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Definitely a come down
from its massive original space down in the heart of the Meat Packing
District, this diminutive version is a clean and neat Chelsea-fied
version of the original. Gone are the dark coves, the schooner-length
zinc bar and the crowds of 30-somethings packed into the large dark
tables, babbling drunkenly over moules rouge. Here's the Home Depo
Expo version of the Belgian bar. Not that you can't get some nice
shit at the HDE (the ones that still exist), but everything has that
sharp, mitered edge and is a little to overly honey-colored. Granted,
this place hasn't been given time to wear, but bringing the lights
down a little, and perhaps importing some Parisian smoke might quicken
the process and add back some of the flavor of its predecessor. Otherwise
it's a very serviceable place, albeit a bit generic in its tin-ceilinged
niceness. We actually didn't eat here, but instead stood at the relatively
small bar and chatted first with a couple who seemed to be on a date,
but was quickly denied by the fairer-sexed of the two. Much to the
chagrin of the cowboy-booted male, me thinks. Then we met an old drunk
who claimed to be a long time NPR man, and was clearly out on an extended
wake for for some old dude (most likely in a bowtie) who died the
day before. I think he made the girls sad, but I was fascinated with
his tales of Mickey Roonie's sexual exploits and how he longed for
the return of the flapper. All in all a good, but really weird, time.
[MF]
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