Gold St., 2 Gold St. (Between Platt St and Maiden Lane)

After working late on a move at one of my company's sites, Friday found myself and two of my friends (both named David) in all of it's splendor at what seems to be ordained as a Friday night tradition down on Wall Street, where the bars are empty and the service is great.

We started off at the Irish Punt, an Irish pub where Dion provides us with excellent pours, deliciously mixed drinks and great stories of working in a bar where most of it's patrons make more money than I'll ever see in three lifetimes. After the Punt, we moved on to a small Thai karaoke bar a few blocks away, which much to my dismay, allowed smoking inside the establishment (and where most of the patrons were obnoxious). On the other hand, I felt like I was right at home when I saw a mouse scurry across an open doorway. (Did I tell you? We caught three baby mice on Thursday night behind our stove with a sticky trap. Awesome.)

Once everyone had agreed to party all night and stay out until Dim Sum in Chinatown the next morning, we realized we had to refuel and recoup, and Gold St. seemed like the only logical choice (being one of the only things open down in the Financial District after market hours). I was immediately energized by DJ Dan who was spinning and excited by the prospect of a diner with a bar. We sat down, and were given the Late Night Menu.

Our choices included the Stone St. Omlette, Spinach and Artichoke dip, and Disco fries.

I didn't try any of the omlette, but I tried the spinach and artichoke dip and I'm sorry to say but the most exciting part of the dish was when a drunk chick from a few tables away walked over and asked us if she could try some on her way out. Other than that, frankly I thought our dip at Nova, my old stomping / bartending ground was far superior, as often times patrons would take pity on my impoverished student exterior and allow me the last bite or two of their dish. (Which definitely beat gnawing on mostly-eaten T-bones off plates that I collected while bussing down tables. Just kidding, I never did that. I also never dug out of the trash we used to scrape into for half-eaten hamburgers. I swear.)

The Disco fries, on the other hand were a completely different story. While in Niagra, I didn't get around to eating these delicious morsels of perfectly fried potato, double dipped into both beef gravy and fondue'd brie. I don't even LIKE brie, nor was I hungry and I found myself with the strange urge to pick up the little plates and lick off the remaining dip once we had cashed the fries.

So tasty. So Jersey-ish. So exquisite.

I might have had a dream about them last night as well, already going through withdrawal and shaking like an addict would like being hooked after first shot of coke. Er....

Unfortunately, we were driven out of Gold St not by an abundance of patrons, nay because the music was just TOO FORKING LOUD. We could barely hear ourselves think, let alone talk and when I woke up the next morning, my ears were still ringing. Not only that, the music selection was mediocre at best.

Gold St gets 1.5 / 5 forks, which in essence could be translated into the DISCO FRIES get all the credit for this place. And I hear you can get them at any diner in NYC anyways. No no no - thank YOU, New Jersey.