It's hard to believe that New York Times restaurant critic Frank Bruni's ears didn't prick up and his tastebuds didn't start gushing when he opened his inbox today (while clad in a leopard-pattern robe, we hope!) and saw UrbanDaddy's write up of Cheetah's. It's a gentleman's club/sushi restaurant on 43rd street! (So handy for the Times-folk.) We are so going, because we just think raw fish and naked ladies goes good together and also constitutes the kind of lifestyle experience we want others to know that we crave.
The young lady's nipples shone under the purple-gel spotlights but my companions and I were more interested in the uni than the yoohoo yingyang haha. Cheetah's is a lascivious playground for the brave sushi lover where delicate sushi and sashimi, prepared by Blue Ribbon master Shinsaku Yamakage, are placed over the glistening pallid flesh of similarly delicate women. One of the supine geisha-cum-tables enquired if I or my buddies would like anything stronger than the Arnold Palmers we had in our hands, making, "You wanna sip something harder?" sound almost X-rated. We demurred. After all, we had an African dance class later and this was but a Sunday tea party.