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If the Pig’s latest location (it used to be across the street) were a person, it’d be Marie Antoinette. The dream-sequence bordello décor—brocade-and-smoky-gray-marble trimmed, with gilded mirror frames and plush antique armchairs—is extravagantly over-the-top and decadently feminine. Plop yourself, Marie-like, on a throne-style chair and order Champagne mixed into crafty cocktails from Death and Co. mixologist Philip Ward. (The Pig’s Ravi DeRossi is a co-owner at both hot spots.) The Violetta seems concocted as much for the nose as for the tongue, while other cocktails make use of the unique bite of the bar’s homemade ginger beer. Small-plate offerings and sweet and savory fondues are fitting for the cozy, two-person seating arrangements. The impeccably well-fashioned (and mostly female) citizenry appear clueless to the fact that it’s acting out the motions of a late-stage empire—no need to tell them that, when the angry mob rises, this will be its first stop. — Keach Hagey

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