The door guy looks jaded.
“Hey, uhm, we’re the 9:30 band…”
He brushes the band by. They didn’t quite know what to think about this place. There’s a band getting ready to play called ‘King Norris’. They are advertised as being ‘Heard on Howard Stern.’ To be frank, they sucked. And bad.
There were about 5 people in the club to see them play. And all those people left as soon as King Norris was done.
Meanwhile, this band, the Damon Castillo band, were getting all concerned that no one would show for their NYC premier. Little did they know, their manager and his brother-in-law packed the place right before the show. To their surprise, the band was the only out of town act on a bill of four bands that packed the dance floor. The show was happening, and they spent some time hanging out with native New Yorkers and drinking and enjoying themselves.
Afterwards, they went walking in search of food. The night was moist and smelly, as many New York summer nights can be. They walked for blocks until stumbling upon the ‘Corner Deli’ at Cleveland and Kenmare. The place smelled good enough and so they decided to try it out.. It seemed like a legit Mexican place, and being that the band was from central California, they were picky about their Mexican food.
The place was tiny. There were three tables outside, and about room for 5 people to sit inside. The inside seats were at a counter by open windows, looking out upon a somewhat busy intersection. More people seemed to be going inside than it looked like it held. Walking inside, the band noticed real hip Brazilian club music bumping inside, and the food smelled even better inside.
After ordering quesadillas and tacos, Damon had been building up a mean piss and asked the large black dude sitting inside if there was a bathroom.
“You’re gonna have to ask him” and pointed towards a man with long hair and a pink polo shirt, chillin at the open window with a good looking lady. Thinking it a bit odd, Damon went ahead and asked,
“Hey, Uhm, we just ordered some food, and wondering if you have a bathroom?”
The man looked him up and down, and said,
“Yeah, go down the stairs, but leave your drink here,”
Damon left his Horchata at the counter and proceeded down through the door that was watched by the large black dude.
Through the door and at the bottom of the stairs was a podium and a host, like at a nice restaurant. Two gorgeous women and a handsome looking Mexican guy stopped their conversation,
“Can I help you?”
“Lookin for a bathroom?”
“To the left”, and resumed their discussion.
Damon opened the double doors and discovered an entirely different world.
It was a large, underground, upscale Mexican style nightclub. There were all the Hispanic style tilework on the walls. There was a lowrider mural covering one wall depicting a cholo, an Impala, and the text, “I Love You Mom”, there were beautiful women hanging out with a select mixed crowd of city hipster kids. The Talking Heads were on the Juke box.
After going about his business, and returning to the really small in comparison looking restaurant, he told the rest of the band about this magical place underground. No one believed him.
“Watch that guy and watch the door” He said in his defense.
They see, during the course of their delicious tacos, hip looking young people going downstairs at the pink-shirt wearing guys’ approval.
At one point, a group of 4 well dressed young betties came in and tried to walk through the door. The black guy stopped them and said,
“Better ask that guy”
The guy in the pink shirt engages them in conversation for a short period of time and then they all leave, looking a bit disappointed.
The band was freaking out at this point. They discovered a great speak-easy hot spot in NYC, fronting as a Mexican café. The owner/guy-in-charge didn’t even let a group of four hot young women in!
During this whole time, Miles Davis’ Kind Of Blue/Flamenco Sketches comes on the system playing in the café and it started to rain outside.
It seemed as if they found the soul of New York City.
