The catchphrase is, “Have you been to Bed lately?”
I suppose that should be B.E.D. Lemme ’splain.
When the weather’s nice outside like it was today, I bully Ken and Ivan into leaving the building for lunch, usually down to Broad Street where I can get a zabiha chicken or lamb wrap at Ali Baba’s (although I typically get the falafels because they’re SO GOOD and the line at the meat counter is enormous) and where Ken and Ivan can get KFC or deli sandwiches or Rosa’s Pizza, arguably the closest thing to NY-style pizza Atlanta will ever have. I say “bully” because I literally have to call them names and threaten to kick their shins before they’ll agree to do it, and even then I have to sit through all the whining first: “It’s too hot!” “It’s too cold!” “It might possibly rain sometime in the next 72 hours!” “I forgot my long johns!” Y’all, I know you think I kid, but I promise you, I do not.
I do, however, digress. As Ivan and I were going to Broad St. today, we were discussing the newly completed Glenn Hotel, how swanky it looked, and how we were thrilled they’d finally cleaned up that dilapidated old building because even in its crumblier days, we could tell it would be gorgeous with a little bit of spit and polish.
The first level of the Glenn has a sign that reads, vertically, “Dine BED Drink.” I figured it was a bar because who would name a restaurant “Bed”? Ivan insisted it was a restaurant because the sign said “Dine.” To settle the argument, we did something we would normally never do without Ken, something we would normally make Ken do while we sat back and watched the fallout: We peeked in to see for ourselves.
Ivan went first and was far stealthier than I, who got caught by the manager and pulled back inside.
“I can’t stay. It’s called ‘Bed’, and I just wanted to see if it was a restaurant or a bar. I have a meeting!” said I.
“You can be late,” he replied.
(Where was Ivan during all of this abducting, you ask? OUTSIDE, TWIDDLING HIS THUMBS. I could have been forced into unpaid menial labor for all he knew!)
The manager showed me the extravagant bar. Even as a non-drinker I have to admit the space is gorgeous, if a little generic with the mirrors and lined up bottles. Then we went back across the foyer to the left side of the room, and I discovered why the restaurant is called Bed. (Or, technically, B.E.D.)
Half of the seating area is your standard issue tables and chairs. The other half is beds. Many beds, all pushed up against one another and stylishly decorated with an abundance of throw pillows.
“We serve your meal on the bed,” the manager said helpfully.
On the bed. On the bed! Let’s hope they splurged for those mattresses in the commercials, the ones where the lingerie-clad blonde is walking across the mattress and the glass of water perched on the other end never spills.
I did a little research, and it turns out that not only is B.E.D. a chain, it started in (where else) New York City. Miami has one as well, and Sydney (Australia) might too; they have a Bed restaurant, but I’m not sure it’s associated with the chain State-side.
The Web site has a decent-looking-if-pricey menu, and we’ve been joking about going for lunch one day. To sit at the tables. The tables, people.
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