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It looks just like any run-down, probably-thrived-in-the-’70s hardware store. You’ve got your questionably out of date cleaning solutions in the front window, the pegboard displays, the old-school gummy sticker price tags haphazardly tagged on every hammer, screwdriver and tube of caulk shown.
But then you realize it doesn’t open until 5:30 p.m.
What is this, some not-too-subtle New York drug front?!
Nah. It’s just another bougie, semi-secret speakeasy. And you’re going to love it. At least if you’re a sucker for kitsch and a good theme, like me.
When you ring the bell at the Hardware store, a hostess will stop by the door, asking you how many people are with you — and to see your IDs. Once you pass down the hall, still covered with goods for sale, even paint swatches, you’ll turn the bend and see a red velvet curtain. The second you cross it, everything changes.
There’s a long marble bar, tufted chairs set up in casual arrangements throughout the room, Edison bulbs in hipster-ific wire light fixtures. It’s nothing like the hardware store time forgot, and yet, it is. It’s the bar time forgot. Only it’s happier that way.
The cocktails are pricey — we’re talking $15 apop — but this isn’t your standard Manhattan or straight-from-a-mix margarita. Each one features handcrafted, artisanal ingredients (see what we mean about bougie and hipster?!), but they’re so good, you won’t mind being a little pretentious while sipping. Just own it.
After sampling a range of drinks with friends, if you only snag one thing off the menu — just one — make it the Southern Gravity, a smoky, cinnamon-y cocktail that will warm you from the inside (and convince you you’re on top of the world). It’s a combination of apple-infused bourbon, cinnamon simple syrup, Angostura bitters and mole bitters, and the cup itself is rinsed in scotch before the drink’s poured in. It’s supposed to add a smoky hint to it; I wanted to call BS, but I had to admit, the cocktail was as smoky as eating wood-fired ribs in front of a bonfire, so…no complaints here.
Like Please Don’t Tell in Manhattan and Ciro’s in Tampa, I’m a sucker for these hidden-in-plain-sight gems. It may make me a caricature of a 20something, but hey, they’re fun to check out.
Where to Go:
The Last Word
Astoria, NY
