Darlings, It Was Not The Colony Club!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                              Along West 13th Street, girls, right next, in fact, to the 13th Street Theatre, where Mrs. O'Hara (and now, probably daughters Jill and Jenny) used to ply her trade and keep going, where Brother Theodore would deliver his stream-of consciousness monologues, which had to be heard once, to be believed, and where "Line" by Israel Horovitz played forever--may still be playing there, in fact--there is this establishment known as the Jade Hotel.  Don't let all the faux exotica fool you; this is is just a hop, skip and a jump, from what, down the street, was a gay bath house, known as "Man's Country."  Not that I had ever bee there, darlings--really!--I might have seen the inside of some other places I will not bother to mention now, but this was not one of them. When I was in this neighborhood, girls, it was strictly movie time; the Quad Cinema, on said street, or the Cinema Village a block below.

                                  This so-called Jade Hotel has been radically reinvented from something that, I am sure, bore a resemblance to Blanche Du Bois' "Tarantula Arms," so why would I, let alone the Bay Ridge Social Set, be assembled there??????  Well, this past Sunday eve, we gathered to celebrate the birthday of the set's doyenne--the glamorous Ellen, who looked stunning in her gold lame top--and we thought this might be a nice place to do it.

                                    We were joined by the usual suspects--the two Marks, not to be confused with the two Mrs. Grenvilles, Uncle Chris, Paul, Steve, Bernie, Alan, Monsieur and myself.  Quite a gathering, and the food was not bad--my kale salad appetizer, with chic peas, skirt stake with potatoes and pepper, was not bad (others had this) and my orange chocolate mousse was fine, save for that congealed gelatinous mass of barely tasting orange at the bottom of the bowl, which made me feel as though I were porno star Dawson, being forced to eat congealed cum!  I am telling you, that is what it looked like!

                                         Monsieur's skate had such an under taste I told him not to eat it, as I did not want him to get sick, or raped by the Devil.  Especially, as we had just watched "The Calling" the day before.

                                           The place was less than stellar.  It wants to masquerade as some chi chi place, but is as frou frou as a poodle grooming parlor!!!!!!!!  Except the service is better at a parlor than here;  it seems like between courses we waited an exceptionally long time, and, I swear, the time between appetizer and entree was a solid hour!

                                              The staff was pleasant, but about as dynamic as zombies. And I did not believe that faux French accent on our server, for a second!  Oh, right; he is from Paris!  Straight from the Lee Strasberg Institute, darlings!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                                As the saying goes, I have been thrown out of better places. I also would not go back to this one for front row seats to a Streisand concert. Maybe a hair appointment at Ariette's and lunch at Bloomingdale's with Anna, but that IS asking a lot.  To endure this crap again, I would demand more.

                                                  Follow the advice of Whitney Houston's aunt, Miss Dionnne Warwick. Not the psychic, honeys, the singer. If you find yourself walking down 13 th Street, and pass this place, just--

                                                    WALK ON BY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!