The Uber pulled up to a shining chain-link fence after missing the destination twice. A series of black, metal trellises arched overhead as the entrance. The letters “WG” hung down in Old Western-style font over a tiny wooden bridge. The landscape opened up to picnic tables sitting on vivid, green, plastic grass. There was even a cornhole game set up in the back.
“They did say it was a beer garden,” said sales and marketing coordinator at The Jefferson Hotel, Sydney Cameron. The 22-year-old falls into a new category of millennial - the brunch enthusiast. This was her first time at the Wunder Garten at NoMa in Washington, D.C. and her first time at Show Off Karaoke Brunch. Karaoke brunches are not a new idea, with venues from New York to Dubai hosting brunchers for mimosas and music. With Show Off and the Wunder Garten, Washington now has its own karaoke brunch spot.
A host behind a podium checked IDs before access to the Wunder Garten was fully granted. A large, domed, white tent loomed in the background with soft country music billowing out its opening, courtesy of the HariKaraoke live karaoke band, a refreshing take on the old synthetic instrumentals. Afterall, what’s a rockstar without a band?
Surprisingly, a large number of people made the 12p.m start time despite St. Patrick’s Day being the day before. Groups of people were scattered across more picnic tables sitting on plastic grass. The courageous of the bunch sat directly in front of the stage and so were subjected to the teasing of HariKaraoke bassist and frontman of the day, Steve Sachse. More carefree and booze-minded souls sat at the bar at the back of the tent which surrounded what looked like a detached trailer - except this trailer was filled with foreign IPAs and lagers instead of your camping gear. Finally the beer in “beer garden.”
Brunchers wasted no time. By 12:30p.m mimosas and beers were already flowing. The bartenders were buzzing about the cash bar shaking Stolichnaya Screwdrivers and plopping celery stalks in Bloody Marys. The $20 ticket price included a cover fee and brunch buffet, this installment catered by the cheerful and polite Chef Davis. After knocking back a bottle of champagne, the fluffy waffles, greasy potatoes and cheesy omelettes were a welcome sight for patrons who seemed to forget the “brunch” part of the day.
“Welcoming to the stage our first and very brave singer of the day!” announced a blonde hostess decked out in a fur vest and tiara. The crowd whooped encouragement as a young lady ambled on to the stage. She took a deep breath and smiled as if she’d inhaled their positivity. A slender, older man who was frantically pacing the room earlier settled into a vantage point by the bar and crossed his freckled arms across chest. He scrunched his eyebrows with anticipation.
“That’s Chris,” said Sydney excitedly. “This brunch was his idea.” Now the pacing made sense.
The young woman began to sing one of those country songs that everyone knew the words to. They became her backup singers in between yells of “yeah!” and “sing it girl!” The pacer, Christopher Lynch, scurried to the bar, ducked under the chrome top and produced a red tambourine.
“You are gonna be my tambourine girl,” he said handing it off to Sydney with a full smile. She accepted gladly and immediately began to clang it against her palm, her dark , shoulder-length hair swaying in time with the tiny cymbals. Chris grabbed his own tambourine and began to shimmy along with her. The cheerful tone elicited more hollers from the crowd and soon two more red tambourines were in circulation. “Oh, we have to take pictures of for the website with your tambourine! Do you mind?” Chris asked. By way of an answer, Sydney’s lips split into a wide open-mouthed smile and she raised the tambourine above her head and froze. Chris laughed and tapped on the shoulder of a blonde bartender named Kira. She shook with laughter after taking in Sydney’s pose. Her icy blue eyes shimmered with tears from laughing and she carefully dabbed at them to avoid smudging her makeup. Chris scurried off again as the photoshoot went on.
The boozy day continued, picking up patrons and steam as the hours rolled by. The members of HariKaraoke goaded patrons in an attempt to invoke the closeted rock and pop stars within them “You can bring your drinks too, we have a drink caddy,” Steve announced proudly. The drinks continued to pour and by 2p.m tables were overflowing with day-drinkers swaying to the live music, and cups of beer ranging from pale yellow to golden brown in hue. Liquid courage moved several brunchers to get up and dance, including Sydney, who swung her cardigan like a big circle skirt when the music took her. “This was the preview for this new brunch,” Chris said leaning over the bar-top and scanning the crowd. “I wasn’t sure how people would feel about mixing in the karaoke.” He smiled at the gentle praise of a nearby couple. “I guess that means it’s going well. I’m glad.” “It’s food, liquor and karaoke. What’s not to like?” Sydney added as she reclaimed her seat. He smiled again and gave her hand a thankful squeeze before scurrying off once more.
“This one is dedicated to Chris!” yelled a short, slightly rotund man from the stage. Chris stopped dead in his pacing, slowly tucking his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he took in the scene before him. The man on stage adjusted the collar on his black button-down and swooped a hand through his neatly coiffed hair. “This is from me and about 20 other people.” The crowd applauded cautiously, heads swinging to take in Chris’ clutched-pearls reaction. Gasps and laughter filled the Wunder Garten as the opening swells of Carrie Underwood’s “Before He Cheats” pierced the air. Chris shook his head in disbelief. He was frozen to the spot otherwise. The singer never broke eye contact.
The day was rounded out by an electric rendition of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin” slurred by beer-soaked brunchers. Chris and his team were praised profusely as patrons wobbled out.
“Don’t forget to visit our original brunch La Boum! If I don’t have you laid by the end of it, I consider it a failure,” Chris said nonchalantly over the microphone.
“La Boum! I wonder if there’s one tomorrow. The last time I went...girl let me tell you,” Sydney with a mischievous smirk as she took a seat at a picnic table outside. La Boum is a 21-plus “brunch party,” the most recent evolution of your standard Sunday Brunch. “This brunch is not for the conservative or the weary,” the La Boum website warns.
“There is one tomorrow,” chimed in the host behind the podium at the entrance. “But what you really need to check out is La Boum Boum Room tonight.” Sydney immediately handed over her phone for the host to direct her to the website. Tickets were bought without hesitation. The party was described as a “pansexual paradise.” The dress code for La Boum Boum Room was listed as “Street wear, Costume Uniform, Glitter, Gutter, Glamour, Fetish, Stylish or Evening wear” on the website.
“This might be the best Saturday I’ve had in a while,” Sydney said to the host.
“It just might be,” he answered.
“We have to get there on time. They cancel your ticket if you’re 20 minutes late,” Sydney said as she hobbled around the room wearing one black ankle boot while looking for the other.
L’Enfant Café & Bar in Adams Morgan - the hub of D.C’s nightlife - sat, unassumingly across the street from the drop off point of yet another lost Uber driver. The shades were pulled on the picture windows advertising crepes and coffee, the doors were closed and, besides the light splashes of rain, silence surrounded the area. Sydney double-checked the address before letting the driver go. She looked incredulously from her phone screen to the cream building and after a moment of pondering, she shrugged, flipped up the hood on her jacket and crossed the street, carefully sidestepping puddles.
“Ladies! Glad you could make it,” said the host from brunch earlier. “I already checked your IDs, so go on in. And have fun,” he said with a coy smile.
Strobe lights swiveled on the brick walls, washing gyrating bodies in rainbow colors. At intervals the lights collided with the disco ball that hung over the dancefloor, coating the entire restaurant-turned-nightclub in mini, translucent rainbows. A corset and hotpants clad burlesque dancer was perched atop the bar twisting her hips and gloved arms to the smooth electronic beats spun by the house DJ, DJ Lehi. Taped to the columns of the building were printed sheets of paper that warned “No Cellphones” in all capital letters.
“Hello heathens,” said a second burlesque dancer from a small stage in the back of the room. “Welcome to La Boum Boum Room! Remember no photographs because people will be getting naked.” She did a roll call; couples, singles, people celebrating birthdays, bachelors and bachelorettes. She promised a night of debauchery and expressed her hope that the bachelor and bachelorette present would still be engaged by the end of it all.
“As you know, our hostess for this evening is Miss Gigi Holliday,” the dancer said, eliciting whoops from the crowd. “But we keep her locked in the basement and she only comes out if we yell her name.” Yells of Gigi’s name rose above the music. The energy from the stomps the occasional jumps, caused the wood floors to vibrate. And as if shaken awake from the vibrations, Gigi glided across the dancefloor in a revealing ringleader inspired outfit.
“Hello fuckers,” she greeted the audience as she took the stage. “I hope you’re ready to have some fun tonight. I definitely am.” Gigi reiterated the no cellphone policy, then pulled a bottle of champagne seemingly from thin air and popped it into the crowd. Exuberant screams burst from random corners of the room and shameless patrons shuffled forward to have golden, fizzy waterfalls cascaded into their open mouths.
Four bottles of champagne and later, sweat soaked shirts were stripped off and strewn across the chairs that lined the walls of L’Enfant. The burlesque dancers were joined on the stage and bartop by adventurous souls who could not be contained on the dancefloor. Those who made it to the stage were sucked into games, such as a spank contest, where the prize was even more alcohol.
“Look who I found!” Sydney yelled as she made her way back from the bar. She had a Long Island Iced Tea in one hand and Chris Lynch in the other. Chris is the owner of L’Enfant, along with his former partner Jim Ball. In 2003, the pair wanted to bring the confidence and freedom of the French architect Pierre L’Enfant, the architect of D.C and the building’s namesake, to Adams Morgan, with the restaurant. Twelve years later, Chris took it another step further by adding a taste of the European nightlife with his brunches and parties. “La boum is a French slang term that means ‘teenage house party’,” Chris later explained.
His vision came alive in the form of rowdy and carefree adults who didn’t have to worry about making it to work the next day. Riding off of the success of Show Off, Chris joined in the debauchery, twirling around the room with Sydney and Gigi. He only stopped for air kisses, the occasional slurred “congratulations,” and to grab an icy Corona whenever he had a free hand. The trio made their way outside for some fresh air. The air inside L’Enfant was moist from the heat and sweat of almost 100 gyrating bodies. After a smoke and few more air kisses, Gigi shimmied back inside for a costume change.
“You spent an entire Saturday partying with me,” Chris said to Sydney.
“I did and it was fun the whole time,” she responded with a smile. He pulled her in for a tight hug.
“That’s the whole point of this thing,” Chris said as he released her. “We all need at least one solid day of partying where you don’t have to worry about work the next day with a disco nap in between.”
The first few rifts of Shout by Otis Day and The Knights wafted from the slightly ajar door.
“Alrighty fuckers!” Gigi growled into the microphone. “I need to see all y’all moving and jumping to this song right now.” As if under her spell, Chris skipped to the beat and headed back inside, with Sydney following suit.
The dancefloor was obscured by the mass of writhing bodies. Shirtless men and shoeless women bounced around to the beat, arms and legs flailing whenever The Knights yelled “shout.” There was also the occasional shriek when ice cold liquor sloshed out of its holder and unto a warm body. Gigi danced around on the stage, her silver-sequined flapper dress iridescent under the lights. She sang the lyrics as if they were hers, from the stage, pointing the microphone to the audience at different intervals.
“I can’t hear you!” she yelled into the mic. A satisfied smile tugged at the corners of her mouth when the crowd became louder and danced harder. She did have them under her spell. She had them duck slowly with the coaxing of her hand to the words “a little bit softer now,” then had them soaring to the ceiling as they jumped back up with the steady, upward flick of her wrist to “a little bit louder now.” It was riotous and the ecstasy in her red-lipped smile and sparkle in her eye showed she loved every second.
The madness went on until around 3AM when patrons were sent stumbling into waiting taxis by the clean up crew. There were a few stubborn stragglers who complained the party ended too early, but they left with the gentle encouragement of the magical Gigi Holliday.
For more info:
Website: http://laboumbrunch.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/laboumboumroom/