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This venue is closed.

Degenerate devotees of prior tenant the Village Idiot (1994-2004) will marvel at being greeted by a suited host instead of the stench of puke and piss. Gone, too, are the buxom barmaids. In their place? Dale DeGroff-trained mixologists in suspenders and ties that match the gold-leaf wallpaper and jibe with the vintage seltzer bottles behind them. The cocktails are similarly swanky. Only fresh juice and garnishes are used for potent potables like the Strawberry Nirvana (vodka, a zing of ginger and a flowery combo of velvet falernum, lychee, and strawberry). As the sounds of piped-in Jack Johnson and the like buoy the shop-talk of those standing around the restored, century-old mahogany bar, others who’d prefer slurping oysters to cocktails take a seat under the dining room’s retractable skylight or in one of the barroom’s gigantic leather armchairs. Rest assured that Chef Antonio Cardoso is a slow food adherent: This bar grub is more than a few steps up from the free wieners of yore. — Daniel Maurer