Op-Ed
A Fratastic Evening
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Don't Miss Out
February 22, 2007 - 12:59amThe Frat Boy (TFB) came to my door at 7:30 p.m. wearing a suit, a tie and a backwards baseball cap.
“Where is your hair?” I asked him. His baldness was apparent despite his brave attempt to hide it with a hat.
“Snow days lead to drinking marathons, which lead to bad decisions,” he said. “Let’s not talk about it.” We started the night off with a good laugh — always a promising sign. Then off we went to TFB’s fratastic fraternity Valentine’s Day formal.
TFB proved himself a true mensch as he helped me stumble down Dryden Road in my stilettos. At one point, he even carried me over a puddle of snow, but frattiness took over as TFB was reunited with his other FB’s for a night of eating, drinking and being merry.
The evening consisted of two parts: first, dinner at Mango Café on Eddy Street, where fifteen brothers and their dates took over the back room; then, a night of dancing at the fraternity house.
We sauntered down the hidden stairwell leading to Mango, where twenty-something other formal-goers were already breaking open bottles of wine. The brand new Mango Café is still awaiting its liquor license, but BYOB was a task that the frat boys handled very well.
The ambience at Mango hardly resembles that of The Chariot, which occupied the space two years ago. The bar that we all remember fondly as an unfinished basement has now been transformed into a playful eatery with Caribbean-colored walls, candles lit on every table and salsa music playing in the background.
TFB and I made our fashionably late entrance into the back room, where a fabulously oxymoronic image awaited us: elegantly-clad young men and women guzzling cheap wine out of red Solo cups. We grabbed two for ourselves and opened a bottle; I could tell it was going to be an excellent night.
Once everyone settled into a seat, we began to order. One frat boy took the liberty of choosing several appetizers for our table to share. Among these were the ceviche de camarones: shrimp cured in lime juice, tossed with diced vegetables and cilantro ($5.75); fried plantains ($3.75); and tortilla chips with two different flavors of homemade salsa ($2.75). We then engaged in an amusing game of take-one-and-pass, which allowed me — the happy food critic — to sample every dish.
TFB and I agreed that each of the starters was tasty and enjoyable. Unfortunately, we weren’t quite as impressed with our entrées.
The extensive menu of Latin fusion cuisine included poultry, beef, pork, seafood and vegetarian options — each prepared with some form of Latin flair. Enticed by the sexy descriptions of so many dishes, I had a hard time choosing only one. TFB suggested we share two entrees to maximize variety, and so we ordered the carne salteada: tender beef slices sautéed with mixed vegetables and herbs served over steamed rice with spicy house vinaigrette ($9.75), and the frango stroganoff: tender chicken chunks sautéed with onions, corn and garlic cooked in tomato cream sauce ($8.45).
To our dismay, the entrees that arrived shortly thereafter did not merit their mouth-watering descriptions. The “tender beef slices” of carne salteada were in fact pretty rubbery, and the side of rice with which it was served was firm and undercooked.
As for the stroganoff, we couldn’t find one trace of “tender chicken chunks” in there, as promised on the menu. The dish may have won three enthusiastic stars had it been labeled “tomato soup.” But after all, it was a chicken dish.
“Tastes like Campbell’s!” said TFB, as he reached across the table for another scoop. Sadly, he was right.
Before eating at Mango Café, I’d hoped to give the restaurant a rave review since it’s the most recent and much-needed addition to our Collegetown dining scene. It has a cute atmosphere, a friendly staff and a wooden dance floor that opens up for Latin dancing on Monday nights. But TFB had it right when he said, “They did everything right except for the food.”
Part Two of the Valentine’s Day formal was a much greater success. After dinner, TFB and I piled into a crowded taxi and headed toward the fraternity house. Pulling into the driveway, we were greeted by neon strobe lights and a reverberating “Fergalicious.”
Miraculously, the typical frat house accessories of old pizza boxes and empty beer cans were gone. In their place were festive balloons, a coat check to our left and a fully stocked bar in the next room. The dance floor was already packed with couples grinding — the ladies trying hard not to fall in their three-inch heels, the guys attempting to sneak a peak down their dates’ plunging necklines. A romantic Valentine’s Day event it surely was.
TFB didn’t fail to make the evening extra fratastic. I knew he was a character from the minute he showed up at my door in a baseball cap — but that was nothing compared to the moves he pulled on the dance floor. Unlike the typical Frat Boy Waltz (read: booty grabbing and heavy petting), this Frat Boy was spinning me all over the place. And even better than the twirls were TFB’s sporadic solo exhibitions of his own creative moves. Sore as my feet might have been, he had me dancing until the party cleared out.
It wasn’t the most romantic Valentine’s I’ve ever had, but thanks to TFB it certainly was the most fun.
The Restaurant?
Mango Cafe
Everything right except the food.
The Date?
The Frat Boy
Nothing but fun.
Missy Kurzweil is a senior in the College of Agriculture and Life Sciences. She can be contacted at mek37@cornell.edu. Don’t Miss Out appears alternate Thursdays.