It’s the Sunshine State by way of Gowanus at this pastel-streaked Floridian playground, where shuffleboard revivalists Jonathan Schnapp and Ashley Albert have retooled lido-deck kitsch for beer-fisted millennials. At the 17,000-square-foot game hall, neck-tattooed skaters and fly girls dressed like Miley Cyrus gather over $40-an-hour rounds of biscuit and tang (shufflespeak for pucks and poles), forming a scene that’s as flamboyantly Boca as it is staunchly Brooklyn.
ORDER THIS: Outfitted like Margaritaville-bound Jimmy Buffetts, bartenders serve sunny umbrella drinks inspired by alligator-belt shuffleboard greats, like the rum-and-grapefruit Christine Page Punch ($11). Better, though, is the bar’s beer list, offering a who’s who of craft suds (Smuttynose, Captain Lawrence, Left Hand). Balancing the booze, a rotating roster of food trucks (Morris Grilled Cheese, Phil’s Steaks) hawk utensil-free bites from a corner docking bay.
GOOD FOR: Both veteran shufflers and court virgins. The ten swimming-pool-blue lanes are regulation-size, and there’s league play for those who actually know their cherries (scoring in the ten-point box on the last shot) from their pepperonis (all four biscuits in scoring position). If you’re less skilled with a tang, the white-clad waitstaff is quick with tips (stay out of the “kitchen,” the negative-ten-point section), demonstrations (tang claws to the ceiling, stoppers down toward the floor) and ref calls when discs veer too close to the lines.
THE CLINCHER: What sets the club apart from similarly minded rec drinkeries—bocce den Union Hall, Skee-Ball haven Full Circle—is its slick treatment of Florida kitsch. Colorful flags rep shuffleboard towns like Daytona Beach, and the bathroom is selfie-ready with campy pink-flamingo wallpaper, but striped cabanas and gleaming courts add a welcome dose of polish. With bingo nights hosted by drag icons Linda Simpson and Murray Hill (Bowery Poetry Club, XL Nightclub) and bawdy shuffleboard-team names like Pootie Tang and Fussy Puckers on the scoreboard, this sure ain’t your granny’s hootenanny.—Christina Izzo