Baby Lamb Chops At Midnight:
A Review of Therapy
by Tony Phillips
If cigarettes are no longer kosher, what about this joint's greasy burger and fries?
Therapy's physical space disappears instead of kaleidoscopically pulsing. Two levels join by a grand staircase accented by plain brick walls, warm wood and a skylight. Well groomed, 30-somethings have Psychotic Episodes, Delusions and other nine-dollar martinis. The performance space upstairs, with its professional lighting rig, must look like Carnegie Hall to most drag queens. Unfortunately, looking’s all they’ll do as Therapy's booker told press he wants “all male or real girl hosts.”
The allure is the food. But everyone from health conscious twinks to tweaked-out queens will puzzle over this menu. Hearty selections — baby lamb chops at midnight? — and low tables put the food two feet away insuring you’ll either wear it or digest it all evening. Our waiter tried settling the cash-only bill when his shift — but not our meal — ended. Relax, dude, it’s not like you’re late for Therapy.