Nixta Sinks

Tuesday night we caught up with Ms. Lindsay Campbell, of MGD fame (QuickTime required) at the Soho Grand: a pompous, disappointing venue not in the East Village.

That's not fair: it seemed like a nice enough hotel, and I was glad that the toilets at the bar were not manned by some unfortunate destitute because I resent paying someone $1 or $2 for doing something which I myself am not only perfectly capable of, but also well versed in, i.e. applying soap and water to my hands followed by a drying manoeuvre involving a towel (paper or cotton will do). Honestly folks, I kid you not, it's something I've been doing since I could reach the bloody sink (and I was taller than most children my age).

So what did I find so disappointing? The service was thoughtful and unobtrusive (unlike here - more tomorrow), the music (provided by a friend of Lindsay's) ideal for the comfortable bohemian setting, and the nibbles tasty... You should be able to guess by now that it was the life-size Doberman statues. And the drinks menu.

The sham of a specialty cocktail list was only outdulled by the quality of the drinks. It *is* true they were strong and didn't taste like it (goooood), but that's because they tasted like boiled sweets (baaaaad). It's just terrible. No more than 3 ingredients combined and then so awfully that one was reduced to drinking the blasted concoction merely to feel that the expenditure was in some way justified. The only possible exception was the Stoli Vanilla based Perfect 10, but even that was merely acceptable.

Fancy hotel my arse.

Regardless, it was splendid to see Lindsay again, meet her chums and (much to her unnecessary trepidation) her new man (oooOOOoooooooh). Much more than just a nice lad, but his name, as do so many, eludes me now.

The other point worthy of note (well, it struck me as odd, but perhaps hotels like this hire such staff) was the lone paparazzo lurking outside the front doors. He looked cold and miserable holding his camera at the ready for hours on end. His mission was apparently to snap one guest in particular (whose name, again, is evading my attempts to grasp it). The only reason I didn't walk away considering him a princess-chasing tit-snapping scrotum was that many of the guests seemed to be on familiar terms with him and the interaction was more appropriate for chummy doorman than irritating interferer. I still doubt he was staff, but I hope he got his picture.