‘The train’s the thing wherein to catch a five-star dinner’

Riding the subway on a daily basis can often seem mundane. We board the same trains; we see the same people; we wait in the same spot on the same platform at the same time every morning. By and large, the subways fail to surprise, and when they do, the surprises generally come in the form of unwelcome delays or trains cars that are more crowded than usual. That’s just the way of things in the world of underground commuting.

Now and then, though, intrepid — or foolhardy — New Yorkers try to shake us from our routine. We hear about guerrilla art projects in abandoned stations or spot the Rebel Alliance on the 6 train. Every year, thousands of people ride the subways with no pants on. Some people find the performance art stunts entertaining; others are annoyed by them. Still, they continue.

In fact, recently, a Rockaway-bound L train played host to a clandestine dining experience while a troupe of Shakespeare actors have taken to performing in the subway. Melena Ryzik of The Times found herself eating on the L this past Sunday. She reports of boarding an empty train at 8th Avenue and finding it taken over by hungry and in-the-know straphangers. She writes:

Within moments, a car of the waiting train was transformed into a traveling bistro, complete with tables, linens, fine silverware and a bow-tied maître d’hôtel. “Is this your first time dining on the second car of the L train?” he asked, as guests filed in.

They had been lured by the promise of a clandestine dining experience. (“Please go to the North East Corner of 8th Ave and 14th St,” read the instructions e-mailed early that morning. “There will be a tall slender woman there with jet black hair who is holding an umbrella. Please just go up and introduce yourself. Her name is Michele and she is quite lovely, but no matter how hard you press she won’t tell you about the adventure you are going on.”)

The event was the work of several supper clubs, and the menu they devised was luxurious: caviar, foie gras and filet mignon, and for dessert, a pyramid of chocolate panna cotta, dusted with gold leaf. All of it was accessible with a MetroCard swipe (Michele handed out single-ride passes) and orchestrated with clockwork precision. The six-course extravaganza took only a half-hour.

It wasn’t rush hour, so seating was easy. The tables (lap-width black planks, with holes cut to fit water glasses) were tied to the subway railings with twine. Tucking in behind them felt something like being buckled into a roller coaster. At 1:30 p.m., a few minutes ahead of schedule, the train lurched off.

As the train proceeded east, passengers found themselves thrust into a meal while chefs from various restaurants boarded the L to serve their course. One rider had thoughts echoed by many. “I had this fantastic lunch,” Paul Smith, a CUNY professor said to The Times, “very exquisite. And then I thought, am I going to get arrested?”

The MTA did not seem to find the event all that charming though. “A dinner party on the L train?” Spokesman Charles Seaton said. “No. Subway trains are for riding, not for holding parties.”

If dinner on the trains isn’t your thing — after all, not everyone believes the subways are for dining — how about some Shakespeare instead? Jo Piazza of The Wall Street Journal met with two actors from Brooklyn who reenact Shakespeare on the subway. Paul Marino, 29 years old, and Fred Jones, 26, spend 20 hours a week, primarily on the N, R, J, M or Z trains, acting out scenes from “Macbeth,” “Romeo and Juliet” and “Hamlet,” among others.

So far the two, who are featured in the video above, have found audiences receptive, but drunk riders will harass them. The pair, who make a few bucks per performance, have even managed to finagle some dates with the women in their crowds. Perhaps all the world is truly a stage after all.