Don't be fooled by the name of this place — it's definitely a club, not a cafe. The titular silver sign on top of the blue-mirror coated facade that looks like a cross between a 1980s corporate office building and a sleazy Miami club makes you wonder what this place is, especially if it's not a weekend (the place is closed during the week). Apparently this place used to be Cafe Continental, but the new owners blacked out that sign, which awkwardly hangs above the entrance, before moving in.
If you do end up here on a weekend, there are a few things you should keep in mind. When I rolled up in jeans and a T-shirt, the beefy bouncer hardly looked my way. Unless you're wearing at least three-inch heels and a mini skirt, I doubt you'll get a friendly hello (and wink). Perhaps I should have adhered to the dress code, which states no baggy clothes, flip-flops, T-shirts, sports apparel, gym shoes or anything resembling a Timberland boot. And maybe I should have gone on a Saturday evening, because that's ladies night — no cover charge before midnight and $3 drinks until that same time. That's what I get for not planning ahead.
On a return trip, I dressed to the nines. Upon entering the club, I found myself the only white girl in a sea of Latino faces. Unfortunately the vibe wasn't quite up to my feminist ideals (read: serious machismo going down here), but the drinks were cheap-ish ($5 vodka cranberries) and the Spanish music was bumpin'.
Centerstage Reviewer: Alicia Eler