Hello, I’m Eurotrash, party of six. Just when you thought there couldn’t possibly be another annoying subspecies of freaks on the UES, we find the slick-haired, Miami Vice T-shirt with a suit, heavily perfumed, sunglasses at night Euro crowd that has for so long remained relegated to Washington, D.C. clubs and Steven Seagal’s house. We guess we were fooling ourselves, with the United Nations a scant mile or so away, that this horror wouldn’t seep into the groundwater. Ugh. It almost makes us nostalgic for braided belts, bucks and plaid button-downs. It’s a shame this element exists, as the menu at Panorama looked appetizing, the Guinness was pretty good, and the open-air feel is nice on a warm night (despite the “panorama” being a stank-ass view of 2nd Avenue). Too bad the horrendous DJ was playing some sort of salsa, house, Euro-beat music that caused instant acid reflux in four out of five patrons. Maybe we caught them on some sort of theme night: dress as your favorite 007 bad guy. [MF]
1640 2nd Ave.