After a slow start, Kevin and I got dressed up and went down to Union Square for some light Christmas shopping, but mostly window viewing and reviewing. We got typical Kevin-Carma parking on Powell in front of H&M, the store that doesn't care if you shop with a coffee and Bailey's in hand. Kevin poured over the astounding amount of shiny things and finally found something for a caring coworker.
If Christmas time is when retailers expect to make all their money and go into the black for the year, this holiday shopping scene tells me one thing:
Retailers are screwed.
Macy's has extended Holiday hours, but apparently not on Tuesdays. We got there without about 15 minutes to close, which was fine because I was on a mission.
Over the past eight or none years, my Aunt and I have developed a little Christmas tradition just between the two of us-- it is a challenge each ear to find, in addition to a thoughtful gift, some new and unusual animatronic Christmas-carol singing critter. Nothing common, mind you, but something the other is not likely to come across in their usual shopping venues. (It all started with a horrendous, overalled gingham frog who ribbits "Jingle Bells" when you press his foot/flipper. It is now my favorite holiday decoration.)
I have always been able to count on The Cellar at Macy's to have some such battery-operated animal. We made a bee-line downstairs and found no such creatures on display. I walked over to the counter to ask of the two black female sales clerks where I could find "any holiday-themed annoying animals that sing or dance when you do something to them."
The first woman started, "Well, we used to have..."
But before she could continue the larger woman shoved her aside, batted her away and quickly asserted, "We don't have any this year!" and sort of smirked. I just looked at her. She smiled snidely, then I looked at Kevin and he smiled. At the same time we looked at her and said, "It's just near closing time and you want us to go away."
She said, "No. We used to have a buyer but she went back east so now we don't got any anymore." She could not say this with a straight face. I called her out on it, slightly softened by my own slight laughter I said, "I don't believe you. You can't even look me in the eye when you're saying this. You're lying." She hemmed and hawed and I said I would just come back and look again another day.
On the way upstairs, Kevin suggested we try the Christmas Village on the sixth floor. I've lived here ten years and had no idea Macy's had a Christmas Villiage. I usually only go the the Macy's building next door--that's the Men's store. I only some into this one at Christmas-time to shop in the Cellar for photo frames and dancing reindeer. While there were no animatronics upstairs either, there was lots and lots of Christmas crap. Some of the ornaments were rather impressive though, but those also ran around $60 each. When I first noticed these, it was out of the corner of my eye. And with my mental associations, at first glance I thought this was an ornament of a pig wearing a Bjork-style dress.
Falling also into the category of "imminently breakable," I passed on the ornaments ornate.
I was amused by this sight--
into the display of those eerily wholesome some family-value, white-Christian, monchromatic winter figurine scenes, some smartass snuck in figures of Ernie and Bert and put one of Ernie's rubber duckies in the birdbath.
Leaving Macy's empty-handed, Kevin finally got his Christmas Department Store Window fix. The Macy's windows are better than some others around the square, but Kevin was largely unimpressed. This year the windows all have live puppies and kittens in some sort of movie or Christmas theme. I thought it was cute, but apparently this is what Gumps used to do for years and years and now Macy's has just adopted the practice. I did think the set designs were well executed though. I gave high marks for craftmanship and design, while Kevin gave low marks for the concepts.
Kevin, Holiday Window Display Connoisseur, became my guide. He complimented the Neiman's windows as they focused on the fashions and the products, and lambasted the Disney Store for being the company with the most potential for greatness, and the store with the least and lamest effort to holiday displays.
Saks, as always, was intricate in concept and execution, fantastic in narrative, and expressed in sound as well as sight. Now these are holiday windows.
Or as Kevin said, "You know some fag has been working on this diligently all year."
And then it was time for dinner. And at ten o'clock our options were limited. Kevin, however, is a closet foodie, and keeps a list of cool, niche spots in his phone/pda for just such occasions.
We hit the new Brick on Sutter at Hyde.
High marks for atmosphere and even higher for friendly staff. We chose the low, cosy seats at the upper end of the bar and quickly ordered. It was half-price-wine night, and after the requisite initial cocktail ordered a punchy little New Zealand viogner we would not have ordered otherwise.
It wasn't as crowded as we expected, but there was some people
Kevin and I had been watching because it was such a clichéd late 20s mating dance it almost looked staged. He had the eager lean-in and the overly interested attentions, and she had the giggle, side glances, and regularly-timed hair flicks.
It was their drinks though that completed their style-- they were so...amateur. She had the "I have the 'Sex and the City' box set cosmo," and he was drinking a Budweiser from the bottle.
There comes a time, young man, when you leave the Bud behind and grow up. It's time for a mature man's drink. Be a man and you might get the girl. Entre nous, Kevin and I considered this might be an opportunity for education, and deliberated ordering drinks for them. The female waitress/bartender returned to give them another round and Kevin and I started muttering under our breaths "don't get a Bud" "no Bud" and the like.
She heard us. Not only that, she got the joke, and agreed with us. She started shushing and rolling her eyes. Later she chilled with us for a while and talked about style in the choice of beverage. She also let us know if we wanted some serious bad-drinking spectator sport, we should come on Wednesdays when the package-tour buses stop by. Apparently, they are loaded with Brits and Irish and there are lots of spritzers, iced beer, and nauseous concoctions to go with the dark socks and sandals.
Later, an office or bachelorette party came in and occupied the opposite side of the bar. Some of those girls were serious bar women. Not only in the size of their drinks, but within minutes there was a legion of glasses along the bar.
The menu items at are described as "designed to share." But what appear to be entres are really just urban, high-end tapas, or small plates. The prices are reasonable if just this side of pushing it, but the portions are not what you'd expect. In retrospect, more than small and slightly above tiny. We ordered the herb-fries first, which filled us comfortably so we enjoyed our meal selections for their flavor and texture without the distraction of nagging hunger.
The menu is inventive and exceptionally well executed. We had, among other things, the seared black cod, and the "chicken and waffles" (Kevin: "with a name like that, you gotta.") The chicken and waffles were lightly battered and fried quail on a foie gras thyme waffle with huckleberry puree and warm honey on the side. All was tasty, but the bones in the quail were unexpected and problematic. It looked like a small poultry filet, but one has to eat around the carcas for not all that much meat. But again, tasty.
And Dear God--the apple tart pie thingie we had for dessert. It featured homemade-by-someone's-Italian-Mother pastry crust and tasty, tasty goodness.
The manager joined us later and hung out for a while too. I threatened to put her photo on the blog, so here she is.
We also loved our young, and if not attentive, exceptionally cute bartender.
But then again, we always love our bartenders. They give us drinks.
We also like candy from strangers.
No comments:
Post a Comment