Old New York City is gone forever. That much is certain. Eight, ten years ago, I was a pimply-faced explorer from across the Hudson, venturing to the island of Manhattan to conduct field research on the fairer gender, to find joints in Little Italy that would serve minors, and, consequently, to annoy the hell out of New Yorkers between about 4pm Friday afternoon to 3am Sunday morning. My goal, shared by thousands of others in the outlying suburbs who invaded on the weekends, was to have fun at all costs.

After doing college and my early 20’s in DC, I finally made it onto Manhattan island this year with a place of my own, not far from some of the bars and diners I haunted as a teenager. I live on Avenue B, in Alphabet city, which apparently was annexed into the East Village by the real estate agents. Not to sound all suburban and hoi polloi, but I never thought I’d live in Alphabet city. When I pictured my life in Manhattan, I pictured high rises, spacious apartments, and stacks of money, which, like the Easter Bunny, have yet to show themselves, despite my efforts.

I’m not complaining, though I am still getting used to a different scale of living, having rented out an entire house in the prime Adams Morgan neighborhood of Washington DC less than a year ago. Adams Morgan was an interesting neighborhood. Full of frat boys and suburbanites on the weekends, there was, towards my last months there, a palpable sense of danger in the air, now quantified by DC’s recently announced crime emergency. Yet on the weekdays, there was a real neighborhood that existed, young and old, rich and poor, that shared in the richness of the neighborhood– the fancy sushi places, and the taco truck, all the same.
Much like I used to do (underaged) in New York, the out of towners and kiddies who come in for the  Adams Morgan nightlife act like they are characters in a video game, earning points for picking up (or being obnoxious to) girls, acting “hard” towards guys, and in general, making a nuisance of themselves for people that actually live there. On Avenue B, it’s the same story. Full of “bridge & tunnelers” (a term that was also in use down in DC, despite the lack of tunnels), there is a total disregard for the fabric of the neighborhoods they take over on the weekends.

That’s fine– I’ve been there, I know that where I chose to live, not 50 yards from where a notorious open air drug market existed less than a decade ago, is an area in transition, an area that has been taken advantage of by entreperneurs who have an inside track on liquor licenses. They want to sell expensive drinks to out of towners and be anonymous or closed Sunday through Wednesday. But now that alphabet city/ east village IS safe, now that there is money in the area, there are some pretty stupid decisions being made by the residents here. Namely, two restaurants of high pedigree, the E.U., and Bouley, have been denied Community Board approval for liquor licenses.

In both cases, the opposition was rooted in the feeling that there are too many active liquor licenses in the area. In both cases (the restaurants are in different districts), the Community Boards are right in that assessment. In both cases, they ignored that the restaurants are purveyors of high quality food, not ten dollar Natty Lites. (Well, maybe ten dollar Amstel Lites, but not by the bucket, at least.) It is bewildering to walk by, in my neighborhood, at least a dozen places I will never poke my head into, and another dozen I regret ever poking my head into, only to have two sure fire hits be denied the licensing they need to make their ventures feasible. (Everyone knows liquor and wine pays the bills at restaurants.)

It’s nice to know local residents are finally awake. Many of them complain that the two restaurants are beyond the price range of the residents here. It’s true, the East Village is economically diverse and home to many people below the poverty line. I can’t afford to eat at Bouley every night, and I rely on the bodegas and local joints for cheap yet amazingly good food, but damn straight I like a good meal, and when it’s a special occaision, I pony up the cash to go someplace world class, which is one of the true perks of living in New York City.

The argument that the restaurants are too expensive is reductive and insulting to residents here–can they afford the ten dollar drinks being slung at all the craphole places that already have liquor licenses? This neighborhood now certainly has a rap as being unfriendly to investment. There is enormous potential to replace problem bars with decent places to eat, drink, and live. Street level life. No, not a dozen Bouleys and EUs, but the types of small cafes and bars that will glom onto the success of an EU or Bouley, to open nearby and soak up some of the prestige. Right now, by denying two good establishments the chance to do business here, the neighborhood activists are basically saying they’d rather have frat boys throwing up on the sidewalks and getting into fistfights (I’ve seen both) then decent places to eat and socialize.

When I was a teenager coming into the city on NJT, on PATH, in my car, I never thought the city would be what it is now, nor was I able to really understand the vast resource just 15 miles from my suburban doorstep. The East Village, alphabet city, is a pre-teen, a decade removed from the dysfunctional New York that the rest of the city bounced back from in the early 90’s. It’s residents and local politicians are getting the chance to make some important decisions about what the future will look like. As a new resident, with no intention of leaving, I hope we get it right.