It’s been a good long while since there was a bar on Broadway below 14th Street worth a damn.
Actually, 156 years, to be exact.
Which makes what we’re about to say next sort of a watershed moment.
(Pause for dramatic drumroll.)
(Re)introducing The Vault at Pfaff’s, an original, posh, 1850s upscale cocktail cellar that’s returning to salvage your NoHo-bound date nights, discreetly open right now.
If you’re thinking that something feels awfully familiar about the vaulted brick archways, old-timey photographs and hunting lodge vibe in this unmarked speakeasy, that’s probably because you remember when it housed Woodson and Ford. Well, that or you used to come here for pisco sours with Walt Whitman during the Pierce administration.
Once upon a time, this well-appointed cave used to be a magnet for covert trysts, late-night small plates and Mark Twain–led drinking games. Today, except for running water, electricity and a lack of mutton sliders, it’s not all that different.
You’ll still head here for the sort of downtown date nights best kept hidden behind a bouncer-guarded door and beneath several feet of sidewalk. And after you’ve inconspicuously carved out a shadowy place in the basement (preferably one that includes a velvet brocade sofa), corset-constricted waitresses will appear with egg-white-fluffed drinks and a menu of frenched lamb chops and truffled mac and cheese.
Speak slowly. They’re taking your order with an ink-dipped quill.
Actually, 156 years, to be exact.
Which makes what we’re about to say next sort of a watershed moment.
(Pause for dramatic drumroll.)
(Re)introducing The Vault at Pfaff’s, an original, posh, 1850s upscale cocktail cellar that’s returning to salvage your NoHo-bound date nights, discreetly open right now.
If you’re thinking that something feels awfully familiar about the vaulted brick archways, old-timey photographs and hunting lodge vibe in this unmarked speakeasy, that’s probably because you remember when it housed Woodson and Ford. Well, that or you used to come here for pisco sours with Walt Whitman during the Pierce administration.
Once upon a time, this well-appointed cave used to be a magnet for covert trysts, late-night small plates and Mark Twain–led drinking games. Today, except for running water, electricity and a lack of mutton sliders, it’s not all that different.
You’ll still head here for the sort of downtown date nights best kept hidden behind a bouncer-guarded door and beneath several feet of sidewalk. And after you’ve inconspicuously carved out a shadowy place in the basement (preferably one that includes a velvet brocade sofa), corset-constricted waitresses will appear with egg-white-fluffed drinks and a menu of frenched lamb chops and truffled mac and cheese.
Speak slowly. They’re taking your order with an ink-dipped quill.
