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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 lavender-scented 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, like to-die-for Smelly Potatoes (roasted with rosemary and Gruyère cheese and served on a marble disk) 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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