Soho is brimming with autumn hues. One restaurant's energy can be attributed to its well-established approach to dining and drinking spanning some 50 years. A neighborhood favorite, a certain rhythm, pace and charm can be found every night of the week in a Manhattan bistro named Raoul’s.
On Prince St. under tin ceilings, personalities mingle. Art surrounds the dining room; from an Andy Warhol photograph keeping watch over diners to a large oil painting of a naked woman on a couch. Warhol was among the many well-known patrons; artists, writers, actors, musicians, politicians, affluent and impoverished, whose star power and influence spoke to and extended far beyond their social status. For those in Baltimore who might remember, the place is reminiscent of a long-lost artist refuge, Martick’s Restaurant Francais.
When Esquire tagged Raoul’s as having the best burger in the entire country, the rest was history. Every day before the restaurant opens at five p.m., crowds line up outside the door for 12 special hamburgers available only to those who dine at the bar. Why 12? Because that’s the magic number of buns in a package when the tradition started in 2014. Regulars order French favorites, artichoke vinaigrette and pan-seared steak au poivre. By six, they're filled to capacity.
After dark, glamour objects arrive demanding attention. Enter a Fashion Week runway fashion model and a finance gentleman. The couple are quickly seated at a table. Firm hands clench a dry gin martini. Perching over their table, a model’s subtle, flowing body leans forward in a skin-tight silver skirt. She sips a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. During lively conversation, one notices a sapphire ring on her finger. Encircled in precious diamonds, the gold circle with gemstones radiates the room with rays of sparkles. Is there enough time for quick espresso before the theater? Beauty speaks for itself.
Downtown's fall gallery season is underway, proven by crowded sidewalks. Young couples push baby strollers with dogs in tow. Multi-national skinny bohemian muses stroll past. In-between shoppers, bicyclists zig-zag past. Not many older gallery goers, numbers are sparse. Elders meander, find difficulty tackling Tribeca’s cobblestone heavy streets. Also, multiple stretches along Broadway and Canal St.’s sidewalks are currently undergoing major renovation. On every other corner, torn-up intersections filled to the max with annoying illegal knock-off vendors. The chaotic mess makes public access next to impossible. Pedestrians navigate the sideshow with caution to avoid traffic and bikers.
The fall temperatures bring back tales from a bygone era. In the early-1990s on outskirts of Soho, high above in the sky, a golden statue of Puck holds court. Neatly tucked into the corner The Puck Building’s red-brick, arched façade architecture, mischievous Puck stares down at the large crowds entering an annual Italian-American street festival. Featured in Martin Scorsese’s 1973 Mean Streets, this year’s centennial celebration of “The Feast” of San Gennaro, held from September 17th to 27th, starts at Houston and Mulberry Sts.
In the landmarked Puck Building, New York Press revived the irreverent, satirical print tradition of Puck Magazine located in Spy magazine’s former headquarters. NYPress offices were on the 8th and 9th floors.
Every September, the newspaper published a special “Best of Manhattan” issue, usually coinciding around The Feast. After the issue’s publication, a well-known colorful party celebrated. The setting was inside the Puck’s Building’s main ballroom on the first floor. Enjoying the free fare, advertisers, friends and gate-crashers tearing through an abundance of drinks, food and music. Overflowing attendance spilled-out onto Lafayette St. One time, artist Dame Darcy did a cartwheel across the entire length of the ballroom floor. Everyone enjoys a good party, these shindigs were no exception.
On crisp fall days, The Feast sounds and odors wafted upwards from Mulberry St. into editor Russ Smith’s 8th-floor office. Predictable as a rooster crow, you heard a Dunk the Clown carney guy shout out a spiel, “Hey stupid, I’m talking to you, c’mon over and take a shot.” An unforgettable smell of smokey sausage, onion and pepper sandwiches permeated an all-day-long, rain or shine,10-day event.
Fresh air abounds at the Union Square Greenmarket on autumn Friday afternoons as regional farms sell fresh goods and produce. Looking for good apples this year? Good luck. Slim pickings. A late-winter frost devastated the Northeast trees. Instead, there’s plenty of pears, plums and pumpkins.
It’s fun talking porgies with the greenmarket’s Long Island fishmonger. Porgy maintains an undeserved reputation as a trash fish. Also known as scup or sea bream, it’s an inexpensive species given how costly fresh caught seafood is. The fish respectively garners thumbs-up from The New York Times Sam Sifton. With a mild taste, a whole baked porgy cooked to perfection has one minor drawback; bones that are easily removed.
That brings to mind something regarding the NYPress parties. There was a conspicuous amount of innocent, frisky bad behavior one encountered; some avoided, while others couldn’t resist. More than once, overheard the next morning: “I have a bone to pick with you.”
“Bye now, see you soon.”