The folks at SoHo hotspot Upstairs on Spring Street just refused to be discouraged by cop raids and the fact that their bar has been shut down for weeks. They continue to merrily sell bottles (raking in cash) and force patrons to walk downstairs to Café Bari should they want to purchase a drink. The latest development is that they’ve moved the DJ booth (previously on a folding table off to the side) into their empty bar space for kicks. Dynamic restructuring!

To me, these absurdities are further testament to how much New York partiers love this establishment. What other locale could get away with a seemingly-permanently closed main bar and upstairs-downstairs trips should you want to open a tab?

At this point, if they finally get their liquor license, the place might lose half its charm.

Wednesday night Upstairs, the exclusive SoHo club and location of much debauchery like dollar bill tossing, was raided by the cops.

Old news.

The charges had something to do with liquor license violations and a legal problem with the sound system. All I focused on was trying to hide my inherent panic: Where would I go to hear Hip Hop and Bruce Springsteen in the same night? Where would men go to meet models age sixteen and under? Where would Leonardo Di Caprio go to schmooze low key with his entourage?

Luckily, this terrifying series of questions didn’t continue for long. A mere thirty-six hours after the raid, I received a text from one of the owners at Upstairs assuring me it was re-opened and ready for Friday night. That was fast! It wasn’t until I was in the club this weekend that I realized why: The bar was closed.

But don’t think Upstairs was going to let a pesky little thing like a liquor license get in the way of their bash or business plan. They’re just serving bottle service only until further notice – and the creepy part is that is took me twenty minutes to even notice that the bar looked like an abandoned warehouse: a blank wall, utterly void of life, liquor or bar tenders.

Talk about a loophole in the system!

“No, you cannot purchase a vodka on the rocks; I can only sell you the entire bottle.”

Interesting.

I found this similar to how Milan recently enacted laws that prohibit liquor from being sold after 2 AM instead of after 4 AM in order to help prevent drunk driving. Now bartenders scream, “Two AM last call! Everyone get your bottles!” and people stock up on Magnums or just purchase bottles of champagne which they walk around downing as if it were JuicyJuice.

Yes, this is really going to encourage people to drink less.

Once you’ve lived in New York five years, you think you’ve seen the maximum douchiness this city has to offer. Alas, no. This past weekend at Upstairs a promoter who’ll I leave nameless thought it would be fun to toss stacks of single dollar bills into the air like confetti to swirl down around his table every time they purchased a bottle of champagne. This occurred not once, but twice.

Patrons were unsure whether to cheer, drop to their knees to pick up the stray cash like peasants, or shield their drinks from the down-pouring greenery. While I did appreciate feeling like I was momentarily in a Cameron Crowe movie, this kind of uncalled for ostentatious behavior is hard to justify. Now if they were throwing hundreds and which I could actually keep, that would be a different story.

*Note: As a dedicated journalist, I tried to capture this horrific nightlife moment on my camera. Come to find out, taking action photos of swirling cash in a dark club without warning is extremely challenging. Needless to say I failed, but the image remains forever imprinted on my brain.

Miss Model Behavior’s the new nightlife writer for theBlaqlist.com. Feel free to post any nightlife comments or questions on our forum or contact her at MissModelBehavior@theBlaqlist.com

Upstairs on Broadway and Spring a.k.a. that secret clubhouse above Café Bari in SoHo, gave wasted downtowners, celebrities, and underage models a private space in which to party till dawn. Known as a ‘late night venue,’ they ran a super selective yet hassle free door (no lines!), and provide needed relief from Meatpacking and the 27th street strip. I’ve been an Upstairs frequenter and fan since its inception, and the fact that it’s become inevitably more commercial, especially on weekends, doesn’t detract from the fun.

There’s no snobby décor, so you actually can chill out. There are no cracked out cocktail waitresses teetering around in heels. The place just feels like someone’s ratty living room that you have the privilege of shaking your booty in all night long. It’s comfortable. And there are no door people screaming for you to “clear the sidewalk” or coat check girls abducting your jacket behind your back. And, the best part, as I wrote months ago in an article entitled Ode to Clubs With Food:

At around 3:30 A.M. Upstairs serves snacks. Mini hamburgers, pizzas, and the best freakin’ French fries with sauces that put McDonalds to shame. These snacks unquestionably save my life. Not only do they start soaking up the excess alcohol in my stomach making me feel more like a human being and less like a swirling ballerina in a perverse city version of the Nutcracker, but they’re delicious and Tapas-size so you never end up overeating … So this entry is my love ode, in incorrect poetic structure, to clubs with food. Because I don’t feel I ever fully appreciated this phenomenon.

My evil genius was onto something. Mere months later, Upstairs launched ‘Downstairs’ - not a bar or extension of the club, but a classic diner. In the ‘late night’ tradition of the venue, the diner’s open from 11 PM to 7 AM, so people who like to eat post-party will have someplace to go other than French Roast and L’Express. The quirk? Danny A., Matthew Isaacs and Jordan Harris decided to pay homage to New York nightlife by naming everything on the menu after Manhattan clubs and promoters, past and present.

The Marquee Mac “N” Cheese

Matt Assantwich (after promoter Matthew Assante): His food form translates into a chicken and mozzarella white wrap with a touch of chipotle mayo toasted to perfection

The Beatrice Pancakes: With poached pears marinated in red wine sauce with mascarpone cheese

Is anyone drooling yet?

I almost wish they didn’t keep vampire hours so I could enjoy the food sober. Almost everything comes with fries and the crowd favorite (which the doorman was eating in the middle of the street on my way out last night) seems to be the Mike St Pierre Steak Sandwich, which comes with sautéed onions and avocado.

Finally! A light at the end of the hangover tunnel!

Naturally, I remain insulted that I didn’t get a Model Behavior dipping sauce or onion ring named after me, but that’s okay. Despite my love of mini burgers, I guess it’s just not my time to be immortalized through diner food. Check it out and enjoy.

Miss Model Behavior’s the new nightlife writer for theBlaqlist.com. Feel free to post any nightlife comments or questions on our forum or contact her at MissModelBehavior@theBlaqlist.com