Caffeine Pick-Me-Up
New York singles meet their destiny over co ee.
MELISSA CASTLEMAN
Special to The Jewish News
n a recent trip home to
Michigan (I still call it
"home" even though I've
been living in New York
City for four years), I made a big mis-
take.
I told my parents that since moving
to New York, I've improved in a very
specific way. "Made a big
personality •
jump," I said.
They leaned for-
ward. "Finally, I
feel totally corn-
fortable sitting
alone at a bar."
Their smiles
froze. They said
nothing, not even
my mother, who's a
real whiz at zapping
away ugly awkward
Yvonne Rebat-
spots in a conversa-
ta, Amanda
tion. At that point, I
Wisset and
should have men-
Randi Schey
tioned "drip" — yes,
look for men
in the drip
drip, spelled with a
date books.
lowercase "d" — a
hot spot just around
the corner from my
Upper West Side apartment.
I've never had the guts'to venture
into the place alone. Not once, even
though the sign painted on the win-
dow modifies the word "bar" with
"coffee." That is, until The Jewish News
asked me to step foot inside.
Just behind the window there are
comfy couches, a wall-rack of maga-
zines and tables piled high with other
forms of literature — all of which are
intended specifically for the solo ven-
turer. Drip is the brainchild — or
love child — of Nancy Slotnick, a
30-year-old Harvard grad who has a
passion for setting romance into
action: Her year-and-a-half-old estab-
lishment doubles as a free dating ser-
vice. Already, approximately 12,000
New York singles have filled out the
Melissa Castleman grew up in
Farmington Hills and now works for
Time Out New York magazine.
O
Above: At drip, you can search for Mr. or Ms. Right.
Right:
personal ques-
Operations
tionnaire
manager
forms provid-
Chris
ed by drip
Wittmann
bartenders
arranges
(who are all,
dates on the
according to
phone for
one enthusias-
• drip
tic customer,
customers.
"so incredibly
cool-looking and gorgeous").
the pages like cinnamon on cappucci-
The Upper West Side is probably
no, you'll notice the Star of David.
Does Slotnick see
the synagogue capital
Photos by Jennifer Weisbord
herself as a '90s ver-
of the city. This and
sion of the traditional
the fact that kosher-
Jewish matchmaker?
keeping Slotnick keeps
"I don't presume to
her glass counter filled
know what will make
with kosher-certified
two people work," she
goodies means that
says. "But I think that
many drip-daters .are
when people are shy,
Jewish.
it's usually because
The fat, hardbound
they have trouble
folders on all the
with the opening line,
tables are proof. Open
getting started. A lot
them, and you'll find
of times in a crowded
self-descriptions of
Drip owner Nancy Slotnick
room, you spend the
men and women in
serves kosher goodies from
whole
time making
search of a significant
behind the counter.
eye contact with
other. Most of the
another person. You
folders are for heteros,
never meet them, and then they leave.
some are for gays and lesbians. But
Drip is designed to cut through that."
inside each of them, sprinkled across
She's proud of the fact that four
couples — one Jewish — have made
the official love connection
on drip's couch-
es: Two have
married, and
two are engaged.
Her formula has
been so success-
ful, in fact, that
Slotnick's now in
search of some
partners for herself
— franchise part-
ners,
that is. She
Yvonne Rebatta,
hopes
to hook up
Louis Fitzig and
with
people
in
Randi Schey:
other
cities,
includ-
Will we ever
ing Detroit.
find true love?
Visiting drip on
a cold, rainy Tues-
day night with my neighbor Natasha
(for moral support), I was surprised
to find the place packed. I guess what
they say about New Yorkers is true:
They're shameless. I mean, most peo-
ple don't want others to suspect that
they're active participants in a dating
service, right? That hints of despera-
tion in the romance department,
right? At least, that's what I always
thought.
But the men and women at drip —
all twenty- to thirtysomethings, all
well-dressed, decent-looking to attrac-
tive — seemed happy to be there.
They did not seem shy. In the first 10
minutes of sitting at the bar with cups
of steamed, skim-milk chaff, Natasha
and I were approached by two separate
men. They complimented each of us.
One told Natasha that her sweater was
pretty. Giving up on Natasha, he later
told me that I had dressed appropriate-
ly for the weather (OK, maybe that's
not a compliment).
Farther down the bar, men smiled
at us when we made eye contact.
The whole thing was strange. I'm
not used to such friendly, open
behavior from my fellow New York-
ers.
Our grandmothers might be disap-
pointed, but Natasha and I agreed:
We'd rather keep fending for ourselves
and remain drip-dateless. ❑
.
3/20
1998
77