
The first night we tried to go to Schmuck in the East Village the wait was 90 minutes. No thank you, not when our time together was limited to a mere 72 hours. For the first time in our 16 years of friendship, Gina and I had three days of alone bestie time, and I wasn’t going to squander a minute of it waiting for cocktails.
We wandered down the block, made chit chat with the bouncer at Death & Co. who was a fellow Brooklynite (Hi, Ellis!), and somehow snagged a spot for two at what was likely a haunted, dark ledge near the restrooms. I joked we should’ve put a tip basket out, and hand people towels in exchange.
The martini was perfect—the conversation even better. We must’ve stayed up that night, curled up on the futon of another best friend’s flat right around the corner, talking until 2am. No small feat for someone who has a daily alarm set on her phone to wind down for bed at 9:15pm (me, if you must know).
After seeing Big Night at the Paris theater near Central Park, we ventured back downtown. It was a little before 6pm on a Sunday, and I figured maybe this would be good timing to try our luck at Schmuck again. Jackpot. We got in without a wait.