It was with a mixture of trepidation and trepidation that I approached my lunch date at Lipstick Café with fellow Epinionator, heavy metal doyenne, Concierge to the World, and Encyclopedia Brownie Matochak. Would my hair curl out and up instead of under? Would my antiperspirant make me feel like a woman even though it was strong enough for a man? Would my pants fall down around my ankles? (Yes they would, as it turned out, but not that day.) Would my four-chambered bovine stomach comfortably hold all the delicacies that this Jean-Georges Vongerichten victuary had to offer? If I grabbed too many handfuls of Lipstick Café matchbooks, would the hostess subject me to a full body cavity search? Worse, would I enjoy it?

We had agreed to meet at 11:45. The building looked like a giant tube of lipstick, Matochak told me; I couldn't miss it. I pictured an Estee Lauder fluted column (actually, it looks a lot more like three stacked oval Shaker hatboxes). I told Chak my hair color, what I would be wearing, and of my uncanny resemblance to a hypothetical bastard child of Michael J. Fox, Tina Yothers, and Assistant FBI Director Skinner from the X-Files. I began to croon,

My hair is like a flock of goats
descending from Mount Gilead.
My teeth are like a flock of sheep, just shorn,
coming up from the washing.
Each has its twin, not one of them is alone.
My temples are like the halves of a pomegranate.
My two breasts are like two fawns --- (1)

"That's terrific, Lobstergirl," Chak cut me off. "You will instantly know me. People who have never met me before are always able to pick me out of a crowd. Failing that, even the legally blind can see me approaching from a 3 block distance because of my distinctive gait." Her subsequent description led me to envision a cross between Elaine's spastic dance moves on Seinfeld and a lumberjack with polio. It was too tantalizing to be believed. I was all a-twitter.

Unfortunately, Matochak materialized so suddenly before me that I had no opportunity to examine her gait either from afar or up close. She is a chic dresser and, I'm guessing, a French-Canadian chanteuse in her spare time. She has the kind of voice that can make people do things against their will, or possibly even without their knowledge. On the day we met she had an itch for a manicure the way a dying man itches for a cigarette.

Chak ordered a cup of hot water sans tea bag. From where I sat, it looked fresh, succulent and unthreatening. She may have added a few mint leaves, possibly from the potted plant next to us. I ordered a diet Coke. It met the specifications for uniformity of taste, color, texture and viscosity required by Coca-Cola's compliance department.

I heard Chak ordering what sounded like "a BALT" -- a BLT with avocado. Of course, I immediately wanted to order something known by an acronym too, but as with any first date, my main concern was food manageability: first date rules mandate minimum foodstuff complexity. Bites should be small, or portions easily sliceable. Unwieldy shapes should not be combined with sauces that can splatter. I have a fair amount of skill and experience consuming soup, I don't mind telling you, so that and a sandwich on noncrusty bread seemed good choices. I didn't want bread flakes spraying indiscriminately across the table (regardless of how hungry Chak was). I ordered a special, the chicken and coconut milk soup and tuna sandwich. The soup did not disappoint, a vibrant yet delicate tropical fugue of heat, meat and milk. The broth was silky, the poultry sultry. The cilantro and lemongrass teased my tongue as the red chilies and lime juice flagellated my uvula. The tuna on wheat met my needs on a more basic level, supplying some of my RDA of protein and carbohydrates. The tuna stayed pleasingly within the boundaries of the breadcrusts.

The special was accompanied by a portion of baby greens, drizzled with an almost indiscernible vinaigrette. I adore baby greens, and babies and greens, but these diminutive plants violated my food manageability rules. They were more like toddler greens; the escarole and frisee lettuce pieces exceeded 1.5 inches in length.

Unless you are a member of an aristocratic European family, the flatware here will seem gargantuan. I'm pretty sure my fork was a foot long. [As someone with a particular interest in the history of manners, I can tell you that individual forks did not become commonplace in Europe until the 18th century (earlier in Italy). The first forks were serving implements used to impale a piece of meat and bring it to one's plate, where it was then eaten with knife and fingers. Early forks were flat rather than curved and had only two tines. From a purely functional standpoint, the only necessary tools for eating were a knife for cutting meat, and a spoon for eating soup. Nature provided its own fork in the form of fingers, or else chunks of food could be brought to the mouth on the point of the knife. Viewing the individual fork as a necessity required a whole new concept of manners, and by manners I mean the broad sense of the self in relation to society. (2) ] It served as a reminder to investigate the question of why American flatware is smaller than European. If you're here to find out why German men wear such tiny shorts, you're on your own.

For dessert, Chak had the Crème Brulee in a ramekin. I had some kind of multimedia chocolate item consisting of a rectangular mousse on a delicious crumb and ground hazelnut crust and a scoop of chocolate ice cream, drizzled with a few drops of chocolate sauce and impaled with a cardboard-thin white chocolate cookie.

Many of the other offerings sounded sumptuous: entrees such as Seared Duck Breast Salad with Baby Greens & Tamarind Dressing, Spicy Shrimp with a Thai Salad of Rice Vermicelli. Grapefruit, Mint & Coriander and Goat Cheese, Roasted Tomato & Basil Galette. Ditto for the other sandwich options: Seared Lamb Loin on Sesame Roll with Basil Mayonnaise, Watercress & Tomato Salsa, Basil Egg
Salad with Tomato on Black Bread & Home Made Ketchup, or Spice Rubbed Rare Roast Beef on Toasted Black Bread with Horseradish Mayonnaise & Onion Jam. (3)

Perhaps the most surprising point of our meal came when I discreetly pointed out the pleasing good looks of the urbane gentleman sitting just beyond the potted plant from us. A look of such pained horror came over Chak's face you would have thought the waiter had shat in her Crème Brulee. To Chak, he looked like a wilted, overworked middle-aged bureaucrat with an overweight wife and paint-sniffing teenager at home. To me, he looked like a younger hybrid of Valery Giscard-d'Estaing, Claus von Bulow, and Alfred Dreyfus; in other words, a fresh change of pace from the cornfed, barrel-shaped fratboys I spend most of my daylight hours with.

As mentioned in Chak's review, for all intents and purposes there is no bathroom here. We availed ourselves of the Barnes & Noble across the street.

Oh yeah, Matochak knows how to make a girl feel special. She paid for my lunch.

For Matochak's point of view, read the other review of Lipstick Café.

The Lipstick Cafe opens Monday through Friday at 7 AM for breakfast. Lunch is served from 11:45 AM to 3:00 PM. The Cafe is closed on the week-end and doesn't take reservations. It is located at 885 3rd Avenue, New York NY 10022, at the corner of 54th Street. The space is
available for Private Parties at dinner time. For more information, call (212) 486-8664. (4)


(1) Song of Songs, attributed to King Solomon.
(2) See in particular Norbert Elias' seminal work The History of Manners.
(3) http://www.starchefs.com/JeanGeorges/lipstick.htm
(4) Ibid.




Recommended: Yes

Kid Friendliness: No
Vegetarian Friendly: Yes
Notes, Tips or Menu Recommendations Don't wait til the last second to pee. Always carry ToiletBud with you.
Best Suited For: Business