As a rule, you’re in favor of live music performed in cozy, smoke-filled basements. Preferably with guys
named “Blind” or “Mississippi” involved.
And when we say “smoke-filled,” we’re of course referring to your brisket preferences...
Step on down to ZirZamin, a cellar of impromptu jams, breakfast tacos for dinner and a pervasive feeling of Texas-ness, now open below a steep flight of stairs in SoHo.
Cram a truckload of Lone Star Beer, marvelously heavy-handed tequila pours and brisket tacos all into a candlelit brick hideout, and you’ve got yourself a fine bar. Toss in the occasional touring act looking to work out some new material at 2:30 in the morning, and you’ve got this place. A no-bulls**t house of whatever kind of music the owner (an Austin music-scene staple) feels like hosting.
It’s a classic “one tequila, one mezcal, one beer” spot up front. But keep moving past that first heavy red theater curtain. Wait, that’s the kitchen. Nothing to see here except the ceremonial decorating of your burger with thick-cut bacon. So again, keep moving. And there you are, the only thing separating you from the stand-up bass: a couple of tall circular tables, a few two-tops and what appear to be two futons.
And God help us all if you’re not separated from the stand-up bass.
And when we say “smoke-filled,” we’re of course referring to your brisket preferences...
Step on down to ZirZamin, a cellar of impromptu jams, breakfast tacos for dinner and a pervasive feeling of Texas-ness, now open below a steep flight of stairs in SoHo.
Cram a truckload of Lone Star Beer, marvelously heavy-handed tequila pours and brisket tacos all into a candlelit brick hideout, and you’ve got yourself a fine bar. Toss in the occasional touring act looking to work out some new material at 2:30 in the morning, and you’ve got this place. A no-bulls**t house of whatever kind of music the owner (an Austin music-scene staple) feels like hosting.
It’s a classic “one tequila, one mezcal, one beer” spot up front. But keep moving past that first heavy red theater curtain. Wait, that’s the kitchen. Nothing to see here except the ceremonial decorating of your burger with thick-cut bacon. So again, keep moving. And there you are, the only thing separating you from the stand-up bass: a couple of tall circular tables, a few two-tops and what appear to be two futons.
And God help us all if you’re not separated from the stand-up bass.
