#New Yorkers now consider waiting in line a joyful pandemic pastime

During a recent Saturday afternoon on Orchard Street, the Caribbean-tinged lounge/restaurant Las’ Lap attracts an outdoor crowd that revels in racial diversity and rum-leaning cocktails. Patrons line up for drinks and let loose after weeks of being cooped up and brought down by increasingly unsettling news events.

On the sidewalk, Greg Yuna, a jeweler who counts Pete Davidson as a customer, bonds with his boys — including former Knick Chris Smith and pro BMX rider Nigel Sylvester.

“This is my first time out since lockdown began,” Yuna says. “I can’t sit still anymore, and I want to be somewhere bumping. This is as bumping as it gets.”

According to co-owner Vincent Bryant, things are busier than they have been since the start of the pandemic.

“More than ever, people who want to see change in the world are coming out and being supportive [of black-owned enterprises] in any way they can,” says Bryant, noting his patrons’ overall desire to slowly and safely move on from the COVID-19 doldrums.

Las’ Lap is one of several booze-and-bites businesses that have become pandemic-era hot spots — and have the lines to prove it. Around New York City, foodies bide their time for seasoned and cured roast-it-yourself chicken at the Fly in Clinton Hill, fresh produce inside GrowNYC’s farmers market at Grand Army Plaza and summer-staple crustaceans at Red Hook Lobster Pound.

Across town from Las’ Lap, on MacDougal Street, a snaking queue of stylishly dressed customers, miraculously well-coiffed, stand 6 feet apart, waiting for pre-bottled cocktails and individually wrapped entrees at Caffe Dante.

The panini haven stands as one stop on a circuit of what now constitutes bar- and restaurant-hopping. “We had frozen margaritas on West Broadway,” says Brian Bergman, a 28-year-old digital marketer who was patiently waiting with a posse of pals. “Now we’re getting Manis [Manhattans], Negronis and sandwiches. Then it’s off to the park. Five years from now, this will be a memory about making the best of a bad situation — and how we didn’t mind being on line.”

As the New York food-and-drink world operates in takeout mode, outdoor lines are replacing the busy bars where patrons once cooled their heels in anticipation of desirable tables. There’s even a fresh dress code for those who want to look cool while waiting in place, namely statement-making face masks — there’s one patterned with $100 bills, another colored lime green and textured like a piece of fancy luggage.

“If not for coronavirus, I would not line up for cocktails and a croissant,” says Carly Pickup, an event planner in her 30s who lives in the Village. “But it feels nice to be out, among other people, in a responsible way” — which keeps her from stressing about catching the coronavirus on line.

Dante barback Liam Pierce, a 22-year-old Brooklynite, hands a pair of drinks to Pickup, who strolls home with one in each hand. Wearing a face mask that reads “SOS Send Negronis,” Pierce says, “The line attracts people. They come here and see waiting as a form of socializing.”

At Winner in Park Slope, guest chefs are part of the appeal and have included Melissa Weller (whose pizzas made Roberta’s into a runaway hit) and Amy Yi (the former West-bourne toque who puts on weekend “Kpop ups,” which routinely sell out of her Korean fried chicken).

Jack Noland, 24, a researcher who lives in the Slope, has waited up to an hour for his food at Winner. “It’s nice to be on line,” he says, adding that he recently had fish and chips made by Will Burgess of Aska fame. “You get a sense of community — and some good chats, mostly small talk, but good nevertheless — while waiting. Plus, you support a local business with tasty food that’s way better than typical takeout.”

Chef/owner Daniel Eddy opened Winner mid-pandemic, but he came in with a formula that works under the current situation, one that he hopes will endure once it passes: guest chefs on weeknights and, seven days a week, his own beautifully smoked, salted, spatchcock chicken (with potatoes cooked in drippings and a serving of veggies) that feeds four adults at a cost of $42.

All told, the restaurant puts out 150 dinners per week. Chickens should be ordered 24 hours ahead of time (for pickup between 5 and 7 p.m.), although patrons start lining up at about 9 a.m. for Paris-worthy croissants, cinnamon buns and various breads that go quickly.

One neighborhood away, in Carroll Gardens, pizza-lovers are enjoying a silver lining at normally no-reservations Lucali, where, pre-virus, waits for tables famously ran hours after you put your name on the list. These days, procuring one of Mark Iacono’s sublime pies requires getting through on the joint’s antiquated single-line phone system and reserving one of the 70 or so pizzas that get sold each day. The phone line for orders, and the restaurant itself, are open from 1 to 8 p.m. daily.

Sean Ullman, 38, a nonprofit fund-raiser who lives in the neighborhood, worked with a buddy of his to beat the busy signals. “We double-teamed it,” he says. “I called 200 times. Ordinarily, I come here and deal with the system, which is waiting outside for your turn to go in. Now it’s a new system. I deal with both of them because the pizza is so good.”

Across a table, set up to block the cash-only Lucali’s entrance, a female employee hands Ullman his pizza. Then she extends a red bucket and Ullman drops in $27 — the cost of a pie with pepperoni.

Iacono explains that he was initially concerned about germs on money — coming in and going out. “But we devised a solution,” he says. “We pour boiling hot water on the bills at the end of the night. It kills any potential virus, and then we hang it up to dry.” He smiles and jokes, “Call it old-school money laundering.”

While Iacono’s new system keeps the outside line to a maximum of 15 or so patrons, who wait to pick up pizzas at designated times — complete with distancing tape — Las’ Lap echoes Manhattan during the freewheeling 1980s.

In front and outdoors, people buy rounds, down shots, line up to order fresh drinks and party like it’s, well, February. Hip-hop plays loud enough to be heard but not so loud that it disturbs neighbors. Masks slip on and off. People shake hands and bro hug. Wings and jerk-chicken spring rolls are ordered and eaten. Things may not be up to the standards of Dr. Anthony Fauci (a k a, as per David Spade, on “The Howard Stern Show,” Dr. Grouchy), but it’s not the Lake of the Ozarks either.

Then, before anyone can forget what we’re in the middle of, a guy they call Surfer Sam strolls up. Patrons break into applause.

“Essential worker, people!” shouts Las’ Lap co-owner Bryant. “Essential worker!”

Surfer Sam, a registered nurse, with his mask firmly in place, steps to the ordering table for a drink. “Being an essential worker is bigger than being a rock star,” says Bryant. “He goes right to the front of the line.”

Bryant is happy to have some semblance of his business back, although he wants to see his clientele occupying tables rather than the sidewalk. “Some of our best customers are here for the first time in months. I’m enjoying that,” he says. “But what I’m really waiting for is to get everybody back inside.”