In a post-Chumley’s world, “speakeasy” is no more than a marketing adjective aimed at influencers (rendering any argument to the contrary an absurdity) The Back Room has some bona fides. Tucked behind the ghost of Ratner’s legendary kosher dairy restaurant (I still pine for that mushroom barley soup!), The Back Room was a real-ass speakeasy in the 1920s. Back then, you’d slip through a hidden door hoping no prohees or coppers got wise or you’d wind up in the hoosgow. Today, the main risk you run is tripping over someone filming content for their “hidden NYC gems” reel.
Inside is where The Back Room casts its spell: velvet armchairs, ornate chandeliers, big baroque paintings, high stamped-tin ceilings and a brick fireplace that once warmed the knees of gangsters and their molls. It’s low-lit, vibey and beautiful–an undeniably special space with history you can feel. There’s even a “hidden” back room behind a bookshelf.
There are beers, a few wines, and some mocktails. They’ve got Moet and Dom if you’re in the market. The cocktails aren’t ornate or inventive—espresso martini, Corpse Reviver, spicy marg. The bartenders are pros and will whip up whatever you want, but this place isn’t really about putting mixologists through their paces. It’s crowd-pleasing, which isn’t a bad thing. The hook is really in the presentation: drinks come in teacups atop saucers. It’s a wink at the bar’s bootlegging days—a gimmick but an undeniably cute one.
If you come midweek, the place is likely to have plenty of room, which is cool if you’re there as a history buff aiming to appreciate the place itself. Weekends, you can find a much more lively crowd and, in a sense, that might be the best time to go–when the place is bustling and in full effect. On Mondays, there’s live jazz. Fridays and Saturdays, the place raises the age for entry to 25–an absolute mercy for anyone who’s ever gone out to a bar on the LES during the weekend. And there’s a short but sweet dress code in effect all the time (that should be written into law): no baseball hats, no flip flops, no tank tops (for men only), and no real fur.
The Back Room is one of the last of its near-extinct breed. It’s a fun novelty that keeps things (mostly) classy, and the digs are the bees' knees. It’s not selling much more than the fact of itself, but that’s not a bad thing. It’s a cool bar for sure, worth going to. But when modern speakeasies outspeakeasy the speakeasy, you’re going here because this city is absolutely ruthless. And, if you don’t, you might never get the chance to step into history in quite the same way.