Hundred Acres and Pegu Club

Tonight I hit up Hundred Acres in SoHo for the first time. First of all, who the heck knew that MacDougal is a completely whack street? Nevermind that it's not so many blocks from home. Let's establish right now that I have no sense of direction and do not know my own neighborhood. So back to MacDougal, you get out at the West 4th subway all pious because you've made use of your monthly MetroCard and not used a cab and on an evening when it was raining, which has got to be worth at least a few gold stars in the karmic scoreboard, scoring who knows what, and you start walking south and think hey, life has rewarded me for taking the subway, this place is not going to be very far away. Hundred Acres is on 38 MacDougal and straight out of the subway you seem to be in the 50s or something similarly tantalizing, though my Google Map searches refuse to back me up. You walk down, walk down, walk down, it should be the very next building, and wham, somehow the street address is in the one-hundreds. What just happened there?

Well, have faith you who have not frequented the gym of late, it's worth the extra trot. Hundred Acres is cosy and the food is good. C ordered the fried chicken, which was actually decent. I'm going to have to test Blue Ribbon's soon to figure which restaurant in SoHo one should run towards to get a fried chicken fix. Then again, if you are in SoHo and need a fried chicken fix, you are probably drunk and it's probably late, so it's probably safer to go to Blue Ribbon anyways because it stays open for folks like you and it's not on a street named MacDougal.

I ordered the fried green tomatoes and the french fries with Vidalia onion mayo (brilliant marketing to give a standard dish some pizazz by throwing the word "Vidalia" in front of it). The french fries I ordered on principal. The fried green tomatoes was part principal and part because while I was at the bar waiting for C, the man standing next to me ordered it and it smelled so good. C swooned for the fries. They were just on the small side for steak cut fries, wilty all around, and with a nice brown toasty color. My ideal fries is sadly not too far removed from the Micky-D fries (that's McDonald's, tell me you know that), crispy on the outside, mealy on the inside and wilty in the middle.

Afterwards we swung by Pegu Club, and luckily this time it wasn't invaded by 22-year olds. I was one once, but now I'm not, and I don't need to see them. We did not, however, make it out in time to avoid seeing the lovely young thing that walked in a little before midnight in a camouflage print denim mini skirt. So slap me with a fashion-Nazi badge, I wear brown with black and white suits in winter, I'm not completely inflexible.

The Pegu Club cocktails were fantastic. It's going on my Prune list - places I need to frequent with the aim of trying everything on the menu. My only criticism is that when C ordered a Campari and soda, it came out with a slice of orange (fine, legit) and a bloody umbrella. I nearly died and did in fact howl at the bartender. He seemed to take it well though and later kindly walked C through a tasting of Scotch to help her choose her second drink.

A good Thursday night all around.