NYCBP Blog

One of the best parts of moving back to the Upper West Side was getting my sushi back. Living in Harlem for the last year and a half, there wasn't a local sushi place. We have now settled on (after 2 visits) Tokyo Pop on Broadway and 104th. The space is excellent, the sushi is so delish, and the service is top-notch. So I was in a sushi frame of mind when I got this wacky email the other day here at NYCBP:

My name is Brandon Buckley and I am working with Sushi-Models.com to provide exposure to Koko Hirosaki’s unique catering service. Koko has taken hold of the growing sushi model market here in NYC by utilizing her models based on aesthetics and sophistication. The reason I am contacting you is because I feel that offering her service could make any event a memorable one. I am offering a $100 commission to any agent that can book Koko’s service for a group over ten people, and $50 for groups under ten. I encourage you to take a look at Koko’s site in order to get a better perspective on the catering options she provides.

I had to go and check this out. Why else live in New York, if you can't order food and eat it off a woman (or man) lying half naked on a table in front of you? What a concept. It was on the news last summer when this came to New York, I believe. My birthday is in January, so maybe this is what I will ask for. What a riot. Tokyo Pop does not offer this service, but I'm going to ask about it...

Just check out these photos from nyotaimori-ny...


"Pass that tuna roll, will you?"


"Dude, this is so much better than Applebee's!"


"We are here to add atmosphere to this freakshow."


So business school really paid off for you.


Just another Craig's List success story, right on the table.



"Nobody at work will believe this, so let's take a photo!"


"Have you seen my California Roll?"


Food porn, right here.


Believe it or not, Rachael Ray started her career this way.


This is one of the models before the food arrives.

If you are HUNGRY for more, here are the prices:

We deliver "Japanese Body Sushi Party"!!
For events over 20 persons please call to inquire about price.
646.696.6470 or 646.246.7344
Private Event Rate ( 2.5 hour )
included Sushi and other Japanese food, Body Sushi Model & server
We can arrange the venue and/or beverages at additional cost.
20 guests $90/guest
16 guests $95/guest
10 guests $115/guest
8 guests $120/guest
6 guests $135/guest
4 guests $175/guest
2 guests $300/guest
(This price does not include 18% gratuity and mandatory taxes.)

If anyone wants to try this out, let me know.

Labels: new york city, photos, upper west side, web finds

I never claimed to be Oliver Stone, but here is another little video clip from Yogi's. It is the last shift Terri and Bree worked there. You will recognize a lot of the jokers in it. I tried to capture an overall look at the bar. It is dark, I realize, but so was the bar. An no, I did not take any video of the bathrooms...

If you guys like this, i will also add some that I made on the last weekend there.

Labels: bartenders, Brie, Eddie Goldman, patrons, Theresa, upper west side, Yogi's

It has been two week, so why not revisit the Yogi's end-of-the-world one more time? I never did link to Paul's great post, or his photo album, from the last week there. I believe he was there 8 straight days or something. He writes:

It was where I drank with a porn star, a dishwasher, and a trust-fund millionaire. And I don't mean like over the years. I mean at one time. It was where I met tourists from countless countries, got flashed by bartenders as incentive to not leave (it worked), belted out the words to redneck country tunes, and drank way too much on a too-regular basis with suits, skanks, hippies, degenerates, alkies, perverts, Columbia students, mothers, and the occasional dumb shit who'd order wine.

He also has great photos from the end too. Thanks, Paul!

Can you believe it has been two weeks already? Is it time to get over it?

Labels: bartenders, patrons, Paul Katcher, photos, Tommy McNeil, upper east side, Yogi’s

OK, I am pretty dumb. I got this press release the other day about Calvados, and I didn't know what the hell it was. So I learned from Wikipedia:

Calvados is an apple brandy from the French region of Basse-Normandie or Lower Normandy.

Alright? And the thing is, I WAS IN NORMANDY in July, for 4 days, and I never came across any Calvados!! (But I did have a hell of a lot of reds and whites, trust me). Anyway, here is the press release in all its glory, it seems like a cool competition:

Boulard Calvados, the number one selling Calvados worldwide, is pleased to announce the BOULARD CALVADOS BARTENDER COMPETITION, scheduled to take place on Monday, October 20, 2008 at Club 230 Fifth in New York City. Bartenders are cordially invited to come out, test their skills and vie for the title of NUMBER ONE RATED CALVADOS MIXOLOGIST!

The Grand Prize winner will receive a Caribbean trip for two, and $500 cash prizes will be awarded to the first and second place winners. The winning bartenders and their cocktails will be announced to the press and incorporated into a future Boulard promotional campaign.

Calling all bartenders and mixologists! RSVP to BoulardContest@palmbay.com to secure your spot in the competition!

Date: Monday, October 20, 2008
Time: 3:00 - 5:30 p.m.
Location: Club 230 Fifth, 230 Fifth Avenue, New York City
The expert judging panel will consist of:

VINCENT BOULARD - Managing Director, Boulard Calvados
CHRISTOPHE CLAVE - Chairman of the Board, Boulard Calvados
ALLEN KATZ - Director of Mixology, Southern Wine & Spirits New York
OUMY DIAW - Boulard Brand Ambassador, Palm Bay International

Among connoisseurs of Calvados, the famed apple brandy from the orchards of Normandy in northwest France, no other name commands greater recognition than that of Calvados Boulard. Known for its output of super-premium Calvados, this family-owned producer in the Normandy town of Coquainvilliers accounts for almost a third of all Calvados sold in the United States.

Founded in the late 1820s by Pierre-Auguste Boulard, Boulard Calvados is headed by Managing Director Vincent Boulard, the fifth generation of his family to oversee this family-run concern.

Boulard's time-honored reputation begins in the firm's 150 acres of orchards and 35,000 apple trees in the Pays d'Auge district of Normandy. This area is the officially designated source of the finest crop of apples in the entire region. The designation Calvados Pays d'Auge is the Calvados equivalent of a fine Grande Champagne Cognac.

Labels: bartenders, news, press releases

Here you go. I am not claiming to be John Ford, but here is a view inside The Duck early on opening night on Thursday.

Labels: Harlem, news, The Duck, video

It took the last night of Yogi's being in business for a journalist affiliated with a decent national magazine to show up and do it justice. Hats off to George Gurley of VanityFair.com for a great piece from the fray of the last night. He got all the regulars in the piece, including Gator and Eddie. He goes to town:

The vibe is frenzied and desperate. There are huge piles of empty cans and broken bottles everywhere and it's only 9:30 p.m. Inside the bathroom there's a hole where the toilet used to be, and now it's overflowing, creeping outside the bathroom. It's coming closer, a terrible swirling sea of beer, urine, and solid matter. People are standing, wading around in it and laughing. Nobody seems to care. Nobody wants to admit what seems pretty obvious: it's the end of the world!

Nice! And this is from a magazine that usually cares more about Brad Pitt than dive bars... One thing that struck me about the piece: He is talking about Elizabeth here. I don't know where she went either. Did anyone call her Beth?

It is an excellent piece, so read it. It makes me miss the place even more.

Labels: Tommy McNeil, upper west side, Yogi’s

Yogi's may have closed, but The Duck is a worthy sequel to that hit movie. On opening night, more than 70 customers jammed the new bar in Spanish Harlem, located at 2171 Second Avenue, between East 111th and 112th streets. Owner Tom McNeil was on hand, buying shots. "We're not discovering a new neighborhood," Tom told me, "we're ruining another neighborhood."

I got the first beer. It was served by Bobbie Jean, a Florida gal who used to work Thursday day shift at Yogi's. Bobbie Jean was called up yesterday morning and told to report to The Duck. Likewise for Kate, a cocktail waitress from The Patriot, who pulled her first-ever bartending shift in admirable fashion in the "back room" at The Duck. The flame-haired stunner served the drinks with a big smile.

Tom was asked about the name. The Duck was just a name he used on his business papers when he was trying to think of a name for the new place. He said it doesn't mean anything; but recently he found out that a firehouse around the corner from the bar has a duck mascot. Tom is encouraging customers to come in with letter "D" signs for the bar walls. He would prefer they be stolen, and in true Tom fashion, would most like ones that were shot off from "SOLD" signs. OK...

A few hours into the opening night party, after the jukebox started pumping out familiar tunes and the crowd picked up, Tom treated us with a free ribs spread from Green Apple BBQ, an excellent ribs joint at 362 East 112th St. "Try the pulled pork!" Tom told us, as he slapped down a tray of pig. Poor Kate, a vegetarian... it was dynamite food. So far there is only one giant TV in the front bar, but Tom says they are buying more. I hope they do not come from Yogi's... another great thing, and worth a trip soon, is the bathrooms are pristine. I predict within a week they will be destroyed.

Since I was the first customer, I got the first beer. A Bud Light. Another guy came in behind me and got a PBR. My first shot was Weller Reserve bourbon, on Tom, who said its much better than Jack. "It costs more, but I won't charge more," he said to me.


About the bar: It is twice the size as Yogi's. The front bar is smallish, with an unusual curve design. It has a high ceiling, perfect for dancing. However, it is not long, so it would be hard for more than one bartender to be back there. The back room is pretty long, and has a door that opens to the side street (112th). It has a pool table and lots of seats. The low ceiling would be good for midgets to dance on the bar.

Good news for country music lovers: the same jukebox CDs were moved from Yogi's. Even the song numbers are the same.

It was a great crowd on opening night. Some of the regulars from Yogi's came out, such as Paul Katcher (customer 3) and Bass Ale Man.

Expect good things from The Duck.

More photos here.

Labels: bartenders, dive bars, Harlem, Paul Katcher, The Duck, Tommy McNeil

This Tuesday night, Oct. 7, my nephew was in town, so we went out for dinner at Artie's on Broadway near 83rd Street. I had taken him to Yogi's a time or two, and normally we would have stopped in to see the luscious Theresa, the queen of Tuesday nights for about the last seven or eight years.

Before heading to the restaurant, I passed by Yogi's to see if somehow my recollection that it had closed this past Saturday night was just a hallucination implanted by alien kidnappers from a hostile galaxy, or maybe some falsehood claimed in a campaign attack ad. Maybe I had dreamt it all, and now that the beer from the previous week had worn off (except on my dirty laundry awaiting cleaning), I would discover that it was all some big misunderstanding.

And maybe I would also get a text from Halle Berry saying that her hotel key was under the doormat of room 1410.

The place was dark and locked. It was night when I arrived and hard to see inside, but it looked like any ordinary, boring, spiritless bar. The big labels on the beer taps appeared to have been removed. There were some things littered about, although the liquor bottles still seemed to sit there. And outside, the bear was gone, gone for the first time in about 25 or so years. It was as if its heart and soul had been ripped out.

I only stayed outside the bar a couple of minutes, but in that brief time I heard several passersby commenting on the countdown clock and saying, "They held out as long as they could." If such decisions were left up to the community, and not some faceless real estate bandits, I might be drinking there right now instead of posting this.

My nephew and I both decided to split after dinner instead of getting beers somewhere else. He has a very busy schedule while here, and I just didn't feel like suddenly looking for a new bar home on the Upper West Side after first having gone there, when it was still McGowan's, at some time I now wish I had recorded, in the mid or late 1970's.

That is what Yogi's was to so many of us, a place for our drinking family and a place for our real family. I had taken countless people there from all around the world, and mostly made ready converts of them, even on the slowest of nights.

First what made Yogi's special was the people. While every place has its share of assholes, the people plus the setting made most folks quite friendly, and friendlier than any bar I have frequented either regularly or even a few times.

The music played a large role in that. The main message of the rockin', outlaw country music which filled its semi-functional jukebox was that life and individual happiness should be celebrated. There is a true passion for freedom in these tunes, freedom in the individual and social sense and not just meaning formal freedom like voting, etc. You could celebrate you right there, while drinking your beer, singing and yee-hawing along with the songs, and then trying to wade through the soggy men's room when it was time to unload.

The gorgeous women behind the bar also, of course, made Yogi's special. Most of them, especially the veterans, made you feel right at home. Many of us guys in there couldn't pass as metrosexuals if it meant getting a chunk of that bailout loot. It usually didn't matter quite what you looked like, and especially what you were wearing - so long as you tipped nicely, thank you.

And the cheap, cold beer, that elixir of the common man and woman, was the cornerstone of this perfect quartet which made so many of us fall in love with this filthy, little place.

The people, the music, the women, and the beer - all guarded by the bear, which has since gone missing.

Now we are orphans again, left to search for a new bar home either farther away or with a different vibe. Hopefully The Duck, which opens Thursday, will do well, and there are always gems like Doc Holliday's remaining, but East Harlem and the East Village may be too far to travel for those who liked to get smashed while listening to Merle and Willie on the Upper West Side.

At the behest of drinking buddy Joe, I hung around as long as they would let me to be the last paying customer to exit Yogi's, forever, at this location anyway. He said it was only fitting, since I probably had been going to this bar the longest of anyone there that night, and certainly among the longest.

A crowd hung around outside for some time afterwards, just as it started to rain, as if David Allan Coe went to pick up his mom again. The raindrops hastened everyone's retreat, the countdown clock with all those zeros told the story, and it was over.

The NYCBP.com message boards have some great recaps of the last night there by many of my rowdy friends. I am not posting my fuzzy pictures taken with my camera phone, as there were many folks there with real, fancy, digital jobs who have promised to flood us with these memories. But I still have my pics to save.

The last song played on that ole jukebox was Sawyer Brown's "Some Girls Do." Its line of "I ain't first class, but I ain't white trash" describes a lot of us who walked in the door past that bear. And for those who loved Yogi's, whether or not they were white anything, the line, "Some girls don’t like boys like me, but some girls do", summed up a lot of our experiences, both there and elsewhere.

There is no hiding the sadness so many of us are feeling now that Yogi's is gone. It was surreal knowing what the countdown clock said, and it will take some time and frustrations like I experienced Tuesday night for it to sink in. A lot of us put in some extra tours of drinking duty during this last week at Yogi's, so we may not be all that ready or eager to whoop it up this soon. But the emptiness will hit you, sooner, probably, than later.

Labels: beer, dive bars, Eddie Goldman, New York, Sawyer Brown, Some Girls Do, upper west side, Yogi’s

Labels: beer, dive bars, Eddie Goldman, Yogi's

Such were the instructions of bar owner Tom McNeil, shortly after 2 AM Friday night/Saturday morning, on the next to last night at Yogi’s, to those who were planning to come for the final night of drinking, Saturday, October 4. Presumably he meant only the ladies, but, as we see from some of the photos below, it would not surprise us if some of the Yogi’s men tried to show to the world that they indeed have balls.

I already wrote my Yogi’s epitaph on the chalkboard:

The countdown clock is getting scaringly low:

The lovely Patience was behind the bar:

Plenty of folks jammed the bar for this next to last night:

Labels: bars, beer, dive bars, Eddie Goldman, New York, Tommy McNeil, upper west side, Yogi's

Janet is looking for something here, and is also unsure of where she'll land after Yogi's closes.

The cold, cold hearts of the real estate parasites have robbed us of Yogi's. Will we ever find another home like it again?

Labels: bars, beer, dive bars, Eddie Goldman, Janet, New York, Yogi's

It was the last Tuesday night at Yogi’s for Theresa, who is the longest continuously working bartender at our beloved dive. She was joined by Brie for this last Tuesday before the bar closes this coming Saturday, October 4, and the real estate cockroaches have it ripped down.

Theresa said she will be one of the all-star crew working the last night at Yogi’s. I asked her what she will be doing after that, and she said she planned to join the circus. I, for one, hope to see here again somewhere, sometime, even if it means watching her let a thousand clowns out of a car.

(Photo by Eddie Goldman.)

Labels: bars, bartenders, beer, Eddie Goldman, New York, Theresa, Yogi's

Labels: beer, dive bars, New York, Yogi's