Once upon a time, there was a nightclub named Cain, known for its tough door policy, high prices and healthy influx of celebrity faces, and then suddenly—closed? Nope. Turns out the spot was merely getting a quick but massive face-lift (isn't that just like a Manhattan beauty?) and has since re-opened as Cain Luxe—auspicious in title, but does it return to its former glory? We put on a collared shirt and found out.
Digs: Before you get to the door, there’s an intimidation factor, as clubs Marquee and Glass are around the corner on Tenth, and Guesthouse, Home, Mansion, Bungalow 8 and even Scores West surround Cain’s center-of-the-block location. In other words, the whole street's teeming with lined-up people hollering and smoking. The good news: None of the long lines you pass leads you here. The bad news: Unless you're on a first-name basis with the doorman you’ll be waiting for at least 20 minutes, even if the line is made up of you, yourself and you.
The red walls and plush plum benches, elephant-tusk pillars (presumably faux) and black-and-white-striped ceiling make it feel like you're inside Satan's rib cage. Back in the old Cain days, the layout featured a DJ booth stuck like Excalibur in a big rock, but that's been swapped for a standard deck-selector box with a zebra-skin print.
As for the dance space, it’s the same size as before, but now the benches carry an elevated catwalk between them—meaning that those who plan to shake that ass must actually climb up on what is basically a stage (and is at times occupied by skimpy-teeny-‘kini go-go girls). As for the bathrooms, you'll wait behind more ridiculous velvet ropes until you're ushered to your solo toilet booth.
Crowd: If the Lohans and Hiltons of the world are still hanging out here, they aren't doing it regularly. The number of professional types is high, however, with tweedy and nattily-dressed fortysomethings mingling with late-20s-to-mid-30s gents in full suits. The ladies are younger, wearing either slinky dresses or neat shirts and sweaters. Of course, there are the party peeps, too—somehow admitted in nothing more than ridiculously expensive-looking T-shirts, jeans and caps.
Music: Straight house, sprinkled with late '90s classics, dirty disco and remixes. Definitely good enough to dance to, and a bongo slapper pumps up the clubby vibe—but with little room to get seriously wild, guests end up dancing at their tables. Which naturally leads us to...
Service: Table service is the name of the game at Cain (falls mainly in the plains), and knee-high red stumps, littered with half-filled bottles and glasses, serve as "tables." For those looking to do solo drinks at the bar, prices are vaguely reasonable for clubland, with beer coming in around $8 and cocktails like the Pear Crisp (vodka, pear liqueur, apple and lemon juices, syrup) and the Rio (rum, mango puree, heavy cream, cane syrup, lime juice) going for $15. But for bottles, get ready to re-finance your mortgage...
Drinks: Vodka runs $425 to $850 (42 Below to Grey Goose Magnum) and tequila from $475 (Inocente brand) to a $900 bot’ of Patron Platinum, while champagne magnums go from $775 for Veuve Clicquot Yellow Label to the Cristal Methuselah ’90, which only sets you back a mere $40,000 and fully supports a mid-sized village in Sudan for two years. No, just kidding. It doesn't do anything like that. It's just a pure and uncompicated waste of money.
The bottom line: Good for the kind of very rich and bored person who doesn't understand that money can buy better things, and also whoever's interested in that kind of person.
Net results: what folks are saying online...
[CitySearch] "A more dramatic take on the old safari theme, with elephant tusks and a zebra print DJ booth, and scantily clad dancers."
[Yelp] "The club got a complete makeover with a shiny new interior reminiscent of Cave Du Roy."
[UrbanDaddy] "You'll find an animalistic Parisian safari bordello that's equal parts Toulouse-Lautrec and Ernest Hemingway."
Cain Luxe
544 W 27th St., between 10th and 11th Aves.
212-947-8000
Photo by Sam Horine
