I took a trip back down to Stone Street two weeks ago and discovered a few new spots: I will divulge on Vintry first and foremost, and then explore Gild Hall Hotel’s quaint bar and the stunning Bar Seven Five in the brand new, gorgeous Andaz Hotel on Water and Wall Streets!

I received an email update from Thrillist a few months ago announcing the opening of the new Stone Street boîte, Vintry Wine & Whiskey. They called it a “downtown ode to upscale imbibing” and I knew it had to be in the Wall Street area. I immediately forwarded the email to a few of my downtown girls and we all agreed that we needed to pay a visit to this place as soon as we pay off our holiday debt. After reading all of the reviews, I simply couldn’t wait to pop into the newest venture from Peter Poulakakos, the guy who brought you every other place on Stone Street and Front Street, including Ulysses, Adrienne’s and Nelson Blue.

I arrived at Vintry 45 minutes before my friend drunkenly showed up because, apparently, being late is the new black. I plopped down next to a big dude who was all alone and looking for some company. I am NOT that girl. He tried chatting me up and I immediately gave “Peter Griffin” the drop dead glare and stood up in my 4” platforms that make me 6’3” in an attempt to make him feel like even more of a midget douche. Go home to your wife…

As I awaited the arrival of Miss I-Drank-Too-Much-Tequila-At-Happy-Hour-And-Forgot-About-You, I scanned the bar, looking for potential suitors for my friend. The bar is made from a rare African redwood — the molding above and below is hand-carved maple. The marble table tops, port-colored custom leather stools and vine-y stool legs added to the African forest feel. For a Thursday night, it wasn’t packed with the usual happy hour crowd of Wall Street guys. I’d say it’s more of a date spot, a place you’d go with your boss to discuss a deal or a place you’d take your office husband or wife. The bartenders, who were very attentive and outgoing, seemed to wonder why I was all alone and offered to introduce me to some of the regulars. I declined, but at least they tried! I continued to fiddle with my phone and the menu.

Vintry offers 80 wines by the taste, glass or bottle, with an additional 350 on the bottle list. Scottish, American, Japanese, Canadian and Irish whiskies make up its whiskey selection and there are over 100 whiskeys offered as either a one- or two-ounce pours. The whiskey cocktails start at $10. Its tapas-style, small-plate menu includes veal meatballs, lobster-stuffed mushrooms, lamb spareribs, a dry aged rib-eye, cheese and cured meats. I was tempted to order some food, but I had no idea when my friend would show up and if she’d even want to stay since it was couple city.

A few minutes later, she burst through the door like a bat-out-of-hell. Her makeup was smeared all over her face. She looked like she had just gotten out of bed from a rough tryst with a European man. I contemplated ordering another glass of the Pinot, but opted to go home.

Next time I will either show up on a date or with a friend who won’t stand me up for $3 margaritas!

As I was crossing over Park Avenue on Friday night I had that god-awful, Green Acres song stuck in my head – as if I’ve ever even seen that show! I was skipping along, super excited to meet my friend at the newly revamped Mark Hotel on 77th Street and Madison Avenue – I did mention this renovation a few months ago – it is finally open!

The Mark Hotel is an original 1927 building, but the old-school-styled set was recently revamped and merged Art Deco glamour with modern furnishings, lots of marble and beautiful artwork. The Mark turned to renowned French designer Jacques Grange, whose clients have included some of the world’s greatest and most exacting style-setters, among them Yves St. Laurent, Valentino, Karl Lagerfeld and Caroline, Princess of Monaco.
Grange has unleashed the full range of his talents, creating public spaces that engage and delight, and private rooms and suites that calm and soothe. In addition, he not only oversaw and designed furnishings, he collaborated with the Parisian design gallerist Pierre Passebon to commission a host of objets d’art, furniture and lighting fixtures, specially created by celebrated artists and artisans, including Ron Arad, Vladimir Kagan, Mattia Bonetti, Paul Mathieu, Eric Schmitt, Rachel Howard, Todd Eberle, among others.
The hotel has layered one-of-a-kind offerings, including a full service salon by iconic Frederic Fekkai called CHIC by Frederic, a state-of-the-art gym and a restaurant by the famed Chef Jean-Georges Vongerichten, called The Mark Restaurant. On your way into The Mark Restaurant, you’ll pass through the modern, swirling “cloud” bar at Mark Bar. This place is already a staple with the hoity-toity Park Avenue crowd – and soon to be with my crew as well…

Since most of my friends would rather poke their eyeballs out of their skulls with hot needles than hang out with the plastic surgery, Hermes set, I went with a neighbor/old friend of mine who also enjoys the snotty pretentiousness of the UES/Gossip Girl land. I arrived at the hotel first (she’s forever late) and made my way into the slightly intimidating environment. The bar oozes sexiness, serious shopping habits, vanity and sophistication. Everyone is richer, skinnier and more beautiful than you – and all of the older woman there seemed to hate their husbands and clearly only stay with them so they can keep up appearances.

For a minute there, I felt 100% out of place and considered telling my friend that we should go elsewhere. It was a fashion show of couture and rocks. The women at the small, curved-out bar were wearing rings with diamonds the size of my eyeballs – meanwhile I rolled in rocking a sample sale cocktail ring that cost about $2 to make. After removing the garbage ring and sticking it into my coat pocket, I felt the once-over from a group of plastic-surgery science project-styled women in their 40’s at the edge of the bar. I had to stare back – how in the world could you be happy with a botched nose job reminiscent of Michael Jackson?

I stood in the corner of the dark bar by myself (surely someone mistook me for a hooker) and played on my iPhone while contemplating grabbing the cocktail menu. Let’s place a bet – the cheapest glass of wine is $17? Hmm so as I glanced over the wine list, I spotted my number one drink of choice, New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc for … $10! Delighted in my find, I ordered it and felt slightly déclassé since everyone else was drinking Rosé (which I ignorantly equate to White Zinfandel) or top-of-the-line champagne. I scanned the bar as I waited for my friend’s arrival and let her know that she will neither meet her Prince Charming, nor will we be able to snag a seat at the high, white bar. She arrived a minute later and we decided to stick around, observe and hope for an opening at the bar. My Barbie Doll-esque pair of Badgley Mischka 4-inchers were absolutely cutting off the circulation in my big toes and causing the bunion on my left foot to throb with pain. The things we women do in the name of fashion and vanity!

A couple at the bar who looked like they were visiting from a trailer park in West Virginia began scrambling for their check, whipped out a Black Amex (I guess it’s a luxury trailer park) and paid the tab, leaving a spot open at the bar for the two of us. We hopped onto the tall barstools and grabbed the drink menu. The bartender brought over some delicious snacks – rosemary popcorn, wasabi-covered nuts and homemade potato chips. We ate three rounds of said snacks – we really did look classy! The restaurant must not have been all that crowded as the hostesses from The Mark Restaurant constantly approached us, asking if we either wanted to go inside for dinner or if we had reservations. This is never a good sign for a brand new “hotspot”. We told her a few times (maybe she was drunk?) that we’re only there for the bar. Then my friend suggested we try out the Jean-Georges spot – so I suggested she expense the meal. She realized she was being a bit eccentric – when in Rome, do as the Romans – requested the food menu from the bartender, but was rebuffed. You cannot eat at the bar!

After a chatting a bit, observing the obnoxiousness of the Hermes Birkin set, and finding way more women than men, we ordered one more round of wine, paid our tab which was a mere $43 for four drinks – unheard of at a swanky hotel bar in Manhattan – and made our way over to Sant Ambroeus for a bite to eat.

We were the youngest people in Sant Ambroeus and the only females AGAIN who were lacking a nip, a tuck or anything Hermes.

God I love the Upper East Side – and The Mark Bar!

Front Door

Picking a first date place is always hard.  Especially in a city with thousands upon thousands of choices.  It was a Thursday night in the middle of February and I had to do just that—decide my first date avenue of choice.  Luckily, a friend (and by friend, I mean, person who was drinking at my apartment with my roommates) told me of this “really great speakeasy” in the West Village, which “was always good on a Thursday”.  Many times when I trust a random stranger with my after hours plans; I end up bumping booties with overly tan men in the Meatpacking District.  So, I was pleasantly surprised when I met my date on the corner of 7^th avenue and Leroy Street, in front of a non-descript brown door with a small gold placard that read “Little Branch”.

Fortunately for myself and the man of the hour, it was a balmy-ish February night, for Little Branch was exactly one would expect a speakeasy to be like—in the middle of nowhere.  Many would pass Little Branch up as being nothing of importance, but the small queue at the door almost gave it away.  However, unlike many of the establishments frequented by the Manhattan glitterati, this line was not because the bouncer was a big burly hard-ass with an affinity for douchebags carrying black cards and the plastic breasted women that love them, but because the establishment itself was so tiny, it was literally a fire hazard to have over 35 patrons.

Waiting in line among the dirty snow beds with wind whipping through my freshly blown out tresses proved to strangely be perfect first date material.  We bonded over the crisp winter air and conversation was never at a loss—perhaps because if we stopped speaking we would realize that we were standing outside in 30-degree weather.  Once inside, the thirty-minute wait was out of mind as we descended the stairs into a warmly lit basement space.  A live band was playing jazz in a nook to the side of the room.  There were couples sipping cocktails at tables in the back behind a friendly hostess and others were crowded around mahogany stools scattered in front of the small bar.   We put our names down for a table, but unfortunately, never made it that far.  I’m not a lightweight, but after two of Little Branch’s expertly made cocktails, I was pretty much done for the night.

The Drinks!  Delicious would be an understatement.  Upon entering the bar, I sneakily Foursquared my location, inviting a pop-up urging me to try the mojito; but after meticulously googling before hand, I was more inclined to follow the Yelp crowd and go for the “Bartender’s Choice”.  Whilst situated in front of the dapper bartender, I informed him that I was in the mood for something vodka based, that was fruity and sweet, but not too sweet.  Five minutes later, I was presented with a vanilla gimlet.  The perfect combination of sweet and sour: the vanilla notes flirting successfully with the lime undertones.

At first, I was unimpressed with the size of the glass after forking over $12 (or my dates’ $12), but after one sip, I realized that it was quality, not quantity, that counted at Little Branch.  While the vodka was not strong taste wise, my lightheadedness afterwards indicated that it was in full effect. Yet, my Foursquare friends generally never steer me wrong, so I decided that drink number two should be sampled before I called it a night and I ordered a mojito.

I have never really been a mojito fan, but Little Branch has converted me.  I usually hate mixing liquors (if I start on vodka, it is vodka all night long…also many a teenage night gulping down as much coconut rum as I could has almost turned me off rum all together), but the mojito ended my night on a significant high note.  The rum was tasteless, the mint was refreshing and the drink as a whole was sweet, but not too sugary like many mojitos end up being.

Overall, while Little Branch provided the ambiance for the perfect first date, it is also a great place for a person (or group of friends) who like to experiment with new concoctions.  No overgrown frat boys here; these are not drinks to chug.  They are for savoring and enjoying the art of expert mixology.

If you like Milk & Honey (founded by the same guy), you will love Little Branch.  While I have not been to Milk & Honey (that shall appear in another post), Little Branch is well known amongst the cocktail elitists as being the laid back younger brother of Milk & Honey’s infamy.  And, as we all know, many times the laid back younger brother is the hotter, cooler sibling who is frequently overlooked.

“So a friend of mine from high school just got hired as the Wine Director for Danny Meyer’s new restaurant in the Gramercy Park Hotel. I’m going to the opening! You should write this place up!”

“Danny Meyer is HUGE,” I replied. “What’s the name of his new place?”

“Maialino — can’t wait to tell you all about it!”

Of course I felt a twinge of jealousy, knowing that she was going to the opening of this restaurant — I knew it would be a hit, even in bitter NYC. My boyfriend lives across the street from the Gramercy Park Hotel so I figured I’d make a cameo appearance soon enough. I tried to tell him all about it, but couldn’t remember the name (or how to pronounce it). A few days after the opening we decided to be lazy fools, crossed the street and ventured into Danny Meyer’s first shot at Italian goodness, Maialino, a Roman-style trattoria.

We immediately snagged seats at the bar and began reading the wine list — it’s written, chalkboard-style, above the bar. I’m not a huge lover of Italian wines so I ordered a Soave and the boy stuck with some version of Pinot Noir (perhaps it was a Pinot Noir, I just don’t remember – blame it on the al-al-al-al-alcohol). I caught a glimpse of my coworker’s friend, Wine Director Stephen Mancini, and contemplated asking him for some help with the whites, but I didn’t want my actions reported back to the office. After all, what happens if I call out – uh *cough* SICK. I decided to remain anonymous. (I’m really not as big of a lush as I make myself sound). The wine list is pretty extensive, the all-Italian list features 85 bottles; 18 of those selections are available both by the glass and quartino. The restaurant currently offers six Italian beers all by the bottle – including my fave, Peroni!

The long, walnut bar (which is where we always end up) backs up to three windows, overlooking the famed Gramercy Park (watch out for Julia Roberts). The tables, chairs and barstools are custom-designed walnut, adding to the rustic, Italian feel. The wood-planked floors are made from reclaimed, locally found oak and the blue and white checked tablecloths drape over the tables, adding to the homey atmosphere. In the center of the restaurant is Maialino’s cucina, featuring a salumi, cheese and antipasto station on one side; with a coffee, dessert and bread station on the other.

The Executive Chef, Nick Anderer, hails from Gramercy Tavern.  This is his first Top Chef spot! Though his menu has been awarded two stars by the New York Times and has been hailed from coast-to-coast, I’m not exactly blown away. We went there for brunch a few weeks ago and I had to order three (very altered) meals in order to fill my finicky stomach. I felt like I was in a commercial where the couple goes out to eat dinner AGAIN after their meals at the newest hotspot restaurant – the portions couldn’t stuff a rabbit. I’m a freak when it comes to food, so pay no attention to my dislike of goat cheese, red meat, egg yolks, the other white meat, fish of all kinds, milky substances and dessert.

The menu draws its inspiration from the classic dishes found throughout the trattorie of Rome, and features fresh, seasonal ingredients sourced from the Greenmarket and other local farms. The dishes are prepared with straight-forward Roman cooking techniques and bold Roman flavors. Antipasti include Carpaccio di Polpo (Octopus and Heirloom Potato Salad) and Carciofi Alla Romana (braised artichokes); the Primi section of the menu features classic Roman pasta dishes such as Tonnarelli Cacio e Pepe, Spaghetti alla Carbonara, Malfatti alla Maialino (suckling pig ragu, torn pasta and arugula), and Spaghettini alle Vongole; main course highlights include Fritto Misto and Coda alla Vaccinara (Oxtails, Tomato & Celery). Pastry Sous Chef Jennifer Shelbo, who has worked under Nancy Olson at Gramercy Tavern, will be preparing freshly made desserts such as Gelato, Tartufo and Torta Della Nonna (pine nut tart), among others.

Now for the name that I cannot pronounce … “Maialino” recalls Danny’s time as a 20-year-old living in Rome and working as a tour guide for his father’s travel company. His Italian boss, Giorgio, immediately took to calling him “Meyerino” (little Meyer). Danny’s favorite part of the job was to bring his tour groups to a different trattoria every night, where he’d unfailingly order “Maialino” (roast suckling pig) for dinner. In homage to Danny’s love for pork – Giorgio transformed Meyerino into “Maialino.” Danny’s nickname had become “Little Pig.”

Oink.

Now that the word has gotten out our trips over to Maialino have been few and far between. We’re waiting for the buzz to die down. The last time we wandered into the bar, the bartender told us there was a waitlist for the bar seats AND a supermodel stepped on my toe with her damn Alexander McQueen Armadillo shoes. I would’ve started a fight with her, but she was nearly 7’ tall in those 10-inch tall claws. They do come in handy – if you must sit, you could threaten customers out of their seats with those deadly weapons.

We finally pulled up to Time Warner’s winter wonderland after having a minor fender bender with Santa and his sleigh. Even as a jaded, bitter New Yorker I found the decor to be quite gorgeous, especially as the snow fell onto the trees. The crowds inside TWC weren’t even remotely as obnoxious as the scene at Macy’s—I breathed a sigh of relief—even mom agreed and she thought Macy’s was as exciting as discovering the fountain of youth. I suggested we hightail it upstairs to Rande Gerber’s Stone Rose bar for a glass of wine and a beautiful view of Central Park. We definitely deserved it after surviving the past hour of freezing rain, snow and people who consider Snuggies fashion-forward.

The escalator dropped us off on the 4th floor and we wandered over to Stone Rose only to find that it doesn’t open until 4pm! Seriously? (the drunks in my family enjoy drinking before noon—or maybe that’s just me?)

“That restaurant looks cute and open.” Mom said as she pointed to Per Se.

“Are you prepared to shell out $600 for lunch,” I asked as we walked by a small space called Clo Wine Bar + Shop for the second time. She thought I was joking … so naïve. “Here’s a wine bar, right in front of us. It looks cool.”

I recently caught reviews of the newly-opened Clo on TV and in the local magazines — the press has seemingly fallen head over heels for this place. I could see why — gorgeous views of the city, amazing wine and a state-of-the-art wine menu! The hostess offered us a seat at the wooden, communal table and instructed us to sit where the Ewinebook was turned on. This interactive touch screen communal table uses overhead projection stations that enabled us to choose our selections with tasting notes that include varietal, region and price.

Clo is the latest concept created by sommelier Andrew Bradbury, former wine director of Aureole Las Vegas. Bradbury introduced the Ewinebook, the world’s first electronic wine list using Hewlett-Packard Tablet PCS and Microsoft technology. The Ewinebook features ninety-six wines — cult, boutique and rare vintages — which are presented in custom made, perfect temperature and humidity controlled dispensing machines, allocating 4 oz tasting pours.

Using a prepaid debit-style card for our wine, we each tasted a few wines (a Reisling, a Pinot Gris and a Soave), but I was slightly turned off by the prices — anywhere from $3 to over $100 per tasting — at least mom’s paying! She became a little tipsy and since I can score a case of wine for the price of one tasting I asked for our check. Clo has light snacks and cheese for your wine, but we were in desperate need of a full-fledged dinner in the Lincoln Square area so we left, but not without checking out their retail shop where you can purchase wine glassware and other merchandise. I will definitely be going back to Clo with someone who can drink a little more than my mother.

“Do you have any idea how expensive this place is going to be?” My friend Lisa asked.

I scanned the bar that The New York Times called “one of the world’s three greatest, classic bars” and made an executive decision. “Um, this place is packed with older men. We’re like babies to them … I think it’s entirely possible to score some free booze! We’re staying.”

We shook ourselves off like dirty dogs and walked towards the bar where a gentleman not only cleared a space for us and gave us his seats, but he also offered to order our first round of drinks.

“Oscar, get these beautiful ladies whatever they’d like. It’s on me!”

I gave my friends the “I told you so” look and we made ourselves comfortable. The bartender came over and introduced himself to us, his name was Oscar and his partner-in-crime/bartending, Adel, soon followed. “We’re going to get you good and liquored up—be prepared.”

It was 2001 and none of us had “real” jobs, so despite the fact that it was a Tuesday night, we were down for the challenge. To the disapproval of Oscar, I ordered a chardonnay. He suggested I try the Brancott Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand —this was the beginning of the end for me because I am now beyond obsessed with this wine. I took one sip of this grapefruit-y drink from the gods and it was lights out. My friends ordered the same drink and we settled into our seats and entered into heaven.

The place had a few tourists, but it was mostly older Wall Street/Park Avenue men looking to booze it up after work and avoid their nagging wives and annoying children. A few creepy guys who could’ve been my grandfather began hitting on me. I chatted them up because—quite frankly—I didn’t want to pay for my drinks.

The one gramps leaned in to whisper a sweet nothing into my ear. “Do you know Judy Blume’s sitting on the other side of you?”

What? Judy Blume?! I grew up reading her books! I was thrilled to discover that I was sitting next to Ms. Are You There God, It’s Me, Margaret. After a few drinks I got up the nerve to speak to her—turns out she’s a bit of a regular—I’ve seen her at the B&B multiple times since then. She’s always very sweet and entertaining. After deciding to leave her alone, I turned my attention back to the rest of the bar. There was an older lady in a hat who seemed to know everyone at the bar—she typically wears these hats while sipping on martinis—we dubbed her “Crazy Hat Lady.” There was this total phony of a guy who claims to be Mediterranean royalty, but after googling him I realized it was just the Makers Mark talking. Then I met a guy who said he’d like to set me up with his son, but it turns out he wanted me for himself … and how could I forget about the guy who looked just like Frasier from Cheers! He told me he was going to help me find a job, but he just wanted my phone number—and my friend’s!

“You know I played with Sinatra, Billie Holiday, Dizzy Gillespie,” this voice came out of nowhere. I turned around to see some crazy old dude with stars in his eyes, and too much vodka dancing around in his liver. I turned back to the bar to discover that Oscar had filled up my glass of wine—it was practically overflowing—oh hi, I am going to go black out now. Be back later.

The Bull & Bear oozes class and swank. The mahogany bar and wood-paneled room is large enough to seat at least 20 people and it circles (in a pentagon shape) a wooden carving of a bull and a bear—shocking, I know. If you’re into the stock market, there’s a ticker running in the back of the bar, but it’s pretty much so Chinese to me. The large windows look out onto 49th street and Lexington Avenue—if your perfect finance guy isn’t chugging bottomless glasses of wine at the bar, you might be able to flag him down on the corner and offer him a specialty beer or knock-you-out martini!

As one of the most historic and well-recognized bars in New York City, this celebrated steakhouse offers hearty portions of traditional fare like lobster and roasted chicken, as well as weekly specials. In addition to its impressive selection of fresh seafood, Bull and Bear was the first restaurant on the Eastern Seaboard serving the Prime grade of Certified Angus Beef®. Since I eat like a bird or a rabbit, I tend to stick to my liquid dinners. This never bodes well for the following morning.

Fast-forward eight years—I am still living at the Bull & Bear bar. Adel is still around, but Oscar retired to Florida. The drinks are still as strong as ever and the pours just keep on coming. Oh, and the people I mentioned earlier—they’re the regulars and I even know them by name!

Even though the hotel is part of the Hilton Empire, you’re more likely to catch a glimpse of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, than a Hilton. The hotel and its bars and restaurants are not only gawking spots for Kansas tourists, but celebrities have been known to hide amongst that dude who just removed his wedding band and placed it in his back pocket as the clock struck 8pm. And here comes the caravan of working girls.

“Where might we find a place down here that has an amazing selection of scotch?” She asked. Did I mention I’m apparently a walking Zagat Guide?

I began scouring for places in TriBeCa—we lived down there and I figured, with Wall Street so close, surely there must be a place downtown that specializes in such manly boozing. After scanning my Zagat Nightlife Guide, I stumbled upon a place called “Brandy Library” and realized I had hit the jackpot!

“According to the website, they even do single-malt scotch tasting every Saturday from 5 to 8 p.m.,” I exclaimed. “Would you be down for that?” Now, mind you, I don’t drink brown liquor. The scent alone activates the vomit reflux, but I decided to man-up. If she can do it, why can’t I? Oh probably because I can’t even swallow Sam Adams without whining about how much of a “boy beer” it is.

I arrived at 25 N. Moore Street, walked up the stairs and opened the heavy door.

“Do you have reservations?” Inquired the very well-spoken maitre d’.

“Nope, I’m meeting a friend here and we’re hoping to join in on today’s scotch tasting!”

He looked at me in disbelief—after all my hair was curled, nails were perfectly manicured, I was rocking a brand new Rachel Roy dress and I had on 4” stilettos—definitely didn’t look like the girl who was going to throw down scotch! I walked over to the bar where I picked up the bible of booze. I scanned the in-depth menu that’s packed with 10 pages of single-malt Scotches, including the very rare 25-year Talisker, but had a hard time finding beer and vodka. I also scanned the food portion of the menu—I might require something to absorb my brown liquor gluttony later on. The Malai Tikka chicken breast morsels in yogurt and spices immediately grabbed my attention, along with Gratin Dauphonios, or potato pancakes. The dessert also looked amazing—might have to save some room for the Valhrona chocolate cake! I bypassed the food and went straight for the booze. I started off very girly—I ordered the Peaches & Cream—which consisted of cognac, cream, crème de peche and port wine reduction. YUM!

Brandy Library’s wood-paneled space and glimmering, tile-topped bar oozes sophistication, wealth, intellect and maturity. It’s designed like a library—the vertical shelves on the walls are meticulously stocked with over 900 bottles of every type of hard-to-find bourbon, scotch, brandy, cognac and whiskey imaginable. The faux fireplace and buttery leather chairs add a cozy and romantic touch—not exactly first date worthy, but if you suggested it to your guy on a third or fourth date, he’d be highly impressed.

Now for the crowd—during happy hour it’s all Wall Street dudes and the women who love them. It’s a hoity-toity crowd and the manager has no qualms about turning someone away who isn’t dressed to the nines. Post-happy hour it’s locals and well-heeled patrons who are looking for a relaxing evening in a warm, glowing atmosphere. Don’t expect to hang out with kids at this place—they abide by a strict, 25-and-over policy. And ladies, if you’re hoping to meet Mr. Hedgefunder, you’ll have to do the talking. It’s a bit of an unspoken rule at Brandy Library that the men are not allowed to hit on the women and the bartenders will cut you off and kick you out if you begin harassing the cutie sitting next to you … unless you’re Matt Damon!

Brandy Library used to allow cigar smoking downstairs, but that has changed with the times. Even though you can still purchase cigars at the bar, you must step outside onto the balcony if you choose to speed up your lung cancer pace.

Now back to the tasting … our liquor pro guided us through five or six single-malt scotches. I sadly don’t remember because, after the first one, I decided all scotch tastes like marshmallows and practically began shooting them as opposed to sipping. This lead to a really bad headache at 7 pm and a fall on the nearly cobble-stoned streets!

I took a trip back down to Brandy Library this past Saturday after dinner at Wolfgang’s Steakhouse. After revisiting BL with my finance guy, who was highly impressed with the location and setting, I dubbed it one of the best bars in the city. It’s just so chill, classy, warm, upscale and handsome and the staff is so well-informed, how could you go wrong with this place?

Easy … you forget to bring along someone to pay your tab! Bring your client. He’ll be so impressed, he won’t think twice about the $350 bill.

Hog Pit didn’t have the fabulous specials, the smell of stale beer and vomit, the toothless men or the rotting bar (that was a lawsuit waiting to happen), but we still loved it. Most of the patrons had the same idea that we did—drink for cheap and move onto a more pricey location. Sometimes we’d have such a great time there we wouldn’t leave! In fact, I spent one evening boozing it up with Tommy Hilfiger—he wasn’t douchey at all—he was awesome. Just like every great dive in NYC, the Hog Pit was priced out of their location and had to shut it’s doors. Never fear, they reopened on 26th street between 6th and Broadway and I’ve been a few times after work, but it’s not the same.

I heard rumors that Ralph Lauren had purchased their old location and planned on opening up a Black Label Store, but then the truth came out. Mr. NYC chain restaurants himself, Steve Hanson, bought the spot on the corner of 13th street and 9th Avenue and was turning it into a burger joint to rival JG Melon and Shake Shack. I had to test it out.

We rolled into Bill’s Bar & Burger on Saturday night after a few drinks at one of Steve’s other joints, Bar 675 (he’s slowly taking over the city). The place was packed, but it is tiny. We snagged a spot at a high table in the front room—perfect for people-watching. Bill’s quickly reminded me of P.J. Clarke’s, the original one on 3rd Avenue, minus my coveted, afterwork suits. The crowd was trendy, not trashy, but you had a decent mix of the out-of-towners trying to get in—my little sister was in town—that’s why we were doing the Jersey/Long Island party in the MPD on a Saturday.
After settling in and checking out the TV (no more sports, please) we placed our beer order and requested a plate of Boneless Buffalo Chicken Wings. I’ve had an insatiable craving for wings for a month—I knew the time had come to forget about dieting and my Christmas vacation to a beach—let the pig out party begin. Even though the sauce was delicious and the strips themselves were quite satisfying and tender, my craving had not been met so I guess I’ll be paying a visit to Brother Jimmy’s next week.
My sister, the meat eater, ordered a Billy’s Classic Burger with American cheese. She said the burger was indeed meaty and juicy, but also a little bit thin. It was griddled well, but she’d still prefer JG Melon. We shared a delicious side of disco fries with gravy and cheese. I was practically bursting out of my skintight dress after consuming them and contemplated running home to change before we moved onto the next spot, but we were also with my boy so it’s not like I was going to pick up anyone! Since I’m allergic to beef, I ordered the Tuscan Turkey Burger with aged provolone cheese, parsley and garlic. It was a tasty delight and a bit of a steal at $6.95.

As the “I Wear My Sunglasses at Night” crowd began streaming in, we paid our relatively miniscule tab and headed over to The Standard Hotel, where we sipped on pricey cocktails and mingled with the likes of Orlando Bloom, Miranda Kerr and Adam Duritz.

I had no choice but to ask Adam—in my beer goggled haze—if Mr. Jones and me were gonna be big stars?

I met a friend after work for a glass of wine to discuss another friend of ours who, despite our warnings, thought it was a good idea to drunk bike through NYC—well, she got hit by a cab and fractured her arm. People never listen to me! Anyway, last week I discovered that an old friend of mine is the General Manager at TAO so of course I suggested we meet there because I’d rather spend my money at Barney’s than on booze.

I’m sure you’ve been to TAO or you at least know all about it due to the media hype. I pretend the one in Vegas is non-existent because I’m allergic—we’re only focusing on New York City, people! Walking into TAO New York is like walking into a private club. Once you get past the heavy front doors (hopefully without breaking a nail) and enter into the dimly lit downstairs bar area and restaurant you instantly feel sexy and celebrity-like. Why? Because the place is loaded with tourists and they swear Paris Hilton is going to stroll through the door and trip over her hair extensions so expect star treatment for 15 seconds. In reality, celebrities do go there—on a Monday night at 10 pm when hungry Park Avenue Investment Bankers who wouldn’t care if Tiger Woods was sitting on their table will swing by for a bite after work.

Fun fact time: TAO was originally built in the 19th century as a stable for the famed Vanderbilt family (would they like to adopt me?) and then became a balconied movie theater before becoming one of the most famous restaurants in the states.

I personally enjoy the upstairs bar because the view is much better, the bartenders are more attentive and you do not have to deal people hovering over you while they’re trying to grab a drink. Your back is against the wall—the only thing that’ll fit in that space is an anorexic chick. What’s more, you actually have a chance to snag a seat at the upstairs bar, rest the feet that 5” platforms destroyed and wish upon that 16-foot Buddha who is seemingly floating above a virtual, reflecting pool of fish. Sometimes I think it might be fun to sit next to him—you could splash people and feed the fish rice and wine—not that I’d ever do that. I wouldn’t mind sitting in the prized, third floor Skybox either. The best seats in the house are normally reserved for private parties, corporate events and celebrities who would like to avoid appearing in Page Six.

TAO has a full bar with an interesting selection of specialty cocktails like the Bamboo Gingerita and the TAO Love Potion #9, but I still stick to what I know…New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc. As for food, I’m very fond of my Asian cuisine and I’d say that makes me pretty knowledgeable in this area. The food is average, the apps are decent—can you really screw up edamame, sushi and spring rolls?—and the vegetable sides are tasty, but I’d hold off on the entrees if you’re looking for amazing. You’d find a better meal a few blocks away at Le Colonial on 57th Street between Lexington and 3rd Avenues.

Not to diss my beloved TAO, I go for the incredible ambiance, the positive vibes, the unmistakable soundtrack, the flowing alcohol, the intriguing design and, of course, people-watching.

A glass of wine — where would I find something so basic in a neighborhood that Guiliani overlooked? There are quite a few bars in this neighborhood that have the nerve to charge $9 for a skunked draft of Coors Lite — I’m through with shelling out money for toilet bowl-worthy beer. Might I ask for a local wine bar?

I met a friend of mine after work to discuss boy drama — let’s face it, we all have it. She did her homework and stumbled upon a place on 31st Street between Broadway and Fifth Avenue called Ayza Chocolate & Wine Bar. I was a little weary at first, but was not in the mood to fight off Jersey-bound men at the Brother Jimmy’s across from Penn Station, so I obliged.

It was the perfect night to sit outside, but I become all goose-pimply quickly so I headed inside to the sleek and modern bar where I was cheerfully greeted by an eager bartender (I probably should’ve gotten her name). I ordered a pretty decent glass of Viogner for $7 — this is a STEAL for Manhattan — and waited for my friend to arrive as I crunched on the bar snacks.

But it only got better!

Despite the fact that this place is located next to the Herald Square Hotel, I would definitely say the crowd was more local businesspeople than tourists. It even has a live jazz band on Monday nights!

I didn’t dive into the menu — we were there to gossip — but couldn’t miss the bartenders arranging plates of Jacques Torres chocolates. The guy sitting to my left had Angry Chicken Lollipops — they smelled delightful!

We only stayed for one drink — duty called — but I am so happy I discovered this diamond in the Herald Square rough. It is the perfect upscale, yet lower-priced, afterwork hideaway in a neighborhood that is lacking in the nightlife aspect. I will definitely be frequenting and writing it up again!