Napoleonic erotica vibes. Elliptical mirrors. Zebra-skin rugs. Jacques-Louis David. Banquettes that may be
reclaimed S&M equipment. Lots of red and candles. You drinking.
Okay, you’re prepped.
Prepped for Shorty, which can best be described as a combination of ’70s New York and a French cathouse, but with an aggressive set of cocktail circumstances. It’s open now beneath Jacques 1534 in Nolita. It’s got quite a slideshow.
This may sound counterintuitive, but you’ll want to rage into the dying of the light here. It’s the kind of place you end up when you just refuse to call it a night, and that’s for the best, since your refusal will be met by rum-and-grilled-pineapple cocktails (those unholy beverages of the night) and tarte flambée. A step up from 4am shot-and-beer specials.
Or you could go the wild-card route—give them a spirit, a serving style and whatever other preferences pop into your head, and watch guys who are unironically referred to as mixologists earn their paychecks.
On Mondays and Tuesdays, when there’s music, you’ll say to yourself, “Wow, that guy’s good,” not even realizing the guitarist you’re internally complimenting used to play with Jeff Buckley.
Actually we just f**ked that up, didn’t we?
Okay, you’re prepped.
Prepped for Shorty, which can best be described as a combination of ’70s New York and a French cathouse, but with an aggressive set of cocktail circumstances. It’s open now beneath Jacques 1534 in Nolita. It’s got quite a slideshow.
This may sound counterintuitive, but you’ll want to rage into the dying of the light here. It’s the kind of place you end up when you just refuse to call it a night, and that’s for the best, since your refusal will be met by rum-and-grilled-pineapple cocktails (those unholy beverages of the night) and tarte flambée. A step up from 4am shot-and-beer specials.
Or you could go the wild-card route—give them a spirit, a serving style and whatever other preferences pop into your head, and watch guys who are unironically referred to as mixologists earn their paychecks.
On Mondays and Tuesdays, when there’s music, you’ll say to yourself, “Wow, that guy’s good,” not even realizing the guitarist you’re internally complimenting used to play with Jeff Buckley.
Actually we just f**ked that up, didn’t we?
