by Danny H. on
Awesome place to have brunch! It's just in the middle of nowhere. I came here for the brunch buffet and then headed over to The Cloisters. The brunch buffet was pretty good. There was food that you'd expect: eggs, sausage, etc. There was also some delectable hispanic dishes: mashed yuca, beef stew, etc. The service was great! The waiters were attentive and very friendly. However, four words: Jack Daniel's Fruit Punch. Oh my god, I could live off of the stuff. And it comes unlimited with brunch. Let's jsut say I got my money's worth and then some. It's Jack Daniel's, Passionfruit punch, tropical fruit punch, and cranberry juice. So delicious! The Cloisters afterwards has never been more fun.
by Rubie R. on
I also caught the Shaq sighting. We were there around midnight and I suspected he didn't want to take pictures with girls because girls kept getting refused but a guy managed to snag a picture with him. According to Shaq's friend, they weren't "supposed to be there." They were pretty lame, though, on three counts. 1. They came to this club. 2. They came early. 3. They were on their cell phones looking disinterested the whole time. This was the first time I'd been and I must've went on the wrong night because I was expecting Hip Hop but got an eclectic song choice mashed on top of odd techno beats that inevitably killed the original songs. Ugh. Needless to say, I didn't stay long. And unsurprisingly, neither did Shaq & Co. We left at the same time and inadvertently ended up following them half the way to the bus stop. Oh, and the bouncers were pretentious.
by Chris Biery on
Let's face it: I am a gay man trapped in a woman's body. Let me count thee ways: 1. Love show tunes. Check. 2. Love to dance. Check. 3. Will cut a bitch if they interrupt me during America's Next Top Model. 4. Can talk for hours on end about the latest MAC lipstick line from Alexander McQueen. Check. 5. Like Grace, have my own version of Will and Jack next door to me. Check. In other words, I am a good fag hag, inspired at an early age by Madonna (not only because like me, she's half-Italian, short, and has ta-tas). And why would I be any different when raised by my mama? Check out her FagHagScore. 1. Loves Cher. Check. 2. Loves Bette Middler. Check. 3. Loves Judy Garland/Liza Minelli/Boy From Oz. Check. Given the above algorithm, it's programmed in my genetic code to LOVE Martuni's. A glorious Valhalla filled with beautiful, singing men who kiss me, are brilliantly funny, and engage me in conversations that I actually give a crap about (Tyra Banks, Mista Jay, shoes shoes shoes), then pretending to care about the stock market, Google, or the new IPhone.