Now there’s someone you have nothing in common with.
(We’re taking a leap of faith that you’re not a singing and dancing 9-year-old girl.)
Yet for some reason, a bar still wants you to follow in her footsteps.
Meet The Haberdasher, a spirited attic in the Meatpacking District that’s prepared to tailor, invent and potentially name a cocktail in your honor, now open.
It’s located two flights above 5 Ninth. It’s got a couple of brick fireplaces. A bunch of tufted velvet sofas. Some small plates (farm-fresh wings with homemade hot sauce). And gin. Lots of gin.
You’ll show up when you need a cocktail, the company of one of the area’s more fashionable residents or a heavy dose of the 1920s. Yes, Thursdays are for interactive burlesque shows. Interactive... right.
The barman here specializes in creating personalized, one-off potables. Also, psychology. So he’ll observe you. Talk to you. Ask you about your mother. And after you’ve told him your dreams/desires/how you take a Negroni, he’ll mix up a libation that’ll be uniquely yours. Read: absinthe. Ice cubes. Swizzle stick.
Of course, if you’d rather skip the psychoanalysis and just order a Manhattan, they’ve got those, too. Almost a dozen of them. One with candied walnut rye. One that’s coffee-infused. One with a chorizo tincture.
It’s about time sausage made it into your nightcap.