Downtown-Chic

Life. Men. Alcohol. Shoes.

Monday, May 22

Le Suck (F.K.A. Le Souk)

There are certain expectations one has when dining out at a restaurant/hookah joint. The most basic being a post-dinner hookah. What a simple expectation. Nearly impossible at Le Souk.

The Background
Le Souk has been a fixture in the East Village since the mid 90’s. Starting off as a simple hookah – belly dancer joint, the locale rocketed into the popularity after Sex & the City filmed an episode there.

The Reality
Le Souk with its mix of hookahs and belly dancers seemed the ideal place for the ladies to dine on Saturday evening. Respecting the restaurant’s popularity, we made 9PM reservations early in the week and arrived on time.

An early indication of what our night was to become began when we ordered a pitcher of sangria which promised to serve 8. Four (very small) glasses of sangria later, the pitcher was empty. After asking the waitress if we were served the correct “family-sangria” pitcher, she admitted that, “No, they were out of the group pitchers, so we were served sangria in a water carafe which should be relatively the same size.” After pointing out to her that only 4 vs. 8 glasses were served, she brought the table a complimentary pitcher. We were placated.

Post dinner we ordered our hookah, at which time all good-vibes began sputtering to utter disappointment. Our waitress informed us that our table was now bottle-service only and to enjoy a hookah we’d have to order a bottle of liquor. When we balked at dropping hundreds of dollars on a bottle, we were told to go upstairs and wait in line for another table.

(Turns out we had the unfortunate luck of being seated downstairs. If we’d been seated upstairs, securing a post-dinner hookah would not have been an issue.)

Having just dined at their restaurant, the prospect of our names being placed at the back of a list was unacceptable. We spoke with the manager who assured us that after having a drink at the bar upstairs, we’d have a hookah-friendly table. Comforted by his assurance, we paid our dinner check and headed upstairs.

Cue to 60 minutes later, no table, no hookah, drinks long gone. Talk turns to leaving when the hostess sends us to the back room where we wait for a table to pay their check. Finally seated, we order a round of pomegranate martinis. Just as we place our order, the manager pops over and asks us to move, yet again. Visibly irritated, he comps our hookah and first round of drinks.

As we settle in the chaise couch with our hookah, we chill out and order 17 pomegranate maritinis between the five of us. We joke about skipping out on the check, since no one laid down a card and the manager did say, “Anything they want, on the house.” Still, we pay our check when it arrives and swear to not return to Le Souk.

Alternatives to Le Souk:
Horus Cafe
La Caverna

Side note: Le Souk was bachelorette party central. There were two dueling bridal parties. With group #1, the bride wore a penis headband that lit up with her veil. In group #2, the bride carried a foam penis with scrotum and a penis wand.

Need I explain further why Le Souk is now Le Suck?

5 Comments:

At 1:52 PM, Blogger Dustin said...

nuff said

penis headbands and false scrotums = zzzzzzzzz

i always hated when I was playing at a venue and those parties came in. They're just screaming for attention. BLah

 
At 2:17 PM, Blogger Elle said...

Excellent recap m'dear!

 
At 3:37 PM, Blogger Betty on the Beach said...

Duly noted...Le Suck is out! Besides, and place w/ squealing bachelorette parties souks in my book.

 
At 5:43 PM, Blogger myboyfriendiscrazy said...

Wow, what's with the brides wielding the penises? I thought that was the groom's job

 
At 6:10 PM, Blogger Downtown said...

I am never going to understand why bachelorettes' insist upon going the trashy route for their last night as a single gal.

I was in Vegas once, celebrating my friend's bachelorette classy style. (Girls poolside having cocktail after cocktail.) I couldn't help but notice the penis-wearing bachelorette parties were attracting all those nasty Vegas-types.

Mark my words, I will never be that type of bride to me. And my friends can rest assured, I'll never make them do anything of the sort.

 

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