The Wee Hours
ON WALL STREET, outside of the century-old bank now home to the vast, posh Cipriani soiree space, stood a bus plastered with the names and faces of heroes—the men who make up the Manchester United squad, perhaps the best soccer club in the world but certainly the only one to have won 19 Premier League Read More
“DO YOU KNOW HOW TO DO an evil laugh?” asked the 10-year-old son of artist Lee Quinones, standing last Friday in the packed and tiny Eric Firestone gallery, an art space slotted in a nook between East Hampton fashion stores.
The sun had not yet gone down and the attendees had dragged their kids, pets Read More
The Wee Hours
A few weeks ago, The Observer spent a hell of a long time in Mars Bar, the storied punk-themed dive on Second Avenue, expecting it to close any day. Then, we got word of a grace period that could last up to six weeks. They wouldn’t go out without a fight. Old habits die Read More
BEHIND TWO BLANK DOORS on an industrial corner in Red Hook, a few blocks away from the shimmering waters of New York Harbor, three girls in skimpy French lingerie stood cleaning Champagne flutes. It was last Saturday, and though the sun still blazed outside, in a few hours a fledgling nightlife venue would take over Read More
THE SUNDAY TRAIN TO GREENWICH left near the brunch hour and wound fast from Grand Central up out of the city, through the tree-dotted commuter towns, decrepit cities and expanses of green space. Just across the Connecticut border we stopped and at the taxi stand we spotted an editor from Interview magazine in red, bulb-shaped Read More
On his first night of a week-long run helming LTO, a pop-up seafood restaurant in Chinatown, head chef Eddie Huang found the place unexpectedly understaffed. Down two sous chefs, he was forced to use a technique he deemed “octopus cooking.”
“I was cooking with my hands, my feet. If my dick could cook, it would Read More
The Wee Hours
“This is a nice room,” Nicolas Pol said.
The Parisian artist was sitting in an empty white storage warehouse, wedged in a corner of the dirty cement floor, wallowing in the bits of clumping plaster.
“Yeah, it’s great,” The Observer responded. Asbestos was scattered about them.
A few rooms over, “Sick Atavus Read More
Outside the French ambassador’s home the people of Washington, D.C., mobbed John Legend as if the city had never before seen a star. David Arquette walked out of the gates and met bunches of fans clutching outdated head shots and fresh sharpies. David Byrne emerged, and a man broke into a sprint, holding in his Read More
In what must have been a fit of fanboy indiscretion, Brian Williams signed up to interview the famously cagey Robert De Niro on the actor’s home turf, the Tribeca Film Festival.
Some typical responses from Mr. De Niro: “I’m O.K.” “I am and I’m not.” “No.” “Yeah.” “What?”
Closing the conversation, Mr. Williams Read More
In a back nook of Elaine’s someone had placed a blown-up old cover of Quest magazine featuring the chiseled features of Chuck Pfeiffer. “CHUCK,” the headline read, “MYTHICAL MADMAN WARRIOR.”
“Seventy, it’s an odd age,” Mr. Pfeiffer told The Observer, staring at the younger version of himself, a decoration for his birthday party last Read More