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This venue is closed.

If Oliva were actually in Basque country, the bar would be packed with young and old alike, all loudly getting drunk on sangria, munching greasy tapas and ashing on the colorfully tiled floor. Here on Houston Street, however, upwardly mobile hipster couples impatiently wait for overpriced Spanish fare at one of the tiny olive-colored tables. The ceiling fans are retro-modern steel and the brassy sounds of the Latin Jazz band don't quite block out the noise from this busy corner. Early in the evening, though, when the rustic space is empty except for servers and their friends, Oliva is a pleasant place to savor a glass of tasty homemade sangria, Spanish wine or one of the well-mixed house cocktails. — Shana Liebman

Die-hard East Villagers mourn their lost Mojo, the musty old dive bar that occupied this corner for years.

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