Looks like winter found you.
1. Damn. 2. Time to revert to the old consume-lots-of-meat-and-cocktails method of coping.
And hey, here’s the perfect place...
Get comfortable at Cole’s Greenwich Village, a classic wedge of cocktails, carnivorous delights and vintage Greenwich Village charm, opening tonight.
This is the Jimmy at the James Hotel guys’ second opening in the past week. This time, it’s in the old Lyon spot. Which is now a cross between the civilized era of commuter rail travel and a bar Dylan Thomas would’ve stumbled into/out of. Part dry-aged New York strip. Part bourbon-honey-mint-peppercorn cocktail. All post-workday joymongering.
Here’s how we see this going.
Say you’re standing at the entrance. To your left, the bar—sort of a 45-degree-angled hunk of wooden warmth lit by fog lamps and old-timey orbs. It’s here where you’ll grab a stool, rub your hands together, blow a hot breath and demand hot buttered rum (if ever there were a week for it...).
But let’s say you’re in for the long haul. The full dinner haul. Go right. Past the train benches and overhead luggage racks. Into the main dining room. Snatch one of the arched leather banquettes for “talking business” and “talking the finer points of pancetta-topped salmon and double-cut pork chops.”
Eating those things would be a strong play, too.
1. Damn. 2. Time to revert to the old consume-lots-of-meat-and-cocktails method of coping.
And hey, here’s the perfect place...
Get comfortable at Cole’s Greenwich Village, a classic wedge of cocktails, carnivorous delights and vintage Greenwich Village charm, opening tonight.
This is the Jimmy at the James Hotel guys’ second opening in the past week. This time, it’s in the old Lyon spot. Which is now a cross between the civilized era of commuter rail travel and a bar Dylan Thomas would’ve stumbled into/out of. Part dry-aged New York strip. Part bourbon-honey-mint-peppercorn cocktail. All post-workday joymongering.
Here’s how we see this going.
Say you’re standing at the entrance. To your left, the bar—sort of a 45-degree-angled hunk of wooden warmth lit by fog lamps and old-timey orbs. It’s here where you’ll grab a stool, rub your hands together, blow a hot breath and demand hot buttered rum (if ever there were a week for it...).
But let’s say you’re in for the long haul. The full dinner haul. Go right. Past the train benches and overhead luggage racks. Into the main dining room. Snatch one of the arched leather banquettes for “talking business” and “talking the finer points of pancetta-topped salmon and double-cut pork chops.”
Eating those things would be a strong play, too.
