If you don’t yet have your dinner reservations for Valentine’s Day, I think it’s safe to say you’re fucked. Short of slipping the maitre d’ a C-note — and if you were the sort to do that, you’d be reading Quest instead of a magazine that’s probably been peed on by a hobo — you’re going to have to make alternate arrangements. But that’s good, actually.
See, the thing about Valentine’s Day is that if you don’t get laid, you lose. Whether you’re taking out your soulmate and partner of 20 years or the chick you almost hooked up with last weekend only she ended up puking in the cab on the way home, your goal is to have sex with that person. Why? Because this is the day we honor St. Valentine, and St. Valentine is all about the bone. If you were to take your pookums out to a ‘spensive, romantic dinner, you’d both eat a bunch of creamy sauce and cheese tray and dessert. Lots of rich food does not lead to sexy feelings. It leads to sleepiness, unattractive tummy bloat, and the worry that if you are knocked about in just the right way, you might accidentally fart.
Fancy drinks, however, are like lingerie for the liver. They fulfill the seemingly biological need people have to go out and conspicuously drop cash on each other, and they get the wheels turning for the action later on. Better yet, there are no reservations needed. Try one of these babies to treat your love dumpling right:
Pegu Club (Houston and Wooster Sts)
Artful cocktails, snacks for the lightweights, and spiky palm tree thingies. If it’s good enough for Frank Bruni, it’s good enough for you.
Little Branch (Seventh Ave and Leroy St)
All of the giant ice cubes with none of the secret phone numbers. Plus, bartenders in suspenders get even the most reluctant motor running.
Pravda (Lafayette and Prince Sts)
Yeah, I know, it’s not supercool anymore, but that’s the point. Pushy dickheads have moved on, and the vodkas are as delicious as ever. Low lighting + squooshy chair + Moscow Mule = at least second base.
So have fun out there kids, but remember: timing is everything. The line between “wow, honey, I’ve always wanted to try that,” and “ruh roh, looks like someone had chili for lunch,” can be as thin as a single martini. Isn’t love beautiful?