Café Select’s Hidden Back Room Said to Be Ready to Open

In the next few weeks what we’ll call the ‘Back Room at Cafe Select’ (it remains officially nameless at this point, though ‘The Boiler Room’ may be an option) will begin admitting patrons through the delivery grate on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant—which conveniently leads to the side door of the lounge space. The spot holds 60 heads, has a gritty, cement feel, and is covered in Christmas decor that seems to be staying up for a bit. With no space for a DJ booth, it’s the owners usually making music selections, and a bar is tucked into the alcove under the stairs.
Yeah yeah, the secret-entry-lounge trend is getting out of hand, but we’re going to reserve all cynicism here, because the guys in charge actually do bring a top-notch international hipster crowd (and we mean hipster in the best sense) — not to mention Serge Becker’s celebrity draw. Word of warning, though: Our source, who says the place has a very Milk & Honey feel (plus the cluttered decoration of, say, Macao), doubts the place fits 60 (the makeshift metal bar is said to be so small it can only fit a drink or two), so apply an extra coat of deodorant for close quarters.

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Platt: Well, that was a scintillating hour of television. I miss Gail.
Maurer: You mean the French Johnny Iuzzini wasn’t a suitable replacement? Meanwhile, Toby Young was like a pull-string doll — his lines were as rehearsed as the dishes were.
Platt: The ninja Frenchman was an authoritative figure. It was like watching Napoleon judge a toy-soldier contest. And Mr. Young was doing a desperate impersonation of a baldheaded Londoner trying to be Don Colicchio. It's not an easy task.
Maurer: He so clearly rubbed Colicchio the wrong way. Though Tom’s blog assures us he’ll get better.
Platt: They disagreed on which two of those poor doomed saps to send to the glue factory. Toby fought gamely for Eugene of Tattoos, and he got slapped down. Eugene took his fate like a man: “When the booze is gone, it’s time to move on.”
Maurer: And who can forget: “I don’t think any of the chefs here would have the balls to do daikon fettuccine with tomato-basil sauce.” He got a raw deal — you have to give him props for one of the more original dishes during the Diet Fizzy Lizzy Quickfire challenge — the burger-and-fries-like mini blini with banana lupias. And Melissa's dish (the faux burrito, with yogurt for sour cream) also seemed creative, even if it didn’t look all that appetizing.
Platt: Melissa wasn’t any good. Eugene wasn’t any good either. And the winners weren’t particularly good. Jamie, of the insipid scallop preparations, is becoming increasingly insufferable.
Maurer: Carla also went for the scallop, after she “heard her intuition” at Whole Foods.
Platt: Carla seemed like a nice person — I’ll miss her. Who’s left to root for? Don Colicchio clearly wants to throw them all off the balcony of that Williamsburg condo.
Maurer: Leah the Local seems humble and capable.
Platt: She’s okay. The big giant from Colorado is genial in an earnest, goofy way. Things might perk up if a couple of the cheftestants get in a knife fight, but I’m not hopeful. On that note, who’s next for the crapper?
Maurer: Ariane may fall on the “go home” side of the “go big or go home” equation next time.
Platt: It has to be poor Carla. She can’t keep cooking that crap and survive.
Maurer: She really should’ve gone this time around since her Fizzy Lizzy Quickfire dish was also a wreck.
Platt: She’s surviving on her geniality. I also have a feeling that Fabio is teetering on the edge. I have a sneaking suspicion that he can’t cook. If he gets in the wrong situation, he’ll find himself on the chopping block.
Maurer: Apparently vacuum packing is his Achilles heel. But he spoke the show’s truest words: "Life is ugly, and on television it’s even uglier.”
Platt: It promises to be a horror of ham-fisted product placements, insipid background music, and forced bon mots by my colleague, Mr. Young!

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