Although I can’t read a word of the French copy, the pictures in the current issue hint that Yummy (Junk Food Design) Magazine fetishizes fast food culture through through the lens of a design junky. But getting past the obvious ironies, surprises abound–a pictorial of Cadbury creme eggs (those eggy fillings always struck me as peculiarly creepy), photos of Japanese candy displays, lunchmeat collages, some supermodely-lit fried chicken, and a woman having a hell of a lot of fun with a bottle of Perrier. Yummy is released annually, which is probably just as well for me since it’s priced like an art book at 30 euros. But it all goes to show that the things we eat are fertile ground for inspiration–or maybe even art?

Yummy Magazine site

Colophon 2005 interview

A carriage-house turned coffee spot, The Mercury Dime on Fifth Street actually started out as a wine bar, but the plan got vehemently smacked down by the nightlife-loathing neighbors. (Fifth Street residents are a particularly mobilized bunch, especially after fighting The Cooper Square Hotel’s now-unstoppable Babel-like rise toward the sun.)

For now the block is sunny, quiet, and caffeinated. And unlike one of owner Sasha Petraske’s other ventures, referral-only speakeasy Milk & Honey, you don’t need a secret phone number to get in. Instead, the heavy black door swings open to a clean, classy cafe, with four tables and high-quality, Ethiopian coffee. There’s supposedly food and wi-fi on the way, but for now, it’s just a minimalist menu of coffee and espresso drinks, and given the owner’s connoisseurship with cocktails, it’s bound to be pretty good.
Their official opening is this Friday.

The Mercury Dime 246 E. 5th St.

There’s a near-legendary statistic that nine out of ten new restaurants fail. Of course, some important info, like what constitutes “failure” and how long it takes to achieve it, is left out of that soundbite. Reasearch shows that closer to 25% of new restaurants close or change ownership within their first year. That number rises to 60% within three years. These are still not happy statistics, but are close to the average failure rate for new businesses across the board.

Still I wouldn’t be surprised if that rate is much higher for certain parts of Manhattan. In the East Village especially, I’ve noticed that if a certain street falls out of my flight pattern for a few months, I end up re-discovering the block. Signs change, familiar spots are shuttered, once-dark places are ablaze and spilling drunk kids onto the sidewalk, and the whole landscape has re-shuffled in my absence. I found this novelty quite enjoyable, except in a few cases, like the lovely Italian place near my apartment, that decamped in place of construction and a swirly neon sign in Miami pastels. That sign gives me a bad vibe; like it is calling, in a pitch beyond normal hearing, screechy girls in tube tops and mini-skirts and their paramours. More obstacles to my front door. Of course, the rate of change also affects me personally when I realize it’s rendered portions of my blog out-of-date in under a year.

So for now, Boedguita Cubana, whose Serbian owners supplied me with delicious Cuban fare throughout last summer, has closed. The other places mentioned at the Zagat link, namely Bouche Bar, and Sea Salt, were also familiar spots. I will attempt to indicate on my blog which of the places I’ve reviewed that have subsequently closed.

Germaphobes everywhere received a stunning blow yesterday, when it was revealed that there is no scientific evidence that alka-seltzerish “immunity-booster” Airborne prevents colds. Well, maybe not so stunning. Despite a few endorsements from friends, I had my doubts about the stuff. Sure, I still used it but I need my placebo pellet-peddlers to remain untouched by litigation. Once that happens my stupidness threshold prevents me from actually spending money on the item.

This morning, as I gently stuff myself onto a hot, packed subway that stinks of fetid, phlegmy coughs, I wonder: what oh what will replace the fizzy comfort of Airborne? Short of developing a hand-washing compulsion that leaves me with papery geriatric fingers, or wearing a latex body suit, it seems I am exposed at every turn.

Here are instructions on how to get your Airborne refund online. Mind you, if you submit a claim for more than six packages, you must send in your file of neatly-saved Airborne receipts, which you have no doubt stashed away for just such an occasion.

Since the church-like doors first parted last winter, Death & Company has been the place for worship-worthy cocktails in the East Village. Personally, I love how the electric candlelight glows off the wood-planked ceilings, the way the charmingly-vested bartenders do some serious chucka-chucka-chucka shaking of the silver tumblers, and of course, the extensive drink list, loaded with artfully paired ingredients. This low-key haunt would probably be my pick for my Last Cocktail on Earth.

Here’s a few things I’ve learned over the past year, all key to enjoying your visit:

Don’t fear the wait list. Death & Co only seats about 50, and the friendly gatekeeper is there to make sure you’re not fighting through a drunken mob, unable to edge toward the bar. Put your name down and grab a cheap drink at divey Cherry Tavern or neighborhoody Joe’s. They’ll call when they have seats.

Sit at the bar. That way, you can chat up the bartenders and watch them work their magic. For the most part, they’re quite knowledgeable, ready with recommendations, and happy to indulge questions.

The ice cubes are that big on purpose. The ice is designed to be bigger and colder than normal cubes so it can’t melt and water down your drink. Or something like that. Of course, I did pout the first time I saw an iceburg clogging up my glass, cocktail lapping at the edges. If this bothers you, get a drink without ice.

Try as many cocktails as possible. Death & Co. is not known for its food–although I haven’t had anything bad, the drinks are most enjoyable. I lean towards bourbon-laced drinks like the Seelbach (bourbon and chamagne) or the 19th Street Special (bourbon and muddled tangerine). The 19th Street Special has disappeared from the menu of late, but I’m hoping they’ll hear my plea: I want my muddled tangerine!

Yeah, the drinks are $12. But would you rather have an excellent drink in a mellow, swanky place or a couple watery beers in a scenster den with sticky floors?

OK, just do both.

Death and Company website

433 East 6th St. Sun-Thu 7pm-1am, Fri-Sat 7pm-2am