Moby's Teany Shop

On a sunny patio under the shade of one big, white-spoked, light green umbrella, the owner, bleached-blonde over deep red hair with a massive black tattoo on her lower back, puts her feet directly on top of one of the metal cafe tables. She comes inside and mewls to a waiter; she seems to be asking him to make a last-minute change in his schedule to do something she wishes to avoid. He is willing. Then he says, "Someone left a package here for some guy." She looks it over and says, "It's Moby." She takes the package and immediately gets on the phone, demeanor instantly changing from waifish victim to capable administrator.

The waitstaff here at this LES spot favors t-shirts that say something on them. Staffers are uniformly sweet, though not always in much of a rush. One is Elvis Costello-obsessed and has a yeller dog. Most patrons are tall and fresh-faced.

Flooring is of inlaid glossy white circles. Wee wildflowers in bud vases dot tables and nooks in the whitewashed brick wall. They're echoed by larger bouquets in mod-colored vases by a big mirror. There's a stack of books about vegetarianism on the counter. And a heap of magazines by the window. There's a blackboard for your bulletins. The outside patio of white and greenery is cheery and fresh on this strip where tenements reign and ice is shaved and syruped at the corner.

Inside, decor is in 70s green; there's a globe floorlamp, white and wood cabinetry and white china canisters that contain teas. If you came alone, some lit-up metal friends are here to keep you company. There may be Holly Golightly on the stereo, or an ambient sleepytime track or "I wish I was special...I don't belong here..." A line of glass cake plates showcases baked goodies (some vegan), including a tempting-looking fallen chocolate souffle cake ($4). There are not so many seats and Teany is open till 1 a.m. nightly, so it's a haven for vegans who drink and smoke.

A blueberry muffin is fresh, sweet and standard, and has particularly ripe berries. It's served with a crunchy sour slice of star fruit and a few more huckleberries. Also on offer are oatmeal, ginger and chocolate chip cookies. The oatmeal is crumbly and too sucral, but rife with plump raisins. The ginger is a bit better, soft and chewy, but I like it when ginger cookies have so much ginger in them they burn your tongue. These are perfectly safe.

At Teany, the coffee's fine too, medium and smooth and drinkable in large quantities. I'm not given any guff for ordering it even though 93 different teas are available. Soy milk for your beverage is offered as a matter of course. The multi-paged metal ring-binder menu describes the teas, many flavored, some organic, $2.50-$6.50 a pot. A fruit tea especially for kids is included. Steeping times are indicated for each. At the low end of the pricing scale, English Breakfast; Silver Needle Chinese white tea at the high. All arrive in attractive orange-logoed china teapots.

Lots of chewing here for a sipping spot, due perhaps to the gently priced, big portions of vegetarian and vegan fare. Doggie bags are cheerfully made up. Although you can also live large on Veuve Clicquot Yellow at $95 the bottle. Six beers including Hoegaarden at $6; six young wines by the glass run $6-$8.

The iced chai ($2) will bring me back often; a nutmeg high, yet the tea flavor is dominant. It's sweet, but not too, and not overly heavy. A hot (and trademarked) beverage called a matechino ($3.50) is concocted from toasted mate (the South American caffeinated herb), cocoa, sunflower petals, almonds, cactus flowers, cornflower blossoms and frothy steamed milk. My blue-haired neighbor says, "Oh it is so good. I highly recommend it." Also of interest on the menu, cold cantaloupe and nectarine soup ($5) and Welsh rarebit ($6). And a personal weakness, fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice. Sandwiches are retro-ly spiked with ribboned toothpicks.

Since I had not eaten yet at 5:30, a steak sandwich sure would have been nice, but to my surprise my order does leave me sated. A floured baguette holds within dill havarti, avocado, basily white bean spread, cuke for crunch and sprouts for a bitter note, served on a big white plate and prettily garnished with tomato and olive. A well thought-out and well-executed sandwich. Iced peppermint tea with white peach puree assaults with the scent of mint before it is even set down. It's carnation pink, the herbaceousness smoothed out by the fruit, and tastes like a minty ice pop.

On another occasion I order the pasta pesto salad. I am sized up and the side portion is recommended. The side of cold pasta shells in a pesto dressing ($5) has mild capers, is on the bland side, but is pleasant enough to snack on. I saw the entree version served to someone else, and had I been permitted to order it I'd probably still be there trying to finish it off. A sandwich of cashew butter, banana, honey and apple butter on white ($5) comes grilled to golden-brown perfection, is comfortably mushy and sticks to the roof of your mouth. The cashew butter is smooth and not grainy, but I wish it tasted nuttier. An iced mochaccino is a good partner for this cb&j. Quaffing the adult chocolate milk is like chawing on a dusky bittersweet chocolate bar. Your chef carefully garnishes each dish. Then bops his head to the blue-eyed jazz coming out of the speakers.

At one outdoor table two girls of the many-keys-on-belt-loop/cropped khakis/sleeveless-to-show-tattoos/shortshorn-hair-with-long-feathery-bangs-to-brush-over-one-eye/sneakered variety speak of secrets of letters to be sent. The cell is used to request the fetching of sweaters. And there's talk of an "unbounded" novel. A couple and a big sweet Rottie arrive. The woman is graceful enough to swing into a corner seat, but at tiny Teany, man and dog create what one of the khaki-clad says is a "Rubik's cube." Girls leap up and flutter to adjust tables, chairs and dog. Next to me sit two tall thin American women and a Brit. They are Soho shoppers who have drifted over. Discussion is of the price of a pair of sunglasses. Cellphones are pressed into service. The Brit orders a Newcastle, causing one thin blonde to look down her nose, "You're starting already?" "My throat hurts," is his logical explanation. Then they have a long discussion on whether the place is pronounced "teeny" or "tea N.Y." Then the waitress comes over and is asked by one blonde, "I think I'd just like a tea. Do you have that?" Then the tea requester realizes that she has had a cup of coffee earlier in the day. Her order is "a glass of water." Maybe we are not all made of stars.

Faces light up at the reciting of the dessert options. Oohs and aahs fall out of mouths when the luscious-looking chocolate peanut-butter bomb and strawberry cheesecake are brought. The waitress assents, "We ain't playing no game." Even the water-drinker is tempted to take half a bite of strawberry. If you're looking for tea, they have it at Teany. If you're looking for Moby, try the West Chelsea strip club Privilege.

Teany, 90 Rivington St. (betw. Orchard & Ludlow Sts.), 475-9190.

White Horse Tavern

We've worked up a hunger after hitting openings at galleries, trying on jewelry and picking up summer catalogs at HB, so we stop in for refreshments at a table for two near a window. My Cajun curly fries go missing and are reordered. When they arrive, they're not spicy enough. She does a good job on her burger. Girl talk ensues. I tell her that someone I'm dating is 25. She sniffs, "I'm through screwing around."

But then she says she doesn't hold out much hope of finding someone completely permanent; that she's a "serial monogamist." She asks, "Don't you lose interest in sleeping with someone when the relationship is dying out?" Um. "No." "But you only date good-looking guys." So sue me. "I'm looking for inner qualities," she one-ups. Okay, that's just about enough; let's compare and contrast. The 40ish guy she's dating wears coke-bottle glasses. When she suggests venturing all the way to Jones Beach, he says, "I like Central Park." The guy I'm dating wears hair gel and black and reads a travelogue of Kodiak Island with such intensity I believe he may transport himself there by sheer will. Her guy will not allow anyone into his apartment because it needs renovations. My guy invites me over plenty. Whenever the 'rents are out of town. Her guy takes her to hotels. My guy stays over at my place. After he calls his dad to let him know. Her guy won't let her join his book club because he wants to keep his personal life "separate." My guy invites me to see DJ Logic with his buds. She is already planning to turn it into a friend thing. I am already planning to pick up more of those nighties that caused the comments, "You look like a movie star" and "You really look so cute in that" and "Could you change into that orange thing?" Perhaps superficiality has its benefits.

I suggest she keep her options open, but she says, "Oh I could never see two men at the same time. I mean could you do that?" Um. "Yes." "Well I wouldn't lie." "I don't lie! I just...omit."

She says her soon-to-be-friend says the women he's dated wouldn't have intercourse with him, but would do everything else. She says, "I wouldn't put up with that if I were a guy." I say, "Well I'm cautious about that. You can get pregnant. Or sick." I'm dismissed: "Oh there's ways around that." "I made someone wait three months once. So he waited. And later, he asked me to marry him. But sounds like there's more to this story. Maybe he wouldn't use a condom." I can tell by the ensuing silence that I have hit on something. Later she says, "Well, I think he's low-risk because he hasn't had that many relationships." How can someone who graduated from the best university in this country be so stupid? Stepping out of the White Horse, I have to say, "I don't feel any more literary." She offers, "But you are drunker."

White Horse Tavern, 567 Hudson St. (betw. W. 11th & Perry Sts.), 989-3956.