August is a time of casual diversions, lazy Sundays and even lazier Mondays.
But when Tuesday becomes even more languid, well, that’s a sign that all this summer casualness is approaching a dangerous crescendo.
The only possible antidote we can think of: a crisp gin martini, preferably in a handsomely appointed lounge of a slightly formal persuasion.
Introducing Salon Millesime, a glossy new vintage hotel lounge, opening tonight in NoMad for your cocktailing, sultry live music and late-night lounging needs.
Designed as a regal rumpus room for Sinatra and Fitzgerald types, Millesime (French for vintage) is decked out in tiger-printed chairs, ebony and bronze tables and a retro cocktail list to match: sidecars, Last Words and martinis on top of martinis.
It’s the sort of dark, seductive space where you might find yourself getting a little comfortable with a French 75-loving date, and all the while not realizing that an alluring chanteuse in a red dress has taken the low-slung stage at the center of the lounge.
Her job is to make you forget all about the pork belly lollipops and croque-monsieurs you’ve been snacking on, and descend deeper and deeper into the quiet, gin-bathed haze of an old school evening as a master piano man tickles the ivories on the salon’s grand Steinway.
Just to clear up any confusion, that’s a piano.
But when Tuesday becomes even more languid, well, that’s a sign that all this summer casualness is approaching a dangerous crescendo.
The only possible antidote we can think of: a crisp gin martini, preferably in a handsomely appointed lounge of a slightly formal persuasion.
Introducing Salon Millesime, a glossy new vintage hotel lounge, opening tonight in NoMad for your cocktailing, sultry live music and late-night lounging needs.
Designed as a regal rumpus room for Sinatra and Fitzgerald types, Millesime (French for vintage) is decked out in tiger-printed chairs, ebony and bronze tables and a retro cocktail list to match: sidecars, Last Words and martinis on top of martinis.
It’s the sort of dark, seductive space where you might find yourself getting a little comfortable with a French 75-loving date, and all the while not realizing that an alluring chanteuse in a red dress has taken the low-slung stage at the center of the lounge.
Her job is to make you forget all about the pork belly lollipops and croque-monsieurs you’ve been snacking on, and descend deeper and deeper into the quiet, gin-bathed haze of an old school evening as a master piano man tickles the ivories on the salon’s grand Steinway.
Just to clear up any confusion, that’s a piano.
