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For some reason I can't
seem to keep Papillion and Napoleon straight. My social studies teachers
must have really sucked. And then I remember, "Butterfly!"
Yes, that's it, butterfly. Right? Whatever the case, this joint has
little to do with stubby French leaders with short complexes, nor
metamorphosed Lepidoptera, but much to do with the be-suited mammalian
creatures that roam Midtown East in search of their be-skirted opposites,
and a place in which to imbibe barley and hops. I did nothing here
but sit out on the sidewalk and inhale a couple of afterwork Guinnesses
(Guinni?) while busses whipped by and more "educated customers"
packed the bar to the rafters. Like grub places in this neighborhood,
there seem to be few establishments that cater to the casual ingestion
of spirits. Want a $22,000 watch? No problem. A piece of luggage or
sunglasses that cost more than your parent's house? Why not. But a
mellow joint at which to grab a nice sandwich or a brew with some
co-workers is next to impossible. If only the million and half food
carts on every corner served alcohol and had some spare stools, they'd
be raking it in! Anyhow, that means bars like this inevitably get
packed starting around 5:30, and probably stay that way until the
ties are at half mast and someone breaks into his college fight song
for no other reason than he's a meathead in a Syms suit. Apparently
this bi-leveled bar and grill serves French food (which I always enjoy)
presumably in the more casual brasserie fashion. I couldn't quite
see past the mass of humanity at the bar, but the space looked relatively
nicely decorated, with tall ceilings and like a French cabaret theme
of some sort. I'd say stay clear and drink a bodega beer at your desk
instead. [MF]
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