Shaken and Stirred at the Carlyle

It was Easter Eve. Okay, actually it was two nights before Easter but I already had bunnies on the brain. Before heading out of town for the weekend to paint eggs and gorge on far too many jellybeans, I went out for a drink with a friend to celebrate her birthday. When I asked her where she’d like to go, she said, without missing a beat, “Somewhere that mixes a good drink.” Though I’m no teetotaler, I’m not exactly a rolodex of fancy cocktails, either. I dug deep and suggested that we visit a hotel bar. In fact, she and I used to occasionally splurge flapper-style at the Algonquin.

This time, we picked Upper East Side landmark, Bemelmans Bar, at the Carlyle hotel. This is located on Madison Avenue at 76th. I knew I’d been there once on a date, but was I confusing it with the King Cole Bar at the St. Regis, where I’d also once been on a date? (Oh how events from that era are blurring together…). When I arrived, I remembered, ah yes, that this was the place with the quaint murals painted by the same guy who did the Madeline books. It’s a funny juxtaposition: the bar feels a bit like a speakeasy and is permeated with scent of good scotch, yet you’re surrounded by all these endearing, childlike illustrations of animals.

I tucked myself into a corner booth to wait for my friend. In the meantime, I was hardly alone. The dapper waiter, wearing a pristine white jacket and black bow tie was immediately at my service. And a quick glance around me revealed that I was in the company of many pleasant creatures, mostly bunnies. How apropos. One looked to be sipping an espresso at a café whilst gazing pensively through his spectacles. Another was taking cover from the rain under an umbrella. To my right, a whole group of them danced around in a merry circle. Apparently, artist Ludwig Bemelman was commissioned to paint this famous Central Park scene in 1947. In exchange, he received 18 months stay at the hotel.

Soon, my Cosmopolitan arrived. It came with a tiny extra pitcher, which, to my delight, the waiter called The Dividend. Maybe this is a common term, but I’d never heard it before: it seemed so formal and so fittingly financial. I took martini in hand and sipped, careful to not spill it. I have found those glasses to be particularly…challenging for those of us located on the far end of the klutzy scale. This drink was excellent.

I was happy that some complimentary snacks were also delivered to the table. I had rushed from work and hadn’t been able to pick up any dinner. A peek at the menu indicated that though I was ready and willing to burn some cash, the entrees and even appetizers were more than a little bit out of my current price range. Fortunately, this trifecta of treats, including salted nuts, spicy crackers and potato chips was fitting the so-called bill.

Less fortunately, on one of my hand’s trips to my mouth, I managed to knock over my precious Dividend, spilling bonus Cosmo all over the menu, my notes, and pants. I caught the waiter’s attention: “I spilled my Dividend!” I exclaimed so pitifully that he chuckled. As his equally dapper colleague wiped up my mess, I felt like a child at a Madeline tea party. (In fact, they offer this very thing for children every Saturday.)

I was cheered to see that a band was beginning to set up. The menu indicated that on Friday nights the Loston Harris Trio plays from 9:30 to 1 AM. There are few things I like more than live jazz. When my friend arrived, she was equally pleased by this scenario. She was also pleased with her Old Cuban Mojito, which is made with rum, bitters, champagne and muddled mint. While listening to these jazz standards, as rendered by the piano, the trumpet and the bass, we soaked up this unique atmosphere. The place was by now packed with what looked like a mix of New Yorkers and tourists, many of whom were wearing neckties, some of whom may have been staying at the Carlyle. Recession? Didn’t really seem like it had hit this dimly-lit nook.

To top things off, a special guest suddenly sidled up to Harris on the piano: cabaret cornerstone, James Naughton. The now somewhat tipsy crowd went bonkers for his rendition of “The Very Thought of You” and a few other classics.

Resplendent, my friend and I ordered a second set of drinks. We (carefully) toasted her birthday and The Good Life. “Where else can you do something like this?” Only New York, we nodded, perhaps with a bit too much self-congratulation.

Because, well, the bill eventually came. Turns out we missed the part about the music cover charge: $25 per person. Actually, I had seen that on the menu, earlier, but thought, naively, that it didn’t apply if you took your seat before 9:30 pm. Ouch. After our eyeballs popped out of their sockets, we tried to play it cool, as if we’re accustomed to spending $170 for two drinks each (and no dinner! Please bust out the violins…)

Anyway, despite our night’s “economic downturn” we had fun. We managed to laugh through tears as we visited the ATM across the street in an attempt to replenish. I recommend that every New Yorker hop on over to Bemelmans at least once. Just make sure that loan comes through, first.