Monday, April 5, 2010

Schiller's Liquor Bar--Manhattan

212.260.4455

One problem I encounter with writing about restaurants is the difficulty of expectations. There are all sorts of expectations to manage, some founded in reputation, others in dimwitted buzz, and still some in rating systems. When I went to Schiller's I can honestly say that I didn't know what to expect. I've been drinking myself to the point of black out in that neighborhood for years and years, and Schiller's was always this brightly-lit place that seemed to attract well-heeled Europeans. Certainly not the spot for a disheveled ill-tempered drunk that is rolling in off the Ludlow pubcrawl. To be honest, when my boss and long time Upper East side Socialite mentions it as part of his hoity-toity food go to places, I figured that it was somewhere in the meatpacking district, tucked between two bridge and tunnel uber-restaurants. Obviously, I was mistaking it for Pastis, same difference really.

So what can be said after not having any expectations? The place is pretty good. It's a well run restaurant. It has to be to turn over that many people. I went with my other wife and we managed to grab a seat at the bar right before the explosion of bridge and tunnel fashionistas. Our bartenders were a little too practiced at being cooler than me, and when they kept hitting on my other wife it got old, but overall they were congenial, friendly, and fresh smelling. The food was fast and prompt and delicious, I had a chicken Piard and we split some Nachos and to be honest they were satisfying. I guess if I could own a restaurant, and bang hot chicks every night with a devil may care attitude, riding around on a motorcycle wearing a red scarf I would probably have a place just like this one.

My one caveat for trying this restaurant is if you're fat, ugly, or poorly dressed. If you are any of these three, or like me and have a harem at your disposal to make you seem like you're rich, then this scene is not your bag. Places like this never really make you feel comfortable, and unless you're with a crowd of people exactly like you, you're going to be pretty bummed. Sad but true, sad but true.


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