The Riviera Grill and Sushi

So I know I just posted yesterday, but this one definitely deserves a blog. And it has to do with food and drink, as usual, but, again, it definitely deserves a blog. Annette and I took the big trip to Coney Island today- it's not officially open for the season yet (apparently it gets christened with a chocolate egg cream tomorrow), so there weren't any rides and not very many people, but we definitely got the feel of it. It was a fascinating study in culture and people. There were more Russians and Eastern Europeans there than I have ever seen in one place. It was like going to Russia, with a backdrop of a 1950's Brooklyn amusement park, the Atlantic Ocean, and the occasional fried clam/Coney Island hot dog stand that was open. We walked up and down the boardwalk, and were taunted by the "Shoot the Freak" man, who was yelling at everyone to come and "Shoot the Freak! Shoot him, he won't shoot you back!" in a very heavy Brooklyn accent. We didn't Shoot the Freak. Although some other booths attempted to draw us in, and I said if I was going to shoot anyone today, I would definitely pick to Shoot the Freak. Besides the Shoot the Freak man, it was so peaceful there. There were tons of old Russians just out in their Saturday finest strolling along the boardwalk of Coney Island and Brighton Beach.

Then it was time to find somewhere to eat. I was about ready to end the Coney Island/Russia Away From Russia extravaganza, and head back to Manhattan in search of Jamba Juice, but luckily Annette is a brave and determined traveler, always anxious to explore the area and try new things. So we walked down Surf Avenue and saw mostly boarded-up hot dog stands, empty arcades with music blaring, old Russian people, and the occasional young person in a track suit, who I'm pretty sure were members of the Russian Mafia.

And then we saw the gigantic sign for The Riviera Grill and Sushi.

Once I saw the dark entry way and the Russian sign which said something mysterious underneath a "Royal Card" sign, I was about ready to run, but we went in. Allow me to set the scene:

Picture a restaurant with the ambience of a five-star restaurant, combined with the ambience of the strip club on The Sopranos (minus the naked ladies, of course---but I wouldn't have been suprised if there was a special back room somewhere in that restaurant), a tacky sushi restaurant, and a clam shack. There was stuff hanging from every inch of the ceiling and walls- fish nets, plastics onions and other assorted vegetables, paper lanterns, red dragons, tin cans, wine bottles, all varieties of Russian memorabilia...

Then there were the painted murals....Cartoonish, Betty Boop-like, slightly deformed looking people chopping heads off fish, dancing at a crazy party, and generally carousing in extremely colorful paintings.

Then there were the TV's, which were playing something like a Russian American Idol or variety show or rock star special or something. Russian rock star after rock star would come out onto the tv stage, each wearing an outfit more interesting than the last, and dance with some mismatched back-up dancers to Eastern European pop music that was coming through the speakers.

Then there was the collage that was mounted on the wall. It had all the elements that were hanging on the walls and ceiling, but intensified and thrown into a very strange piece of art. If you know what crushed Budweiser and Heineken cans, Pringles cans, CD's, a cheese grater, and Russian dolls have in common, then you should let us know so we can even more greatly appreciate this piece of art. Our theory is that it's things that the owner of this restaurant loves, or else a combination of Russia and things found on the beach in Coney Island (which is covered in trash, mostly beer and vodka bottles...)

Then there was the bar. Part sushi bar (with authentic Japanese sushi chefs), part pretentious wine bar, and part espresso bar, complete with an espresso machine plastered with bumber stickers including a large "Mean People Suck" sticker.

So you think that's a lot to take in? We haven't even started eating yet!

When we walked in a dashing young Russian waiter looked at us like we were absolutely crazy to come in there, and we said, "Two, please??? (don't hit me)". Then he took a very long time to look at his yellow note pad and around the fairly empty restaurant (we were QUITE relieved to discover there were other people in the restaurant. We tried not to think about the fact that we were the only ones speaking English and probably the only ones who weren't part of "the family") and then finally pointed to a table for 6 right in front of us and said, "well we have this table or one on the patio". Ok. There's only two tables taken in the whole restaurant, but I guess this table for 6 will be perfect for the two of us...

The waiter hands us GIANT menus, and a separate sushi menu, and we start thumbing through and realize this is a very fancy restaurant. Like, no entree under $30 fancy. So we both order water.

But then we ordered soup too, don't worry. And I even got a glass of wine to make everyone (including myself) feel better.

The food, supposedly prepared by a celebrity chef in order to astound our culinary tastes, as we were meant to make our way through a "sinful" wine list and decadent dessert menu and extraordinary tea selection, was quite excellent. We got porcini mushroom soup and lobster bisque and basically licked our bowls (or bread bowls) clean, even though the attentive army of dashing waitstaff was eager to take our plates.

Once we were done, we were almost tempted to try a dessert, but ultimately accepted only an offer for more water from the waiter. Someone did bring Annette another empty plate though, and we're really not sure why. Maybe they just thought she needed something in front of her to feel happy or something.

Or maybe they wanted to give her another chance because we did make a scene by dropping a knife very loudly on the ground.

To top it all off, there was a TV in the bathroom and glowing "Royal Card" lights emblazoned on the bright red check holder.

I have never scene a place like this. It just made no logical sense. But it was perhaps the most way to end our Coney Island/Brighton Beach experience. Even if we didn't get to imbibe to "delectable, exotic cocktails" bragged about in the menu's welcome message....

"Just because you belt it does not make it an outfit"

In a flash, spring has sprung. With it came the barely dressed college girls in flimsy cotton dresses that could possibly pass as shirts but somehow become dresses with the addition of a belt and a pair of cuuute flip flops. News flash: being 18 does not mean that you have the right to not wear pants in public. Especially in March, no matter how sunny or warm. The winter was bad enough, with tiny little sweaters layered over fairly translucent tights (I just realized I basically am describing the outfit I'm wearing today, so perhaps I should stop judging people and just write nice things....). But still! I think people should try to cover their bums as much as possible when walking around the streets. It's a fairly common courtesy.

So basically time has passed since my last post faster than a New York minute. I know I say that every time, but every day I can see why this phrase has become so equated with life in this city. Each week seems to go faster than the last, and, even though I still strongly anticipate the glory of Jeans Friday, I'm always amazed that another week of work and school has passed me by! Is this what life is? Constantly racing to catch up and hoping that one day you'll find the perfect balance between racing and having a nice enjoyable time.

Speaking of nice enjoyable times, I have had some lately. Some (including me) would say I've had a bit too much fun, and have not done quite enough work. Spring Break really did me in- I completely lost my momentum and had a week so filled with fancy parties, nights out on the town, and not-so-fancy parties, that I ended up more tired than I was before this "break". Eric and I were lucky enough to go to another extremely fancy party hosted by the Dean and the President of UOP at the EXTREMELY fancy Trump building. Life is pretty great when you get to spend a Tuesday evening chatting it up with the Dean and the President while drinking top shelf beverages and eating some of the best pasta, meats, cheeses, and tiny cakes I have ever consumed.

During spring break we also ventured out to Brooklyn for the "Split thy Brooklyn Skull Barleywine Festival" or something like that. I found it in the Urban Eye e-mail I get from the New York Times every day. Generally the events they put in there are wayyy too trendy for the likes of Eric and me, but this one sounded right up our alley. So fun! I discovered that "winter wheat" has very little in common with Blue Moon or Hefeweizen or any of the other wheat beers I'm so fond of. It's apparently a barleywine that has much more in common with maple syrup carefully mixed with rum or brandy. Not bad, but I was pretty sure they messed up until I ordered it again and received the exact same petite glass of extremely alcoholic liquid candy. We left the trendy barleywine festival and ended up at a bar where $1 PBR's and tater tots are the specialty and we felt that we had completed our Brooklyn experience for the week.

(As you read this blog, you are going to notice that eating and drinking are a running theme in my activities...I'm hoping to correct this soon so that I don't ruin my liver, float away in a stream of wine and martinis, or look like a snowman in my wedding dress. I am having a lot of fun in my indulgence, but I probably should draw the line soon, let's be honest.)

When my family was here we took them to the same Brooklyn bar that specializes in $1 PBR's and tater tots, and definitely got some funny looks. I'm not sure they've ever seen parents come in there before, and, as Julie so nicely put it, my parents were "the oldest ones in there by far." However, as is ALWAYS the case with my amazing family they can always say that they went to a bar frequented only by the very trendy hipsters in Williamsburg, the very trendy hipster capital of the Northeast. My dad even got a $1 PBR, just like the 20 year old faux starving artist that came in after us.

We proved to be a spectacle once again at All-you-can drink brunch, although this time they did not give us any plastic creatures to build sculptures with. We managed to draw the attention of many the tiny-dog walker (as my mom yelled "I have GOT to start looking at more dogs!"), and a drunk man on his "birthday" who had "just gotten out of the hospital" (yeah, that hand-written hospital bracelet looked completely real) who tried to kiss my dad, but called my mom and I diamonds or pearls or something.

In non-eating or drinking news, I bought a wedding dress last weekend! It is AMAZING but that's all I can say. You will have to wait for the real thing, but we are pretty excited about it!

Last night Annette and I discovered (well Annette discovered it, I just like to pretend I'm that good at finding restaurants off the beaten path) a wonderful little Italian restaurant. It was just like stepping right into Italy, from the waitstaff to the food to the "decaf" cappucinos (I'm pretty sure that waiter thought we were joking, judging by the twinkle in his eye when he handed them to us) to the somewhat awkward bathroom space behind some shutters. When any of you come to visit, DEFINITELY remind me about this restaurant and we will go.

There is a different energy here when the weather gets warm. There is a different smell (a little sun-induced sweat- okay, "glow"- mixed with sunscreen and the beginnings of flowers and trees) and a buzz in the air. I don't know what that is, but it makes even more crazy people come out and everyone has a little more bounce in their steps. It makes me want to be outside all the time (let's not even talk about how hard it is to go to class), have iced coffee or Jamba Juice or Tasty De-lite (only 40 calories! Frozen air and chemicals! What's better than that!), and attempt to get tan lines on my frighteningly white exterior. It's a nice time to be in New York.

One last thing- there's a lot of truth in I-pod commercials. Anyone who's ever walked through a pulsing city with some of the greatest tunes being fed directly into your ear knows that the urge to dance is sometimes so great that you actually shake your hips for a minute or even bust a little move in the hopes that no one is watching. I think that we should all just feel free to dance around the streets with our tiny white ear phones just jamming and singing as loud as we can.

That would be the good life.