Last night, I went to Florent for one of my last meals before it closes on June 29th (Gay Pride Day). The first time I went there was after a night of drinking and dancing with friends from Hong Kong. We were loud, rude and bawdy.
Clearly, this was one of the best nights of my life.
Until Bastille Day 2004 (or 2005?)
Another night where much alcohol was consumed before landing in the loving arms of the Florent family. I was there with Rock Star and another friend who has slipped from my life. We witnessed waitresses dressed as Marie Antoinette (commercial break: what if celebrities moved to Oklahoma?) dancing on the counter with much boobage on display, waiters drinking copious amounts of champagne from slippers and…
last night, it hit me that that was the last Bastille Day that I will ever witness at Florent.
That’s why my heart hurts.
The Meatpacking district has changed so much. The smell of rotten meat remains but the hip factor has been ratcheted up. There are many tourists traipsing around on stilletos noshing at Pastis, checking in at the Hotel Gansevoort, peeking a glance at Soho house and probably looking for Samantha.
And that’s kinda sad.
It was one of the last areas of Manhattan (because tourists aren’t exactly clamoring to hang out in Brownsville) where out of towners weren’t exactly comfortable to visit and that was wonderful because….
Tallulah just wants people to dress up as historical figures while she drink lots of champagne and eats steak.
And that’s what Florent is.
Soon to be was.