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By Sacha Phillip

Caracas Arepa Bar

An East Village staple expands across the bridge

Caracas Arepa Bar is charting nuevo NYC-nightlife territory, with its Williamsburg “Roneria”. Boasting thirty-plus Caribbean/Latin American sipping rums, a ron-based cocktail menu, and beach shack-chic décor, Caracas brings a little bit of paradise, and a lot of warm energy, to Brooklyn.


The Roneria’s cocktails, created by mixologist Orson Salicetti, were inspired by the (fairly recent) proliferation of date-aged rums.  This refinement has elevated rum to the pantheon of “gentleman’s spirits”, and opened the door for mixologists’ artisanal experimentation. Traditionalists will enjoy the Roneria’s Rum Manhattan, while patrons who prefer the sweeter things in life may favor the fragrant Flores Daiquiri.  For an enjoyable, educational experience, connoisseurs and novices alike should try one of the rum flights.


Beyond the bar, Caracas’ Brooklyn outpost retains the essence of the East Village original. Executive Chef Iilse Parra a “Roots Reggae Authority”, embeds the rock steady origins of her favorite genre into the traditional Venezuelan dishes.  This food isn’t meant to be fast, but rather steadily savored.


There’s a Venezuelan proverb that states: “he who doesn't look ahead gets left behind.”  Caracas is in no danger of suffering that fate, as it surges past the trends.

2026: No license found; still listed online
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By Emily White

East Side Company Bar

Chinatown cocktail den
Frequently referred to as Plan B for those with sights set originally for Milk and Honey, the mellow East Side Company Bar nonetheless stands on its own.

Though the “unmarked speakeasy” has been done to death, the ESCB somehow manages to keep its edge. A small, brass nameplate on the windowless, boarded façade gleams faintly from the light of the kosher pickle shop next door. Behind a heavy curtain lies a dimly lit space hushed by the soft, haunting sounds of Massive Attack, remixed Nina Simone classics, or the DJ’s choice on weekend evenings.

A friendly bartender motions to grab a seat at the bar or follow the string of candles to the small leather booths in the back. Pressed tin walls and low ceilings reflect flickering candlelight for an intimate, cozy ambiance; the long, narrow space evokes the interior of a railcar.

In mixologist Sasha Petraske’s signature style that pays attention to fresh ingredients and tradition rather than gimmicks, bartenders pour cocktails such as Manhattans with Old Overholt rye whiskey, instead of bourbon. A list of stiff drinks off the menu or by request take time to craft, but by the last drop no one remembers the holdup that was actually the sign of a cocktail chef at work.
2026: No license found in 2026
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The Gutter

Introducing the retro dive bowling alley

Bowling and drinking go together like Wii and weed, so when Paul Kermizian and Jon Miller, the duo behind Barcade, announced that they were bringing a retro-dive-bowling alley to Greenpoint it wasn’t hard to guess that success would follow. What’s truly impressive is the lengths they’ve gone to evoke another era. There are monochrome score trackers, injection molded seating, vintage bowling bags, and old fashioned beer lamps hanging over the bar. There’s even a 60’s era candy machine replete with Rollos and Mike & Ike’s. It’s just really comfortable. Nothing gleams, or shines, or flashes at you. No design elements are so chic they scream for attention. And there’s real comfort in knowing that if you drop a slice of pizza on your chair it’ll wipe clean. It just makes it easy to relax.

 

There’s a certain togetherness to The Gutter. It’s a fully realized idea with a balance between both the era it seeks to evoke, and the neighborhood it makes home. The music seems invariably to be that ideal blend of indie classics (Fugazi, Pixies, Sonic Youth) and bowling alley jams (Rush, Springsteen, Van Halen). The beer menu is wide ranging and craft heavy, but it comes in big bowling style pitchers. And while everything else in the entire place is vintage, the bowling shoes are brand spanking new. By carefully selecting the good from both the old and the new you get something more than just nostalgia — you get a classic.

2026: Licensed here under the same name
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Pocha 32

Sochu and pojang macha in Koreatown
Tucked away above a cell phone shop in the heart of K-town, the exterior of Pocha 32 blends so readily into its surrounding that you could easily walk by it a dozen times without noticing it was there. Inside, the décor is sparse to the point it could almost be described as industrial, luckily the warmth of a cheery crowd overwhelms the ambience. This isn’t the kind of place for a quiet tête-à-tête. It’s a place where big groups of friends come to celebrate and get very, very, very drunk.

Pocha is short for pojang macha, Korean street carts which serve small and tasty dishes in endless varieties. As the English have come to understand of curry, Germans of wurst, and Americans of White Castle, Koreans appreciate the fact that the enjoyment derived from the consumption of pojang macha increases at a rate more or less equal to the square of the number of units of alcohol consumed. The proof of this dangles over your head as you dine at Pocha 32 beneath a veritable sea of sochu caps fastened to nets hanging from the ceiling.

Sochu, has no fixed recipe, it’s distilled from sources as diverse as sweet potato, rice, barley and wheat. Its name roughly translates to: made of something burning, which is as ample and unambiguous a warning as you could hope for. To take the edge off that fire, it’s mixed with everything from lemonade to yoghurt. At Pocha 32 these concoctions are served in unassuming stainless steel kettles, or in the case of watermelon sochu in the halved fruit and then portioned into cups with a ladle.

A night out at Pocha should follow a simple pattern. Drink. Eat. Drink more. Repeat until you can’t bear the thought of eating another thing. Start simple – perhaps the Dak Gok Ji (chicken skewers) or the Kimchi pancake. Match with a giant bowl of watermelon sochu. Then move onto something a little more challenging and a lot tastier, perhaps the samgyupsal ojinga (Korean style bacon and octopus). If all goes well by the time you're finished you’ll end up as one patron did at the table next to us – smiling blissfully, eyes closed, forehead resting on the table, out cold.
2026: Licensed here under the same name
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Campbell Apartment

Tycoon's office to commuter's haven
In 1923 John W. Campbell – financier, captain of industry, Renaissance man, acquired a lease on one very exclusive piece of New York City real state, a 3,500 square foot room nestled into the west wing of Grand Central Station. He took the raw space and renovated it in a manner befitting the grandeur of its location. He lined the floor with Persian carpets, had artisans craft elaborate inlays into the woodwork, and artists hand paint the ceilings. And at the end of the room he placed a desk with such grand proportions and stately presence that the whims of the man behind it would engender the gravitas of royal edict.

In 1999 the Campbell apartment was renovated as a bar and by virtue of its history and opulence achieved immediate classic status. It’s the kind of bar where ordering a drink mixed with anything sweeter than soda water is viewed with suspicion, and where the dress code (collared shirts and dress shoes) is rigidly enforced even when the bar is all but empty. This is rarely the case on weekdays when between 5pm and 9pm it’s deluged with commuters from the many nearby investment banks grabbing a few stiff drinks before heading home. But come here on a weekend, and you can frequently find yourself alone with the bartender. Take a seat at the bar in front of the enormous windows overlooking Vanderbilt Avenue. Place an order befitting the space, something richly textured, classic and more than a bit indulgent, perhaps a measure of Oban or Laphroaig. Now hold the heavy glass in your hand and let the immediate luxury of your current circumstance dissolve the tensions of the day precisely as John W. Campbell did almost a century ago.
2026: Licensed here under the same name
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Spotlight Live

Karaoke on a mammoth scale
Using a typical Village karaoke den as a frame of reference for Spotlight Live is a bit like imagining Niagara Falls from a running tap. True enough, aside from differences in scale and locale they are both essentially just falling water, but somehow the comparison doesn’t quite do justice.

The underlying premise of Spotlight Live is to take the karaoke phenomenon of stardom in miniature, and turn that experience up to eleven. Instead of performing for a group of a few dozen in a cramped basement, the view from Spotlight’s stage looks out at four stories, twenty-three thousand square feet, and as many as eight hundred potential fans in the making. And if that’s not enough of a thrill for you, your performance will also be broadcast onto a twenty five by forty foot Times Square Jumbotron, and picked up on a live web feed. If all that sounds a little intimidating, fear not. You won’t have to face all that pressure by yourself. You’ll have a team of professional back up singers, stylists, and a top notch sound system all working together to make sure that when you hit the second chorus of Eye of the Tiger the whole crowd will be on their feet and clapping in time, or failing that your backup singers have been trained to throw themselves in front of any tomatoes hurled your way.
2026: A different business is licensed at this address
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Play

Eat, Drink, Smoke, Bowl, Shoot
Even nestled amongst the cluttered commercial real estate lining Queens Boulevard it’s hard to miss Play. Big, canary yellow and blazing its name into the night in ten foot silver letters it’s clearly out to be noticed. Of course this is Elmhurst and while hanging a tiny sign on a gate that says Toy Factory might draw a crowd in the Lower East Side, here you need to make a statement to get noticed, and Play definitely makes a statement.

Not content to be just a lounge, a bar, a club, a pool hall, or a bowling alley Play is each of these. Weighing in at over ten thousand square feet, there’s more than enough space for it all, including seventeen pool tables, four bowling lanes, a smoker’s lounge, a bar, and a dance floor. Each of these spaces represents a distinct social microcosm. There are dates out shooting pool, singles pressed against each other at the bar, and groups of friends bowling. But throughout the vibe is so low key and resolutely friendly that it can be disarming for a ranging Manhattanite. People come here to have fun, they come here to play, and that alone is reason enough to make the trip.
2026: No license found in 2026
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Tillman's

A Chelsea renaissance
On a nearly deserted stretch of 26th street, nightlife veteran Lesley Bernard’s soulful new lounge seems naked and vulnerable. Without a clipboard wielding doorman or sturdy velvet ropes what defenses does the latest and greatest from the co-owner of celebrity haunts like Clementine and Pravda have against the weekend hordes? More to the point how can you create an air of exclusivity without actually excluding anyone?

The answer soon becomes evident after you step through a wooden bead curtain and into warm and hospitable environs. Tillman’s is billed as a downtown re-envisioning of a 1970’s Harlem lounge. And while design cues such as prints of jazz legends, big, deep, old school leather banquettes and a rich autumnal palette help to evoke this feel, its real success lies in creating an atmosphere where every patron is the center of an individual universe. Like all of the best lounges, every seat faces out toward the center of the room creating an audience of eyes. Those eyes are then directed via huge brightly lit alcoves to booths along the side walls, or an elevated platform and couches to one end, or a sinuous line of seats cutting through the center of the room. It’s a rare lounge where every seat is prime, add polished table service and precisely crafted drinks and you’ve got the makings of a Chelsea staple.
2026: A different business is licensed at this address
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Death & Co

Death comes to the East Village

The relationship between death and vice is longstanding and intimate. Hence there seems a natural inevitability to Death & Co, a recently opened East Village bar with a décor which can only be described as mausoleum chic. The name, emblazoned in tombstone granite at the doorstep, refers to a literal depiction of this relationship, a series of prohibition era posters depicting a path to hell paved with bottles of spirits. Far from being temperance propaganda these were in reality carefully crafted to hide maps to the locations of nearby speakeasies.

 

The windowless entrance to Death & Co might be described as hidden if it’s possible to say that any doors emblazoned with two and a half foot wrought iron angel of death handles are in fact hidden. Entering through these doors and passing through velvet curtains reveals a scene juxtaposing life and death in the manner of an Irish wake. A young and animated crowd contrasts nicely with the somber environs accented with crystal chandeliers, white marble, gas lamps, and gold flecked walls.

 

In the East Village a bar serving $12 cocktails and $9-$16 morsels (a modest appetite will demand three) lives and dies by the details. In this respect Death & Co demonstrates an assiduous attention. The cocktail list features liquors such as El Tesoro tequila, Barbancourt rum, and Baker’s bourbon, names with reputations secured by tradition and quality rather than million dollar marketing budgets. Bartenders poached from the likes of Pegu Club and Milk & Honey work with the exacting efficiency of research chemists. For a bar only just cutting its chops Death & Co already has the makings of a seasoned professional.

2026: Licensed here under the same name
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