The Mystic of the Hotel Bar
"A hotel is a temporary universe, a place where strangers become storytellers, and every room holds a whispered secret, a fleeting mystery waiting to be unraveled."
After an unexpectedly interesting, yet delicious pasta dinner at Osteria Barocca in Little Italy, Andrew and I found ourselves, stomachs bloated and not ready for the night to end, looking for a place to pop in for a nightcap.
We are never in the Lower East side, so we weren’t too familiar with the area. We didn’t know where to pop in to have a nice cocktail off the top of our heads. And, after the restaurant we had just tried, we were hesitant to do any deep research at this point.
Oh you deceitful Osteria Barocca. I love when expectations aren’t met. Weirdly, I think it’s hilarious.
We walked into this restaurant dressed well as we were expecting a cozy, classic, somewhat-upscale experience based on our Google research—only to find ourselves in what felt like the most touristy, COOKOUT meets Italian Cracker Barrel meets Chuck-E-Cheese birthday party experience there was. We sat next to a couple who were in sweatpants. There was a red heart “Happy Valentine’s Day!” balloon tied to the back of every single chair in the restaurant (restaurant capacity: 150). There was remixed 2015-2025 pop music blaring over the speakers.
Andrew and I had already had our go-to beverages before a nice dinner—a Negroni for me and an Old Fashioned for him, so we didn’t really feel too up-tight or severely disappointed by it. We aren’t like that anyways. We both find experiences like that way too funny anyway. I mean, is there anything funnier than taking the extra time to get ready, selecting a special outfit for the occasion, hurrying to get your nails done so you don’t miss the reservation, arriving dressed like you’re attending an inauguration, fully expecting a romantic, relaxing, and delicious dinner—only all for it to be the most thrown-together, touristy, unpretentious restaurant imaginable?
We could not contain our laughter over how comically anticlimactic it was. Jokes were definitely on us.
And at this point, we were fully expecting the food to be trash. Luckily, we were quite surprised and it was a delicious meal filled with self-deprecating quips back and forth that made us laugh all night long. Idiots, we said to ourselves after thinking we could ever trust Google photos again.
You can never be overdressed! Yes. Yes you can.
Anyway, back to the nightcap.
After a chilly, probably 20-minute stroll through the Lower East Side, we looked over and saw a very noir and dimly lit entryway that seemed exclusive, yet inviting.
I’ve discovered a theme in my quest-to-find-good-experiences since moving to New York. The second I think, I wonder if we are even allowed to go in here? is when I know I’ve found a quality spot. I am a woman who loves to test the waters in situations like this.
We looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders in silent agreement, and flung open the 75-pound door of The Bowery Hotel.
A quick aside: something we’ve found so interesting about New York compared to other places is that hotel bars, more specifically boutique hotel bars, are the places to go for a good cocktail and a luxurious experience. But anywhere else, it usually would seem borderline tacky and last resort-y.
But in New York?
Anyone can walk into a hotel for a drink to momentarily feel like you’re somebody in dim lighting, paying for $25 gin-and-tonics, and the obligatory musty this-building-predates-any-of-the-change-in-your-pocket smell to it. And this is yet another excellent example of this distinctive experience in New York: turning an experience into something that is only contextually chic and situationally cool in New York.
Back to The Bowery Hotel.
The atmosphere smacks you right in the face as soon as you walk in the lobby. Everyone automatically seems too-cool-for-school in environments like this. And I just love it.
The lighting was so dark I could barely make out shapes. The furniture and decor was eclectic yet romantic, blending “classic New York with a bohemian style” (says good ole’ reliable Goog’s). There were deep colors of maroon, burnt orange, and forest greens. There was a gorgeous fireplace. It was all beautiful, in that very New York way. It felt old, yet new. It felt intentionally dusty. The people seemed to be having interesting conversations. This wasn’t old-money Upper East Side elite, this was lowkey-highkey Lower East Side rebel luxury.
Oh did I mention—I had no idea that this place was something special? We simply thought it looked cool and walked in. These are situations we have found ourselves in more than once.
We approach the maitre-d's podium to assess the situation, also known as—where the hell is the bar?
Hi! Are there any seats available for two?
If you don’t mind standing.
We chucked that up as an odd, but very New York response as we were just ready to warm up, have another drink, bask in the regal environment, and enjoy each other’s company and conversation. So we agreed to be two peasants and stand. We figured a couch or chair would become available soon enough.
It’s around the corner.
As we walked around the corner, the energy felt as if you’re walking through the first-class section on an airplane.
How did you all get here?
How can you afford this?
Your company is reimbursing you, right?
We quickly learned (were told hastily by a waiter) that the patrons sitting down in the cozy, Aristo-modern sofas were either guests staying at the hotel or knew someone who was staying there. We were then escorted to the much smaller standing-room only section to stay put (the whole standing bit was making more sense to us now).
We order our drinks, totalling a whopping $40, and begin to stand-and-sip-and-sight-see. The crowd and the overall vibe felt very wealthy combined with rebellious creativity. And we are, obviously, neither of those things. We enjoy being in environments that we certainly aren’t supposed to be in because they are always entertaining and consistently have the best freakin’ cocktails in the city. You never know who you might meet or what you might see (I’ll have to write about our Bemelmans Bar story soon—that’s a really good story).
In this small backroom shunned from the rest of the crowd, there were only three seats in total (aside from the 5 barstools by the bar). We were crossing our fingers and toes that maybe, just maybe these people would get up quickly so we could snag a spot and stay a while.
Luckily, we stood for maybe 10 minutes, and these two ladies got up and told us to enjoy the seats. And enjoy we did.
Two hours went by and there we were—enjoying one another’s company, sipping on overpriced cocktails, having lovely conversation, and having thee best time playing dress-up.
We weren’t supposed to be here, but that’s exactly why we were.
That’s the thing about New York: half the magic is in the illusion, and the other half is just knowing when to play along (while staying true to yourself and never losing yourself in the perceived glitz and glamour of the 1%).
New York is the craziest place to live. And who would’ve known that all of this could come from stepping in a random hotel bar?
“Anything is possible. This is New York.” –Carrie Bradshaw
Best,
Jade