Rising Son
Meet Clarkson. It’s Magnificent.

Zebras. Trumpet mushrooms. Aviation. Absinthe. Femmes fatales. Oysters. Dubiously acquired 1940s German shelving.

Things could get wild for you tonight...

It’ll happen at Clarkson, an imposing den of bivalve indulgence and masterly cocktails from the Café Noir guys, opening tonight in the West Village.

Imagine Rick’s from Casablanca melded with the Spruce Goose, and you’d have this. The kind of place where sexy, mysterious people from all over the world would come to escape their dark pasts. It’s a lot to conquer, but here’s how you’ll do it...

Camp out at the bar and send one over to the madam across the way.
The bar is, well... spectacular. A massive wooden horseshoe number with enough surface area for you to pile plates of oysters, duck-leg confit and cognac-and-chai-vermouth cocktails (dreamed up by an Employees Only founder) and still have space.

Grab half of one of those mint-green linoleum four-tops.
They’re from the ’40s. And France. Share some charred octopus and a bottle of pinot noir. Wait until the sun sets. Let the sexy lighting do its thing. Suddenly, your date is going spectacularly.

Host a safari-themed soiree.
You love safari-themed soirees. And they’ve got a room with hand-painted zebra-print walls. Call it the Zebra Room. That can be yours, along with a suspicious amount of superlative bourbons and scotches.

Which ought to go nicely with your pith helmet.