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Many years ago, back when Manhattan was a city and not a borough, three witches gathered in the woods south of a small canal and brought their followers together in orgiastic delight. They lay with each other (there were no Bridges or Tunnels to given access to the heathen) and communed with spirits from the neverworld and drank from their flagons. Their power was so such that even in the Twenty-Ten, almost two hundred years later, we can't seem to make the streets in that area run straight or true. These witches were called by their Names, Rebecca, Rebecca, and Rebecca. We remember and honor their hedonistic abandon by calling their wooded glen Tribeca.
Or, that's how I like to think of it.
This week, we're returning to our old favorite, Tribeca Tavern. The food is good, and the livin' is easy. Come by and drink for a spell. (Happy hour 'til 7)