Attaboy

OUR ARTICLE

Attaboy rolls with a first-come-first-served policy, and it’s not big, so arrive early or be prepared to be put on the “call list.” Think of the bar as your date – she might make you wait a few minutes, but she’s well worth the company.

The call list – aren’t they all the same? You sit on pins and needles waiting for the ring. You check cell reception, maybe dial an outgoing call to make sure your phone didn’t magically stop working. Then it comes, the Manhattan area code, the voice on the other end, you couldn’t sprint back fast enough if your name was Barry Allen.

The end of the evening always goes something like this: “Let’s get one more drink.” “Okay, last one.” “I swear, just one more.”

Buried under high-rise buildings in the Lower East side, Attaboy is camouflaged under the New York City lights and blends in amongst thousands of other parallel doors like a label-less bottle of scotch in a vast whiskey library. With no sign out front, it’s easy to walk by without even noticing, and it may take a few trips around the block before you realize you’ve already strolled passed it several times. In a world where we grow up playing hide-and-go-seek and obsessing over shows like Westworld, don’t act like you’re not interested in finding a hidden portal to Manhattan’s enthralling cocktail scene.

Once you’ve been escorted up a few steps and taken to a table, the last member of your party will show up: the attendant, the guest you weren’t expecting, but easily the most memorable one of the evening. There are no menus here, so he’ll sit down and ask about your favorite liquors and cocktails, along with any allergies. He’ll then offer recommendations. When he comes back, he’ll return bearing gifts, and while it’s not gold, frankincense, and myrrh, you’ll still feel like a young king under the unseen stars surrounding Manhattan’s illustrious framework.

The bar is submerged beneath New York’s skyline like a submarine that’s never heard the term “above sea level.” And like everywhere else in the city, it’s a small space, but it’s large in character. With a narrow design, low dim lights, and a back brick wall, it gives the feels of a real underground hideout. The letter “A” hangs in the front corner of the bar to remind its patrons where they’ve been at all night – believe us, after a few of this cocktail bar’s mouthwatering vices, the friendly reminder is welcomed.

The end of the evening always goes something like this: “Let’s get one more drink.” “Okay, last one.” “I swear, just one more.” A never-ending game until closing time, when a handwritten receipt is delivered to the table by the same person who has so graciously been taking your orders all night. You hug goodbye and then walk past that large “A,” the friendly reminder of where the last several hours just went.

As you make your way outside and down a few steps, you breathe in that distinctive Manhattan air and then smile and think to yourself, “I’m in New York City… on the Lower East side… and I just left one of the baddest bars on the planet… ATTABOY!”