That's partially a product of age, partially a product of genetics, and partially a product of never going to the gym. She did make it to a Silver Sneakers class. But, before that happened, she went to a natural medicine doctor. Usually she goes to artificial doctors, but she's determined to cure her often raging pms without chemicals or childbirth (she was once told that would cure it).

Anyhoo, she waited 6 weeks to get in to see this medicine woman, waited another 45 minutes in the office (after answering some 10 pages of questions), spoke to this medicine woman for maybe 10 minutes, received a list of things to buy, was told to come back in 6 weeks, gave 3 vials of blood (though she mentioned she'd given 6 vials to her internist 3 weeks earlier), paid $450(!), bought $88 of vitamins and supplements, opened them at her desk before asking herself - if I didn't want to take 10 small pills a months, why would I want to take 200? Then she cried, then she emailed this medicine woman to express her concerns and confusion (she'd been told that these natural people did 1-2-hour consultations and created programs that were unique), then she waited 14 hours for a response, then she cried again when this medicine woman ignored her queries and referred her to the office manager, who was extremely nice, and who agreed, yes, probably this medicine woman was having a bad day.

That's 450 Dollars. That's many a night on the town, seeking New York City's best bars for people in their 30s. What's going to happen next? Will the office manager find a substitute natural medicine woman to, perhaps, explain anything? Will the office manager come up with a way to reimburse some of the costs? Will Sara call AmEx and dispute the charge? Will the Yankees win the World Series? 

Gstaad, Chelsea

Saturday, 10:15pm

Gstaad
43 West 26th St. (6th Ave.), Manhattan

One of the world's most exclusive and expensive ski resorts is strangely represented here. We're going to designate Gstaad Age Appropriate Before Midnight because we've been here for AA Happy Hour, and because the bartender tells us it's so, but all signs point to AI at the later point of the night (untucked oxfords, sweat, colorful shots, booming bass, yelling). 

Pure Food and Wine, Gramercy

Friday, 6:15pm

Pure Food and Wine
54 Irving Place (17th St.), Manhattan

Raw Food sounds like a reality our pre-fire ancestors suffered, or a snack a schoolchild can make unsupervised, or a trend come and gone. Yet, as Pure Food and Wine demonstrates, Raw Food can be a gorgeous, delicious, fine dining experience, missing only the scent of cooking. Literally; nothing but the perfume of the woman at the next table in a restaurant without baking, blanching, braising, browning, burning. We're not suggesting you fill your stomach with difficult-to-digestibles on a regular basis (or that you can afford to, or that anyone physically close to you wants you to), but we do think your aged body deserves the treat (yes, it's not about deprivation here). And, most importantly, the scene is most always AA. 

Cougars Aren't Mythical

Because we are fair and balance here at 30toMidnight, we're offering another perspective on cougars (though we still dislike the concept, and, like others, are actually pretty skewed in our thinking).

Researchers and relationship experts say that a growing number of men and older women are dating, or at least contemplating it. The women tend to be highly educated and have been married before and are not necessarily seeking out marriage or even cohabitation.

Here's the entire piece by Sarah Kershaw: Rethinking the Older Woman-Younger Man Relationship.

Once upon a time research had suggested that women of all ages were looking for the same things in a partner, research that led to the famous Newsweek cover story in 1986 that declared a single woman over 40 had a better chance of being blown up by a terrorist than marrying.

The Mythical Cougar

We all know I'm not the only person out there who thinks the cougar concept is, er, undesirable. Here's a link a piece by a new friend of 30toMidnight, Starshine Roshell: Twenty-Something Beauhunks Aren’t Every Woman’s Dream. It's an entertaining read, and she has a book too: 

House of Brews, Hell's Kitchen

Sunday, 12:15am

House of Brews
363 W. 46th St. (8th Ave.), Manhattan

"Weekends are totally different," says waiter Jena, looking around the bar half-full of Bridge+Tunnelers. We felt okay, age-wise, and Jena agreed House of Brews can be AA.

Usually it's mid-to-late-20's (office types, Broadway types, musicians), she says. Plus the 30something regulars who sit outside and smoke (patio open until 12am on weekends, 10pm weekdays). We can't believe we found such a normal bar in such an abnormal location (with such a lame name). We wouldn't go out of our way to come here, but it is a legit post-theatre option.

Update (we like to keep our info fresh): Three months after our first visit we returned to House of Brews. This time on a Thursday, 9pm. The crowd was indeed mostly AA, and mostly corporate casual, and mostly male, plus one aqua-sequin-tank-top.

Old Town Bar, Union Square, take two

Saturday, 4pm

Old Town Bar
45 East 18th St. (Broadway), Manhattan

It's been many months (five) since we wrote about Old Town Bar, which doesn't mean we've not been back, just now we have a small story to tell. We're re-designating the bar to Age Appropriate Before Midnight because, well, school is in session and we want to protect you (lower your expectations).

Anyway, what happened on a recent afternoon is this: Sara was both accused of being a cougar and hit on by her accuser, a 23-year-old bartender.
23: I'm a cougar magnet.
Sara: Why?
23: I haven't come up with the right answer to that. But...once I got cornered by these two cougars who were at a party on my roof. I had a slip + slide going.
Sara: Does that mean something, or did you have an actual slip + slide?
23: (Winking) An actual slip + slide.
Sara: (Sure she's missing something) So, you're into it? The older woman thing?
23: Well, yeah. Shit. My first real relationship, I was 19 and she was 27.
He held Sara's eyes on "27", like the age was significant. Funny because from about 19-25 Sara also thought 27 meant something. She thought about 23's trimmed beard and unclean hair. There was an attractive face, wide smile, and pretty brown eyes underneath. But none of it tempted her, not even after he bought her next beer. Sara wondered how old she was when she first drank at Old Town. Maybe 24. Wow.
Sara: Lots of kids in here now that school's back?
23: Yeah, but older people too. You know.
Sara: I know.
23: So, you gonna come see my friend's band?
Sara: I'm meeting a friend.
23: Another time?
Sara: Another age.
23: (Smiling, understanding, and not.) You should try Harefield Road (769 Metropolitan Ave. Brooklyn). They have a Sunday brunch that's 30+, and a great old wood floor, but don't wear heels or drop anything.
Sara: (Appreciating the advice, thinking he was sweet, and not dumb, sensing that's what makes him magnetic) Maybe I'll see you there.

2/27/2009 Update: AA into the post-Midnight hours, including a couple on the cusp (maybe 31) who spent an inordinate amount of time in the bathroom, half an hour after the male half fell off his barstool, we're thinking whatever went on up there was messy.