So we went to this place called Cafe Helsinki in the Great Barrington last Saturday. (http://www.clubhelsinkiweb.com). It is about 40 mins drive from the Buddha Crossing in Hancock. We were hungry after yet another Home Depot run so I randomly picked it from my blackberry. Initially, its small facade hidden under an industrial archway and the ambiance of a vaguely Scandinavian flea market likely assembled from eBay slightly deterred us. Both were signs of either really good or really bad, but based on our previous experiences, mostly really bad. We were then seated in a pinkish velvet booth under a dusty and chipped oil painting fitted in an overly ornate gold frame. Looking around, we felt that it was proper to order a large cocktail right away to quench our uncertainty.
We had a waitress befitted in a tight short black dress. As a matter of fact, all waitresses there were befitted in some sort of short and/or tight black dresses, some went a little further by accessorizing with fishnet stockings. With her stern northern European look and an vague German manner, our girl was more efficient than friendly, so quickly it came our foods. But what a surprise! I mean, the dishes were actually really, really good. Not sure if the Finns have ever been known for their cooking or how Finnish our foods actually were, but Curtis' Pork chop was well seasoned and superbly grilled and the mashed potatoes were so exceptional that even I, who never cared for MP, stole two spoonfuls from his plate. My mussel et frites dish was just as good, not soaked in soup but retained a strong flavor, and it was balanced with the slightly dry-baked fries. I was even more impressed when I saw the chefs across the open kitchen: two Spanish-speaking Latinos, definitely not from Helsinki.
Then the coolest thing came from the mouth of our waitress after the main and before the dessert.
"Maybe you guys will be interested in the show tonight in the club next door?"
Obviously, there was a club literally within the "Club Helsinki".
"Here is the monthly schedule, but tonight is Burlesque." She dropped a piece of paper and whisked away.
"Burlesque?"
Curtis and I looked quizzically at each other.
What the hell was that in a small New England town and in the middle of a dead winter, a Burlesque show was quietly happening. It all sounded like a conspiracy to us. More importantly, did Curtis and I appear straight to her? two friends maybe, out for a bite then looking for some sort of entertainment?
"That is so cool!" I told Curtis, "we should go."
"Maybe." That was Curtis's answer as No.
Then what I found on the monthly schedule really got me excited: Winterpills.
(http://www.winterpills.com/). Winterpills has been one of my favorite indie bands from North Hampton, MA, so they are totally local breed. Their second album "The Light Divides" were the soundtracks I played during many of our gallery receptions. Having not much to do in the gallery, I listened to them a lot last year and the year before. But sadly the show was last Friday! "They will be back, but tonight is the Burlesque." the girl told us and dropped our bill.
Walking out of Club Helsinki through a side door, we were allowed to peek briefly into the real club where the Burlesque was taking place. Two women in red Bikinis were on the stage working a thin crowd made of a few mostly middle-age men. One of the women had a quite voluptuous figure and she was wearing a large red flower in her blond hair. Impressively, she appeared quite comfortable in her cellulite-invaded skin and the minimal outfit that cut deep in her flesh. How could she possibly be comfy in those thin wires? Wasn't she even cold? and then I couldn't help but wondering about her life on and off that stage. Strangers like her never missed casting a spell on me, at least for a while.
But when Curtis and I walked into the cold night of the January Berkshires where the shadow of the dark hills loomed over the steeple of a white chapel, where a secretive Burlesque was taking place behind a closed door in which my favorite band also performed a week ago, we looked forward to walking across the slippery parking lot, starting the car and going home. Our dog Arkle would be home, hopefully not making a mess. The fire in the fireplace, hopefully would not yet be extinguished. At that moment, what came to my mind were a few lines from a song called Handkerchiefs by Winterpills:
i cross the line
and see a face that can’t be mine
through a long long night
to find a place where we all thrive
where every frail thing can survive
where we can live this dream of life
(Picture of Winterpills)
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