Follow us down for a second...
The journey begins on a stretch of NYU-land around 8th Street amidst smoke shops, rhinestone belt dealers and tourist T-shirt galleries.
Curiously enough, it’s here you’ll find it—like caviar at a tailgate party—a light brick exterior covered in foliage, a castle among the tenements, with a huge wooden door straight out of The Princess Bride.
You’ll push that door open to reveal Rabbit in the Moon, a two-story townhouse, disguised as a castle and reborn as a refined English gastropub, opening next week.
The ambience harkens back to your old English uncle’s country lodge, if the lord of the manor thought his mounted buck would look better draped in pearls. Yes, there’s a massive fireplace and paintings of lords, but there’s also a painting of a naked woman standing on a bull, vintage porn in the women’s restroom and a history of English pubs etched on the ceiling.
After a quick look around, set your sights on the upstairs for more intimate drinking quarters. And if your party outgrows the inner quarters, head outside to the open-air balcony, where you can get soused on Earl Grey martinis while noshing on gourmet bangers and mash.
At some point in the night, you’ll probably wonder what the rabbit in the moon name is all about. The answer is an old Chinese fable in which only those who are truly in love can see a rabbit in the moon.
Hey, you asked.