ATTABOY
Lower East Side
This is a slightly complicated review. Here’s the thing. I don’t love to wait. I am a patient person, but I am not a lover of lines. Once upon a time, I was the kid camping out in front of Circuit City, slamming Mountain Dew Code Red waiting for the new Gamecube. Those times have past me by. Now, if it requires a wait outside then I am generally looking for something else to do. Thus, we hit an interesting time in our Weekly Cocktale adventures. We’ve officially checked off most of the bars that take reservations. Uncharted waters of the NYC bar scene with a lot of other boats waiting to enter port. So, bear with me.
Attaboy is a bar that plays its cards very close to the vest. Nearly zero signage or lights outside. Dark windows. Locked front door. The only way you know is there are typically a handful of people milling about outside, waiting to be told they will have to wait some more for a seat inside. After putting our name in, we waited about an hour before getting the text to come on back. Once we were inside, I could see why: not many seats in this joint. I could see something else, too: this place was tres chic! Neat bar setting and the bartender was even cooler. He was covered in tats, wore a retro looking polo and rocked a mean Jheri curl. Not only that, he was friendly and tremendously knowledgeable.
Much like the exterior signage, the menu is nowhere to be found. You simply talk to your bartender about what you’re in the mood for and they provide something. It’s pretty impressive, although selfishly a bit difficult for me. I wanted something boozy and a bit on the sweet side, so I ended up with a “Hierophant” (I asked him to say it like three times and I’m 100% sure I got it wrong). Cognac, Islay Whiskey, Angostura, and some port. it was tasty albeit a little too heavy on the port. Tiff’s was called the Sherpa. She joined me aboard the sweet bourbon train, tossing in some orange bitters, curacao, and allspice. Her drink was better than mine and probably bags the Cock of the Night.
The second round…well, here’s where we get back to the waiting thing. It took 48 minutes to get a drink after I had my last sip. I am not exaggerating. I mean, I wasn’t flagging the guy down. He was busy crafting cocktails for others! Tiff wasn’t going to get another round, but it took so long for me to get one that she decided she might as well. The second round was more to my taste. I got a smokey, citrusy mezcal concoction called the Louisville Lion. Tiff’s drink, the Inner Child, was a citrusy bourbon fixture with a lemon garnish. Good, but second fiddle to the first.
Where does this land us? It’s genuinely my most difficult rating yet. I’ll put it this way. If you’re okay with a sloooow moving evening, then I think this is a four olive experience. The bartending was excellent, the setting was swanky, and the drinks were delectable. It was that good. But for me, it was two olives. You just simply can’t have that much waiting. There are too many bars in NYC, eagerly waiting for you.
🫒🫒
Hierophant (wrong name?)
Sherpa - Cock of the Night
Louisville Lion
Inner Child