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Elyana is what I call an expert Alto partier. Tall and always well dressed, she hits the party scene in El Alto Manhattan every Friday, like clockwork, to quench her thirst.
Don’t jump to conclusions. I’m not talking about alcohol. She’s young, and her idea of fun is the nightlife, one that starts and ends with food.
After a night of dancing, and bouncing in place in a crowded bar, you need some relief.
In El Alto, the party might be sacred, but the after-party is a ritual that is not to be missed.
In its new neon-gleaming glory, Floridita Restaurant, the new one which opened up shop a few months ago on 10th Avenue and West 207th Street, attracts some of the after partiers.
A few blocks south, on Dyckman Street’s Cachapas Y Mas and Dyckman Express are also after-hours food havens that welcome the partiers with open arms, and watchful eyes.
Around four in the morning, between the quiet of the streets, and the sounds of the garbage truck that makes its rounds in the neighborhood, as you enter, you will see gathered around a table a group of ladies, a young man who can’t stay awake, and a very patient waitress who is taking care of them.
They are classic after-partiers: eyeliner and mascara are worn out; feet barely fit into platforms, and the ties hang loosely around the gents’ necks.
Elyana still looks impeccable, equally put together as when the night started, and ready for breakfast.
Water is flowing by the pitcher to calm their stupors. It’s been a good night, and finally breakfast is on the way.
“One order of Mangu, with salami, eggs and cheese, yes?” asks the waitress.
“A steak sandwich, an order of French fries, y una sopa de pollo? Is that all?”
We nod, all in agreement. We are not very concerned if she got the order right or not, but sure that comfort is in its way.
Places like this give El Alto a different flavor. It’s knowing that after a night out, I won’t be eating a pizza slice, but rather a heaping portion of breakfast food, or anything made with a plantain, and that’s only a small part of what makes El Alto special.
It’s the flickering light of the chimi trucks, the always-open bodegas, and if El Alto was a small town, our restaurants would be the local diner, where both young and old meet as one night ends and another day begins.
The army that keeps the around-the-clock restaurants running, the taxistas that bring us home safely after hours, and the smiling waitresses that find the 4’oclock in the morning banter tolerable and funny, or at least they pretend to as their night slips into dawn.
With plates cleaned off, breakfast consumed, and an obligatory round of cortaditos, we split the check and make our way back onto 10th Avenue, hail the last cab of the night and make it home just before the sun.
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