Tropical vacations seem like a great idea, but half way through them your wife always ends up banging a scuba instructor and, worse, turns out you're Ben Stiller. For a Polynesian getaway safely in the city, there's Hurricane Club, opening early next week. This massive (13,000 sqft) newcomer went all out to create a vibe of genteel Colonial tiki-ism (more club than beach), with uniquely-decor'd elevated spaces like the Lagoon Lounge (oversized coral & shell fireplace, 10ft three-tiered barnacle chandelier) and the Cave Rooms (mosquito net curtains & red-glowing fishbowl fixtures) surrounding the architectural main course: the Hurricane Room, resplendent in butternut caning panels and with a golden-bead chandelier looming over the central bar like a shimmering boat, though everyone down below will be hunting for booty. The menu offers smaller pupu tastes before getting impressive with Societe Island Grills proffering simply grilled proteins (tri tip, octopus, etc) w/ 6 house sauces; platters of crispy Peking pig w/ steamed pork buns; and 72-hr-notice whole table Luaus, which run from crispy big island fish to dungeness messy crab, though it's hard to stay sanitary when you're stuck in ye olde prison. The cocktails aren't to be outdone, and come broken into categories from "To Share" punch combos (the #480 w/ Pitu, spiced passion fruit & muddled ginger), to port-of-call-inspired "Voyages" (the Knob Creek/mandarin/bay leaf Tahiti gets toasted rice for a "flavor popular in Bora Bora"), to "In The Shell" options served in melons, red peppers, and coconuts that're "hand drilled" at the bar, appropriate as that's the only kind of drilling you'll be up to afterwards. And while there're Pacific Rim wines and suds, the rum list dwarfs them all, with over 150 options including plenty of overproofs and spiced jobs, more than 30 each of dark and gold, and 40+ aged affairs, exactly what you'll be stuck with when your wife's off cave diving.