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Down in the Financial District, you can find a few spaces animated by the threadbare spirit of old New York. And though it may not be even close to the oldest establishment in the city, the neighborhood, or even this list, The Dead Rabbit cultivates that all-too elusive atmosphere to great effect. That’s not to say this place is old-man-y; though you can certainly enjoy an expertly-pulled Guinness or nice glass of wine in the warm, inviting environs, Dead Rabbit’s inventive cocktail program earns it a place on critics’ lists year after year.
The vibe:Â Old New York but innovative.
The food: The food menu consists mostly of well-realized Irish-core but it there’s plenty of vegetarian takes on the favorites, so how can I not recommend the all-day Irish Breakfast?
The drink: Order a citrusy Sunlit Sin cocktail starring vodka, Yuzu, and tangerine.
This Revolutionary-era tavern now operates as the first stateside outpost of Dublin’s Porterhouse Brewing Company. Tangles of filament bulbs above the bar and distressed mirrors on the walls smack of artificial ye-oldeness, but the real pedigree of the place still holds appeal for beer-swilling history buffs, who can geek out over the thought of George Washington drinking here in the 1700s. Hoist imperial pints of Porterhouse’s own brews—we like the smooth, slightly tangy Oyster Stout and the easy-drinking Porterhouse Red—or sample the globe-trotting selection of guest beers, including Victory Prima Pils on tap and bottles of Schlenkerla smoked beer.
Overstory is as cozy as a music box in the sky inside, with views that seem to go on forever out on the wrap-around terrace. Perched on the 64th floor of 70 Pine Street above sibling spots Crown Shy and Saga, it's the just-drinks cherry on top of the trio of outstanding spots. The futniture's plush, the cocktails are crafty and even the ice is extra nice at what's become one of NYC's most elegant cocktail destinations since it opened last year.Â
The Moxy’s Recreation is the tucked-in polo shirt of bars. It’s not our style—both sartorially and venue-wise—but there was a large crowd that certainly seemed to be enjoying it on the weeknight when we went, so if that’s your look, then go for it, sport.
Inside the Financial District hotel, elevator doors open to a 5,000-square-foot area that, during bankers’ hours, is a communal workspace, but by happy hour it becomes a bar and the preferred fuel changes from coffee to cocktails. The intent was to make Recreation feel like “the ultimate living room for the neighborhood,” with shuffleboard, Skee-Ball and Ms. Pac-Man in digs hugged by warm wood and throwback, yellowish lighting. That sounds good on paper—and looks great in photos—but, in person, it felt as if Refinery29 Rooms had built a 30th facade called “Cool-Guy Man Cave” and dropped it in Manhattan.
The on-tap cocktails and shared plates do have the going-over-to-a-friend’s-house-to-watch-the-game vibe—that is, if your friend is adept at mixing a pitcher of margaritas (note, however: there are no TVs at Recreation). Curiously, even though the cocktails were premade, the service crawled, but the snacks were dad-on-Pinterest-level cute: We are now adding the everything-bagel–inspired flatbread and the chicken-and-waffles on a stick to our Super Bowl menu.
In a room off the bar sits a slick, single-hoop basketball court. A private holiday party was underway—the space is open to the public, when not rented—but we crashed...
It looks like slumming hipsters will put up with anything to say they’ve been to a “legendary” strip club. That’s the only explanation for the Pussycat’s current vogue. The decor is shabby; the strippers, predictably bored; and the management, unabashed about airing unpleasant prejudices. If you must go, eschew the desperation downstairs in favor of the upstairs lounge. Its wooden beams and vaulted ceiling oddly bring to mind a countryside retreat—now frequented by the prepsters who call the Financial District home.
If there ever was a bar fit for the Sherman McCoys and Patrick Batemans of New York, this new offering from David Tobias and Eric Adolfsen should technically be it. Tucked into the base of the storied Woolworth Building, an old-world skyscraper with a $110 million penthouse under construction, a 100-year-old gilded lobby and a location plumb in the heart of the Financial District, all the stars seemed aligned for the bar to fulfill its soft-jazz, $25-cocktail destiny. Instead, the publike barroom—a sister bar to private-event space the Wooly—touts its stately ancestry not with highfalutin fare or snooty service but with cheeky woolly mammoth paintings and Whitney Houston on blast. The inevitable suits gather by the bar, but a more mixed crowd can be found munching burgers and sipping cocktails among hanging plants, framed vintage photos and faux-marble wallpaper in the sitting area. It may not exude the luxe grandiosity that F.W. Woolworth envisioned for his skyscraper, but it certainly gives his vision a rollicking run for its money.
ORDER THIS: The cocktail menu by Eryn Reece (Death & Co.) is divided into two sections: Old Souls and New Editions ($15), with the former riffing on early-20th-century drinks and the latter comprising modern quaffs. Of the New Editions, the vodka-based Icelandic Pop evokes none of its frosty name, instead manifesting as a rich, bittersweet twist on a tropical drink with aquavit, raspberry syrup and ginger. Twisting the Lion’s Tail, a 1930s...
This FiDi pub, which sports a mahogany bar that was salvaged from the legendary Stork Club, pours pints of Guinness and serves classics like shepherd’s pie, and sausages and mash.
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Been there, done that? Think again, my friend.
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