Head over Heels for Hedwig

Hedwig and the Angry Inch : Theater Review / NY / Broadway / Time : 2014 Spring

By Rory Winston

What would I be writing if Hedwig and the Angry Inch was the name of a real band rather than the fictitious one in the play of that title? Since suspension of disbelief rarely gets easier than when one is under the spell of Neil Patrick Harris, let's begin with our very own mock-rock concert review:

Born of the rubble that had once been the Berlin Wall, the heavily underpublicized glam-meets-punk rock band Hedwig and the Angry Inch hijacked the Belasco Theatre last night in an once-in-a-lifetime performance that showed New Yorkers that tearing down the walls of gender and musical genre alike is still one of the best ways to ‘bring down the house.’ But how did a spin-off project that had recently been no more than the supporting band for rock legend Tommy Gnosis get booked in one of the most prestigious houses on the Great White way? The story seems as twisted as the transgender East German lead singer of the band.

Birds of a Frotta

By Rory Winston Shortly after Flatiron’s Ciano closed, the genius of a restaurateur, Stratis Morfogen, insouciantly announced, “Well, I’m going back to Italian-American” – this after realizing that his renowned purist of a chef, Shea Gallante, was taking himself out of the picture. The comment, unlike the resulting cuisine, could have been taken with a…

Mexico’s Medina

By Rory Winston Medina has founded yet another Mecca – admittedly, an irrelevant pun given that Julian Medina is a Mexican chef while the new Mecca being referred to is a third restaurant in a growing New York based franchise known as Toloache. Still, there is something religious about Medina’s following – especially if one…

From Michelin to Michelin

ExtraFancy_FEB14

By Rory Winston

Roadside clam shacks crossed with culinary aspiration? You’ve seen the likes of the former in films celebrating the 50’s by the coast: Gas stations with Coca Cola signs dangling precariously in the wind, Ice cubes advertised in handwritten cutouts off some seaside interstate, a badly drawn lobster with the words Open till Sunset, and always the phrase Extra Fancy grotesquely stuck like a label on something as innocuous as canned soup.