The Emperor's New Bar

There's a fine line between a stripped down, edgy, no frills bar and just a crap bar, as we discovered this weekend in the West Village.

The very hip Little Branch straddles that line. Which side it ultimately lands on probably depends on whether you're a jazz-shoe-and-braces-wearing 20 something or, um, not. We are not. We are in our late 30s, and perhaps not truly hip. Sorry TLOML, just saying... Also, we are bar snobs. If we wait in line, as we reluctantly did, by an unmarked door, we expect that once we pass through that door we will be in a beautifully (or at least wittily) decorated space with fabulous cocktails and impeccable service.

I know, I know, we're a tough crowd. But come on! This is New York! Blame the likes of Employees Only and Weather Up for spoiling us. Even Bathtub Gin, though it's not our scene, has that brilliant 'secret entrance, fantastic interior' thing down pat.

Little Branch certainly does the secret entrance, unmarked door thing well. The door is so skanky looking - and the wait to get in so long - that I was sure the interior would be a veritable palace.

Sadly not. The NY Magazine review describes the decor as 'a warm color scheme of mustard-painted walls and low ceilings made from orange-painted sheets of corrugated steel'. I think they're being generous. I'm pretty sure the space hasn't been repainted since its former life as a dank, damp basement. That corrugated steel just happened to be there. As for the cocktails, I'm sure they're excellent - Little Branch is from the same family as Milk and Honey - but our patience wore out too quickly for us to order.

Anyway, no harm done. We bailed and headed to our favourite West Village bar: Fedora. The neon sign is visible from a block away, and there's no line to get in. But don't let that put you off: it's just a good old fashioned bar, with a killer cocktail list. A bar that has a cocktail named after the Honey Badger is one which does not take itself too seriously, and for that, Fedora, we salute you.

More speakin' easy

As promised, I have been exploring some of NY's hidden bars (for which read - ostensibly secret but actually hugely popular and well documented bars leaping on the speakeasy trendwagon).

Last night we had a nice friends and family dinner at Pastis, at the Wondertwin's behest. Afterwards we decided it would be plain silly to go home at a civilised hour on a Sunday night. Instead we wandered down into the Village, to Employees Only.

If you want somewhere that feels slightly clandestine even before you enter, Employees Only fits the bill. The bar has blacked out windows, and a flouro psychic sign is the only indication of occupancy.

As you approach the storefront, a burly chap who looks like he's waiting for a bus apprehended us. I think he just wanted to check that we knew what we are about.

'Are you here for a drink?' he mutters. 'Affirmative,' we responded. Apparently satisfied, he let us pass.
 
Inside, there actually is a psychic sitting in the doorway. Thirsty, we passed on the whole ESP experience, and headed into the bar. Despite being late on a Sunday, it was pretty busy and with significantly more atmosphere than the Lenox Lounge midweek.

The burlesque girl on our visit was less skinny and also not dancing on the bar. But the vibe was similar.

The bar staff are quite intense and really super super serious. I suspect they don't call themselves bartenders, or even mixologists, but something far more heavyweight like 'Creative Director of Taste Combination.' They denied our request for a virgin bloody mary, insisting 'we don't do that', as if we'd just asked them to slaughter a small child. (The tomato juice and celery behind them gave the lie away). During the fifteen minutes it took the two of them to prepare a couple of cocktails neither one of them cracked a smile or made eye contact with us. It probably disturbs the vapours or something.

Still, well worth the wait. The cocktails were superb. Mine went straight into my Top 3 Perfect Manhattans of All Time list. The music was danceably good (Stevie Wonder, how can you not break out?! Although the Wondertwin and I did wonder why no-one else felt the same way. Fools). And we got treated to a little impromptu burlesque show to boot.

All in all, an excellent way to wind up a quiet Sunday night dinner. Hurrah for the speakeasy! Campbell's Apartment tomorrow...

Speakeasies and secret bars

'In secret' appears to be the hottest way to drink right now. In fact if Boardwalk Empire is anything to go by, this has long been the case here in the States.

It's one of those things that just doesn't translate to the UK, where there's no need to hide your bottle in a brown paper bag. The closest we got to prohibition was in 1736, when the Gin Act imposed a prohibitively high duty on gin. Thanks to mass riots the tax was scrapped within 5 years. Ha! Take that, fun killers.

My first intro to the coolness of clandestine drinking in the US was courtesy of the fabulous and all-knowing Erinn V. She took us to La Descarga, in deepest darkest Hollywood. At first sight the man on the street with the clipboard was guarding access to a flight of lino-covered stairs which reminded me of my old dentist in Kentish Town.

Not the La Descarga entrance, but quite similar

At the stairs you arrive in another time and place altogether: the bedroom of a devoutly Catholic lady of many decades ago. Step into her wardrobe, as if heading for Narnia, and you emerge on the other side into a gorgeous little hall of a rum bar. It's an absolute gem and since I have left LA I don't mind sharing the secret (sorry Erinn...).

Inside La Descarga

New York may be a different matter. I plan on exploring a few more of these drinking dens, but am not sure I'll be revealing the details of all of them. Just in case my massive readership rushes in and ruins the hush-hush vibe.

For example, I know of a fun bar called PDT, which stands for Please Don't Tell. It's accessed through a phone booth in a hot dog place, but due to its name I will not reveal which hot dog place.

This last weekend we hit Cienfuegos, which we had heard was a bit of a hidden gem.. It was fun, charmingly shabbily Cuban, and with all the good rums available. But way too easy to find and to enter. So I don't mind spilling the beans on that one.

My hunt for the best in secret boozing continues. An old drinking buddy of mine, who used to smuggle bottles of vodka into the rather hip and expensive Highgate, to oil the wheels of our shameless flirting with the hot - or so we thought in those days - bar men, moves to NY next week. We are starting her introduction to NYC at The Campbell Apartment, a bar in an old flat in Grand Central. It's not that secret - but after that I promise you it'll be onwards and underground-wards for us.

The Campbell Apartment

There's everything to play for now. My Wondertwin arrives for a vacation pretty soon, and she'll settle for nothing less than hard liquor in illicit surroundings. Thanks to the research I am assiduously carrying out - and to her husband* - we should be able to hit a few quality speakeasies pretty hard.

Look out secret bars, we're coming to find you!


*Officially one of the world's finest husbands, not only because he does such a good job staying home with t'bairn while we sip wine, but also for his services to amazing pastrymaking.