Bottega is always the beginning of the end
I wrote as a caption to the photo I was sending,
the photo being of a glass of bourbon,
neat of course,
which I decided would be the perfect way to follow up the flute of champagne I had just downed.
I go there too often
I do this all the time
I pick a place
I make it my place.
Bottega happens to be multi purpose:
I can go early in the morning for a cup of coffee,
black, 1 splenda;
I can go pick up a box full of pastries
to admire, to give away, to leave behind at The Standard because I am a drunk asshole;
I stroll in mid-afternoon for a drink
or I suppose lunch if I remember that it is a restaurant, afterall.
I go after work looking for a glass to drown my stress in
I have thanked fuck for their eccentric taste in music that is always pulsing
at a volume so high, I don’t have to pretend I’m listening to the finance attorney
blahblablah about his new baby;
now don’t get judgy on me
not that kind of baby: the manual Porsche whose key he insists on leaving on the table,
I simply cannot hear in between Jay-Z and The Strokes
so all I have to do is smile.
I pop in on the weekends
for brunch
for Sunday Funday
to be a bully and wink at Frank, the adorable bartender,
and watch as he pours my drink before everyone else’s despite the crowd that is lingering,
waiting forty minutes for their table at ten pm on a Saturday night
because of course they do not take reservations.
The place is electric…
it has attitude
the white marble
the open kitchen
the waiters who prance around in their crisp uniforms
simultaneously attentive & completely aloof,
the hipsters, the wannabes, the men in well tailored suits
the occasional snotty nosed child
all come together at Bottega Louie.
People are everywhere
all of the time
it is the most controlled chaos
and if you are lucky,
the madness will be thumping to Tupac,
yes, as in your ears will be tickled by his unmistakable voice
as you take that last bite of your exquisitely seared Ahi tuna.
Bottega kind of just whispers fuck you
and all you can do
wide-eyed, salted caramel macaron in hand
is nod eagerly.
