Wanna Rumble With the Beehive?...
I'm back. After a long vacation that ended with an unplanned even longer vacation, as well as a fixed computer, I've got my Uggs on and I'm ready to ease into blogging once again. Remember, I've been away from a neighborhood where people still wear Uggs, heirloom tomatoes can still form the basis for a retail establishment, infant-filled strollers are used as battering rams amidst heavy traffic and the median age is twenty -- so please bear with me as I get back into a South End state of mind.
While I was away (dining on NON-heirloom tomatoes, to boot) I seem to have missed out on the "buzz" about the South End's "hippest" new restaurant, The Beehive. In the interest of full disclosure, I have not been to this shining gem in the necklace that is restaurant row. However, I have seen the velvet ropes and ear-pieced bouncer and almost wet myself. I am quite certain that a bouncer is necessary to protect the South End's numerous VIP's from the riff-raff. (On second thought, maybe some long-time, original South Enders paid for this service to direct the riff-raff away from us and into the restaurant). How exclusive is this chic new haunt? Well, let's just say that my parents friends, "Morty and Sylvia Rosenbloom" (names have been changed to protect them from the ignominy of appearing in this blog) from Chestnut Hill have already been and loved, loved, loved it!! Now that's hip.
Also, some of the guys from my friend's law firm have already been there on the ol' expense account. They did report back that the "drinks were great." (I am of the opinion that in Boston, to have a successful restaurant, all you need are good drinks -- food is really secondary or even tertiary).
For this they need a velvet rope?
Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled that the South End finally has somewhere other than Franklin Cafe for late-night dining, and in theory I would certainly want to patronize someplace that has Berklee Music School students playing jazz. Its just that the whole velvet rope thing should be left to places like New York's famous Scores strip club, circa 1992. Only here could that type of thing appeal to the pretentious boobs of the New South End.
On a related note, for exactly which VIP's are the velvet ropes meant? In Boston, apparently VIP means the occasional newscaster, hairdresser of newscasters, New England Patriot, wife of New England Patriot, car dealership owner, or owner of small chain of donut shops. Oh the glamour of it all!!