BRIEF: TELL US ABOUT AMENITIES IN THE CITY BB

COCKTAIL BAR

Clover Club
210 Smith St.
Brooklyn

The speakeasy movement will never, ever die. It’s like people admit cocktail hour peaked in style and grace in the 20s and we never made an effort to improve on it since. We want our bartenders in suspenders and mustachioed, we want our drinks presented in glassware that accentuates the flavor of the botanicals or whatever, and we want our music classy enough our grandmothers wouldn’t object but with enough jumping and jiving and wailing that any Nazis strolling down Court Street would (see: Swing Kids).

Julie Reiner of Flatiron Lounge fame is the purveyor of the artesian cocktail lounge, playing up the Victorian aesthetic hinted at on 19th Street. The main room is warmly lit, creating a warm glow off the white tile floor and the dark English-style wallpaper, covering the dapper leather couches in elegance and making your guests seem visually 75% more romantic (even your parents).

Start off with some crisps, that delightful term for potato chips, simply saturated in delicious duck fat and dippable in a truffle cream sauce, paired with a Gin Blossom, a tart but powerful introduction into the family of flavors you’ll be experiencing. Follow this up with a juicy Lamb Burger and an Improved Whiskey Cocktail, which whiskey purists will remind you is an Old-Fashioned with a healthy dollop of absinthe. Then again some whiskey purists do not allow ice. I must recommend against the Mac & Cheese, as the teamed-up smells of Gruyere and white cheddar are too powerful unless you’re dining alone with no regard for your fellow man.

I must applaud the Clover Club for turning down a patron’s request for Irish Carbombs, and the subsequent ask for Bud Lights. And ignoring the Nazi’s requests for a jukebox. With Char No 4 and Grocery, they have raised the bar for upscale dining and drinking in Cobble Hill.

Dunderdon
25 Howard Street
Soho

We know the urban lumberjack is an urban cliché by now, relegated mainly to the newly transplanted and diehards in Bushwick. With Red Wings in J.Crew and Dave’s New York teeming with the overcompensating, we can’t say it was an unwelcome retreat.

Dunderdon, a Swedish import from Gothenburg, meets you halfway. Upon first glance you may feel you’ve stumbled upon gothwear via Cabela’s, but that’s just the way they do it in Sweden, because the climate is too unforgiving to mince about (or so I’ve read). These Swedes also love clean, simplistic lines, muted colors (like deaf-mute, blood red is as happy as it gets), and accessorizing only when practical. Tastefully branded and elegantly fitted,assuming you’re of European fit, Dunderdon has pre-empted the basics-by-way of Carhartt found at places like Hollander & Lexer by a few years. Not that it’s a race.

As you can imagine, the most important pieces at Dunderdon is the outerwear, because when Swedes go outside, that means something different than we know and not only in language (in the movies, it is always terrible weather in Sweden). While a little canvas heavy at times, their jackets and coats are not bulky but pack a suprising amount of warmth, down and Thinsuate among the chief players, nearly hidden in the apparel but doing it’s job while you’re none the wiser.

Given our affinity for their clothes, we may have to go check this Sweden place out instead of drawing conclusions from their exports, Dunderdon being among their best.

MEN’S APPAREL

By Robert James
72 Orchard St.
LES

If you’re ever wondering where the cast of the speakeasy movement are getting their inspiration from, seek no further than this shop on Orchard Street. This designer looks further back than most to colonial-era military apparel, updating and altering the designs to accentuate their inherent other-worldliness, given few other designers offer 60s leather racing jackets and coats with actual vintage World War 2 buttons. Most do not even try to mimic the level of artistry and detail of the era, but Robert James spares neither.

Having bought a tweed blazer here, under the careful supervision of Sir Robert James himself, I can safely say the level of service here is beyond high. It was a piece (yes, I’m calling jackets ‘pieces’ now) I had seen in the window months before, captured on my cell phone, and adored for a few minutes each night before going to sleep.

Sir James had crafted the jacket himself, and provided the source of his inspiration, a picture of Jesse James when he was 20 years old wearing a piece (thats western slang for ‘jacket’) remarkably similar to the one I was trying on. Needless to say when I don the jacket, I mime pulling out my six shooter now and then to random innocents. Pew-pew.

I returned a few weeks later to survey their impressive vintage tie-bar/cuffling pairings, and I told him I had to get the sleeves shortened a bit. He was a bit peeved as they do free in-house alterations, and when I protested it wasn’t his fault, his principle was unflinching: “Well, it’s my name on the inside of the jacket.” I don’t think I’ve ever heard such pride in my entire lifelong retail experience. Also, there is a very affectionate dog in the store. Just saying.

Some of the apparel is beyond theatrical, and some of the t-shirts can be mistaken for the Christian Audigier variety upon first inspection, but are surprisingly tasteful and nuanced upon the second. Unfortunately, the first impression is not a taste so easily removed like bile from the back of the throat. However, if you’re a first rate badass and/or in Interpol you could probably rock this outerwear pretty comfortably.