On Feb. 16, 2007 we took on Brighton Beach, a sinful Russian hub where Brooklyn fades into the sea. The attraction: down and dirty Russia-styled debauchery. "New Russians," made on serious wealth, often look down on Brighton for being too local and immigrant centric. Many Brighton residents don't speak English, and have been slow to assimilate. They hail from smaller towns, as opposed to the elitist Moscovites in Midtown Manhattan. Brighton's main drag is lined with restaurants and markets selling hearty Russian foods, Pelmeni (Siberian dumplings), caviar, and boxed juices in cherry and black currant flavors.
First, we had dinner at a most cheesy and booming Georgian restaurant called Primorksi’s. The experience was more memorable than the food. Nearly all its patrons were over 50, except us and an unforgettable 20-something woman who swayed to the music like a porn/pop star. The men came in wool suits, and an older dude roamed table to table with a 1970's Pentax camera (flash attached with an L-shaped mount) promising to quickly process the photos for a few bucks. Get a digital camera dude.
When it came time for a family photograph, someone brought out a plastic bucket of flowers. As Steve said, it’s all in the details.
The music was a mix of Georgian and Kazak tunes. The lead female singer had a pretty amazing boxed haircut, and a man’s voice to match. The rotund manager, Phil (are there really Slavs named Phil?) looked like Boris Yeltin's would be brother. He demanded to know why four men are only drinking one bottle of vodka. We had no answer, so we ordered two more. When we left, he gave me a bear hug. The feisty coat check guy revived many memories of bitter service throughout the FSU. In Russian, he yelled at us for wanting to check our coats. When we left, he smiled as if everything was cooled over. As if...
Did someone just write AS IF
Dinner for four, three bottles of vodka, tax and tip: $150.
The night was still young. A gypsy cab driver named Parviz, from Baku, took us to the V-day special at Rasputin, a two-floored cabaret styled disco. When I walked in, I noticed Alex, a guy I met on craigslist who helped me move into my apartment for $15/hour. I asked if he's here to meet girls, and he responded with a prompt “NO.” He then introduced us to his wife, who offered a snare along with her hand. Later that night, Alex called me his best client. Take it easy.
We experienced Ruskaya Dusha (Russian Soul, or hospitality) from a generous and rad Russian dude named Sasha who runs a party promotion service (www.sashaspromotions.com). He introduced us to all his friends and armed us with a bottle of vodka and a pitcher of cranberry juice. Only in Russia, or Brighton. We made obligatory toasts to him and the party every five minutes. And we spent considerable time dancing to Russian pop, and chasing the elusive Anna, who wore a crop top and red suspenders that we irresistibly snapped like kids all night long.
HANGIN WITH SASHA (SECOND FROM LEFT)We were home at 5 a.m.
I give Brighton a 9.5.
Next time: looking for a new restaurant, followed by the famed National Club. Send suggestions in the comment field.
Additional reading:
http://nycslav.blogspot.com/
