The Jamaican bobsled team...
... has nothing to do with this new place.
But you’re smiling now (thanks, Doug E. Doug).
And you’re primed for some Jamaica action, so...
Say hello to Kingston Hall, a dimly lit house of subtle mod Jamaican-ness and its accompanying yen for rum, opening Friday in the East Village.
First: the place comes courtesy of the tasteful bar masterminds behind Shoolbred’s and Ninth Ward. And if visions of dark, private booths and fireside cocktails come to mind, well, you’ve nailed it.
Only this time around, it’s all happening in a wide-open, stained-glassed space that combines elements of a church and an early ’60s dance hall (minus the dancing)—complete with a pool table and your favorite distilled-cane-sugar beverage served in coconuts (just like it’s done down there).
There’s also an antique grandfather clock and almost no signs of Jah anywhere...
So if you can’t really see what makes the place Jamaican, just remember: who cares. Also: the jerk chicken speaks for itself. So bring a post-work cohort along and stake out a few stools on the veranda overlooking beautiful Second Avenue. This is where your best-laid plans of possibly calling in sick tomorrow will eventually take shape.
Verandas are breeding grounds for that kind of trouble.
... has nothing to do with this new place.
But you’re smiling now (thanks, Doug E. Doug).
And you’re primed for some Jamaica action, so...
Say hello to Kingston Hall, a dimly lit house of subtle mod Jamaican-ness and its accompanying yen for rum, opening Friday in the East Village.
First: the place comes courtesy of the tasteful bar masterminds behind Shoolbred’s and Ninth Ward. And if visions of dark, private booths and fireside cocktails come to mind, well, you’ve nailed it.
Only this time around, it’s all happening in a wide-open, stained-glassed space that combines elements of a church and an early ’60s dance hall (minus the dancing)—complete with a pool table and your favorite distilled-cane-sugar beverage served in coconuts (just like it’s done down there).
There’s also an antique grandfather clock and almost no signs of Jah anywhere...
So if you can’t really see what makes the place Jamaican, just remember: who cares. Also: the jerk chicken speaks for itself. So bring a post-work cohort along and stake out a few stools on the veranda overlooking beautiful Second Avenue. This is where your best-laid plans of possibly calling in sick tomorrow will eventually take shape.
Verandas are breeding grounds for that kind of trouble.
