It's not often you get transported back in time but that is exactly what happened to me last night. At a fashionably late time of night, Janet and I headed West to pick up our close friends and drive South to the outskirts of the West Village to eat at a restaurant no one had ever heard of. It was one of the best evenings I have had in a long time and I have had many good ones.
We were eating at a new restaurant called The Darby. We had a reservation for 8.30pm. We decided to drive as one of us, ( not me) wasn't going to drink. We had the address and the cross street reference. You would think the restaurant should be easy to find when one is armed with all the correct information of its whereabouts? So we dropped the girls off where we thought the restaurant should be and drove off in search of a parking space. The aim was to find somewhere to park, preferably free, within walking distance of where we were going. I am not a fan of parking a long ways off and then having to get a taxi to the restaurant because what is the point of bringing the car then? You might as well leave it at home.
We started the first of what we perceived to be many circles that we would have to make and were frantically searching for the golden parking spot when my cell phone rang. It was my wife. She informed me that they needed to be picked up and that we should immediately return to whence we had dropped them off. Certain things came to mind. The restaurant has never existed and was a figment of my wife's imagination; the restaurant was so dirty that even the placing of one foot inside could risk contamination and weeks of isolation at the Hospital for Exotic diseases and so they had refused to enter; or we had the wrong address.
I was so deep in thought that I didn't hear the wife mumbling about not being able to find The Darby. This is a summary of her conversation with me. " Hold on , come get us, it's on the East Side, wait a second, what's this? Yuk it can't be this place. Maybe it's here. It's next to the subway. Found it. It's not next to The subway , its next to a Subway store." And then she hung up. I hadn't said a word. My friend in the passenger seat was still looking up the address when I suddenly found a parking space. Mission accomplished. I could now go home. And then I remembered that I was going out for dinner.
My friend and I walked to the restaurant and opened the entrance doors that were heavy and wooden. When we entered I was taken aback by two things. The dining room was spectacular, a complete throw back to the Supper Clubs of the 1920's that combine musical entertainment with an evening meal. There was a stage with a five piece jazz band playing, including clarinet, bass, keyboards, percussion and a vocalist. I was quite mesmerized. I had no idea that there would be live music. What a treat!
The second thing that I observed was that my wife and friend were not looking too happy. They had not been seated since the party of four wasn't complete, due to the parking search, and a request for a booth was turned down by the rather aloof staff who then chose to ignore the two women until we arrived. It wasn't the best of starts.
I never understand eating establishments that don't provide excellent service. It just doesn't make sense. I am sure those who invested heavily in recently getting this venture off the ground would not appreciate unfriendly, unhelpful staff with an attitude. However, that is exactly who greeted half our party on arrival.
The evening did improve somewhat because of the delicious food, fine beverages and tremendous live entertainment. The female vocalist had on one of those tasseled dresses that oozed 1920's style and the music, though loud, was a mixture of throw backs to bygone years and contemporary songs that raised smiles of recognition from most seated in the dining room. This was how it must have been at one of the many supper clubs that used to be dotted around the City before costs and lack of demand drove them all away. I am so happy that one has emerged out of the ashes of the combination of live music mixed with sumptuous food. They are onto something good here. I never lived in the 1920's although some will argue that I look like I have , but this is the closest I will ever get to reliving the golden era of nightlife in major cities in America. If only The Darby could rid itself of its snooty attitude because when we finally got up to leave at 11.30pm , the last thing we noticed were the two unoccupied booths that we fought hard to be seated at , that we were denied and that hadn't been used the whole time we were there. I will go back but only if I have it in writing and notorized that one of those booths will be mine at any future soiree i chose to spend there .
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