So, we get there and it’s closed. But not “hey, we’re closed for a private party” or “due to the economy, we’re now closed on Sundays”. Just… closed. The “dark, silent, not answering the phone” kind of closed. Very odd.  We decided to go to another place down the street in Little Italy called The Glass Door, which was at the top of the Porto Villa hotel.  Lovely little place, but still pretty new. Great view of the bay and sunset, but the martini glasses were those kind without the stem — just this big clunky chunky glass. It kind of takes away from the martini-drinking experience if you ask me, but the martini itself did that in spades. It was way too ‘dirty’ and mine had large bits of olive floating in it. I declared, “Mine’s got flotsam!” I don’t know if Richard was so lucky to get chunks in his drink. Daniel smartly ordered an appletini which was apparently good.

We decided to go over to Bing Crosby’s where the blue-hairs were hoppin’ last night!  It was wall-to-wall Geritol, but they were having so much fun it was more like American Bandstand. There was a guy playing Nat King Cole on the piano and singing when we came in. But then he kicked on a backup track and played along to My Heart Will Go On with a soprano sax. I swear, I thought my ear drums were going to burst from my ears. It was like a Kenny G singalong.

The man was talented, don’t get me wrong, but there was something really cruise-shippy about his whole schtick. After that he busted out an alto sax and played along to At Last. And then it was Robert Plant and the Honeydrippers version of Sea of Love.  Lots of Billy Joel and then came the Creedence Clearwater Revival.    Seriously?

The place is called Bing Crosby’s, for pete’s sake. I don’t deny the man had chutzpah and clearly was a gifted musician, but it felt more like one of those dueling pianos places instead of a fine dining lounge.  But the crowd was salivating over him. Some old guy got up and rained dollars on the performer’s head at one point.  He was hocking his CD on top of the piano… it was just… surreal.

Of course, that didn’t stop us from joining in on the rousing chorus of “Sweet Caroline”.  We’re no fools.

A woman on the prowl sauntered up to our table at one point and asked, “Do you smoke?”  We all responded that no, we don’t.  She looked incredulous, “NONE of you smoke?”  When we shook our heads, she said, “Well, that’s uh… very good.” and walked away. She trolled every table, it seemed like. Then later, another older cougar-y type in a big fur coat stopped by our table to tell us to “have fun, kids”.   I’m telling you, the people-watching was ripe last night.

When we ordered our drinks, our server — a very perky, perky, perky woman I’ll call “Sunny” — informed us she was not only out of Grey Goose, but Kettle One, too.  Very strange, considering the lounge is known for it’s martinis. But whatever, we got Belvedere and moved on with our lives.  Then they ran out of blue cheese olives.  Now, I realize this may be one of the most pretentious statement on earth, but you can’t offer blue cheese olives and then run out. Every single time I’ve been in there, I get one drink with blue cheese olives and then they tell me they’ve run out.  You’d think if they always ran out, they’d plan accordingly.

I realize people are starving and there are holes in the ozone and gas prices are creeping up and it’s been like, a whole month since Lindsey Lohan did anything gossip-worthy, but if you’re going to offer fancy olives, don’t jerk a girl around.

Every time we go to Anthology, I love it more. (You can read about the very first time we went here.) The staff is sweet, the atmosphere is relaxed, but refined, and the music… well, I love jazz.  I love love love it.  So, it may not be for everyone, but we like it.  Their food is absolutely incredible, albeit wee.  This time we had a duet of Maytag blue cheese souffles with fresh arugula (rocket for my English friends *wink*), a couple spiced candied walnuts, port poached pears in a port reduction and a bit of Stilton.  It sounds like a lot, but it was about 6 bites or so.   We also ordered Frite Misto which was a lovely combo of lightly battered bits of fish (we noted salmon and some kind of whitefish), prawns and lobster with a caper remoulade.  We had a hard time deciphering the lobster and suspect that it missed our batch, but it was still delicious.

Now, the important stuff – the cocktails.  I recognized last night, once and for all, that I’m just not much of a fruity drink person. If it’s a margarita or a sangria… well, those are in their own league. Umbrella drinks aside, I am not really one to order apple-tinis or even Cosmos.  It’s vodka martinis, slightly dirty, 3 olives, straight up.  The sugar in those other drinks just doesn’t jive with me, especially when I’m eating.  I like sampling them and creating them, but for pure cocktail enjoyment, I’m old school.  Yet, being the adventurous chick I am, I ordered a Blood Orange Drop, which was blood orange vodka, fresh blood orange, a squeeze each of lime and lemon and a dash of simple syrup.  The flavor was delicious, but it just wasn’t a “sipping” drink for me. It was too sweet, especially with the rim of sugar.  But it was pretty!  Personally, I’d serve it on the rocks in a collins glass, skip the sugar rim and hit with a splash of soda.  Now that sounds drinkable…

GFI ordered a Ginger Peachtini which was Peach Vodka, ginger simple syrup and… something else. I can’t remember. It was good, though! I liked it better than my Blood Orange thing.  Next up we enjoyed some of the best Grey Goose dirty martinis I’ve ever had.  Seriously. After our experience at Starlite with the sea monkeytinis, this was like drinking the nectar of the gods.  When Kathy visits, I’m totally taking her there… I dare say it was perfect, but I think it requires further testing.  Yeah. 

After listening to a few sets and chatting with the singer and trumpet player for a bit (the latter’s Kind of Blue was swoonable), we wrapped up the evening with a drink no longer on their menu: the After the Show.  We’d had it there before and were surprised to see it off the menu, but they were happy to make us a couple.  It’s Stoli Vanil vodka, Kahlua French Vanilla, Bailey’s, espresso and a drizzle of chocolate in the glass.  *faint* So good… so so so good.  Again, like fruity drinks, I’m not much of a “dessert cocktail”-type, but I do make a few exceptions. When they’re not overly frou-frou, too creamy or too sweet, it’s fine. There’s a subtlety to it and most bartenders have a heavy hand.  I think this one is a keeper… I just need to get them to give me the measurements. 

It was yet another fabulous night at Anthology.  Whenever I go, I’m overcome with “Why am I not singing more? Why am I not up there doing that?” It always lights a bit of a fire under me… we all need that sometimes.  GFI and I agreed that we don’t mind indulging our budgets once in a while because the quality of the evening is so much richer.  I guess that’s part of getting older… it’s more about the experience and the company and no longer about what the well drink specials are and “gosh, do I have enough change under my couch cushions to buy shots tonight?”

After our last cocktail, we hailed a cab and rode the mile and a half back to our place and were in bed by 10:30pm.  *sigh* God, I love being a grown-up.  It’s more expensive, but I get way more sleep…

To say I love this place is putting it mildly. It’s just my speed… inside it’s very “70’s cocktail bar meets modern lounge” complete with natural and wood wall coverings, amber glass here and there and some really cool giant 70’s-looking light fixtures.  Their food is delicious. I’d only ever tried their garlic aoli pomme frites (fancy name for French fries), but last night we had the cheese platter with Stillson, brie, fresh honeycomb and some funky little raisins. Good stuff.

Anyway, the bartender has this pair of pants that he wears every time we go.  I can’t tell if it’s a uniform, if it’s just coincidence or if he really, really loves those pants.  No one else seems to be wearing a uniform, other than maybe the hostess, who is usually in all black.  He’s got a hipster thing going for him…he’s got a definite style. And while I’m not really all that partial to men in skinny pants, these are pretty cool pants.  Black and white hounds tooth, I think?  Or perhaps they were just checked — the print was small and it was dim lighting.  I just find it funny that he’s sporting them every time we go in there and if it were a uniform, wouldn’t someone else have the same pants on?  I have another hipster-y friend who also wears a specific pair of pants very frequently.  I’m beginning to think hipsters only have one pair of pants.

But, Repeat Pants or not, I like our bartender. He is sometimes a bit slow and GFI isn’t wild about his martinis, but I have faith!  Out of the roughly 8 martinis I’ve had from him since we’ve been going there, about five have been alright, two have been awesome and one was like drinking Sea Monkeys.  He got a little crazy with the “dirty” part of a dirty martini.

I think GFI is throwing in the towel and switching to Cosmos, but like I said, I have faith.  He seems like a nice guy and he’s starting to remember us, so someday, I fully anticipate he’ll know exactly what and how I’ll order when I come in the door.  It would also be nice to be greeted with “NORM!” but I won’t push it.

Moral of the story: Make friends with your bartender. Even if he’s only got one pair of pants.