The real housewives of Murray Hill

On a recent Thursday evening, the “hottie alert” is sounded at a no-frills pizzeria in Murray Hill. “Hottie alert!” screams Esther Silber, a self-proclaimed socialite.

Dizzy on pizza and wine, her girlfriends crane their necks as a man in a suit walks into Garlic restaurant. He cocks his head toward the shrieks. “Oh, that’s just ‘The Doctor,’ ” says Sabina Safanov, 32.

“He drives a Bentley!” responds Silber, 35, pointing to the sidewalk, which is lined with a fleet of high-end cars.

Pies, wine, gossip — and, if they’re lucky, the occasional eligible male prospect — are the typical ingredients of “Girls Night Out at Garlic,” a weekly pizza-joint gathering of the type of blinged-out babes who are more often associated with Bravo reality shows.

Every Thursday night since Garlic opened last July, Silber and her stiletto-clad besties hold court by a long table facing the sidewalk. Silber’s boyfriend, Sasha Berg (one of Garlic’s co-owners), sends over an endless parade of complimentary food and drink. It’s like the Real Housewives of Murray Hill, except that on this night, only two of the 20 attendees are married. The women look out of place in Garlic’s bare-bones décor, which consists of wooden tables and not much else. But when they’re in house, the ladies manage to decorate.

“Oh my God, when my girlfriends come it’s all Birkins and Chanel. Birkins everywhere!” explains Silber, who says she focuses on her philanthropy full time.

She places her $8,000 taupe Hermes Birkin bag on a wicker chair. “A Birkin always gets its own chair, and that’s the truth,” Silber adds, in case there is any doubt.

After Garlic, the women usually head to Catch or 1Oak to continue the festivities. “Last week at Provocateur was crazy,” says Safanov.

“Every heavy hitter from St. Barts was there.”

At Garlic, Silber and her gal pals are the heavy hitters. And Cartier Love bracelets — the $5,000-plus bangles that are locked onto the wearer’s wrist and can only be opened by screwdriver — are the equivalent of gang colors for the Girl’s Night Out posse.

Once everyone is seated, Silber and another pal discuss the possibility of opening a fancy children’s-clothing store in Manhattan. (Silber used to own one in Miami.) But Silber, a mother of two, isn’t convinced that the time is right to strike. “We’re also a very small percentage . . . [most] people shop at Target. We’re the . . . what was it called? Occupy ? . . . occupy?” She stops, searching for the word.

Someone jumps in: “Occupy Wall Street!” “Wall Street. Yes,” says Silber. “We’re the 1 percent.”

Once it is determined that the rest of the city isn’t willing to shell out $500 for Gucci dresses for their tots, it’s photo-taking time. The iPhones are whipped out. Poses are made. Pictures are taken. Champagne is consumed.

Tonight a special-order $200 black-caviar pizza is on the table, along with 10 other pies.

“This is the one night that we eat,” admits Silber. “Listen, we have to look good, but one night a week, when we’re at Garlic, we indulge.”

Men stop dead in their tracks on the street when they spot the Garlic Girls. “Hell yeah, I’m going to come in here!” says Chris Venezia, a 29-year-old therapist who was on his way home from work when the “GNO” lured him in.

“I’ve eaten some good pizza, but never this combination before,” he says, before begging Safanov for

her number.

Needless to say, the Garlic Girls are good for business.

“Women always attract the men. The men have the money and always buy for the women,” explains Antonio Grande, 36, another co-owner of Garlic.

But just as they’re about to dig into a Nutella dessert pizza, a fire erupts on the table. One of the

napkins has fallen into a candle. The women scream.

Luckily, Anna Stanislalvsky, a 25-year-old student at Pace who looks like a sexed-up version of Amanda Bynes, puts things in perspective.

“At least it wasn’t a Birkin,” she says.

dschuster@nypost.com