Friday night, in Coconut Grove, my friends and I had just polished off our fair share of beer, vodka, Amaretto, and Jack Daniels between Mr. Moe’s and Waldo’s Sports Bar & Lounge when we were captivated by the human activity generated at Christabelle’s Quarter, the new restaurant by renowned New Orleans chef Alex Patout.
After nearly tripping head first into the cylinder aquarium that goes all the way up the building’s high vaulted ceilings, we ascended the spiral staircase, past the second floor dining room and the succulent sounds of the house jazz band, to the third floor dance club.
Even by Miami’s faux decadent standards, the décor was a gaudy recreation of a low rent Moulin Rouge. Then I beheld a sight more heinous than the Juda’s Cradle, the Whirligig and the Iron Maiden: Miami’s King Nero: Yes, O.J. Simpson was in the house.
The Juice was splayed out on an opulent chaise lounge. He was surrounded by scores of well-wishers and lithe beauties who paid Nordberg homage by buying him drinks and snapping photographs with him.
It was really nice to see that Ronald Goldman’s family’s efforts to collect their money doesn’t get in the way of Simpson’s partying, but can someone please explain Miami’s fascination with the most infamous accused ex-wife murderer? --Francisco Alvarado
