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This speakeasy in Chelsea is named for an 1896 law meant to curb New Yorkers’ liquor consumption. Past a door buzzer and a discerning host is the windowless space, which just about nails a sumptuous twenties vibe (Chesterfield furniture, turn-of-the-century wall hangings, and a few bona fide antiques sprinkled in) despite the odd garish touch (the blinding tin ceiling; a wallpaper panel displaying a cheesy flapper-silhouette montage). The cocktail list comes courtesy of Meaghan Dorman and is packed full of perfectly mixed numbers like the Pioneer Spirit (rye whiskey, apple brandy, orgeat, and angoustra bitters) and the Garden Paloma (tequila, jalapeno agave, celery bitters, club soda, and grapefruit and lime juice). You’ll have to arrive early to land one of the private tables surrounded by velvet couches and black gauze curtains: each comes equipped with a wall buzzer to call your waitress when you need her and keep her at bay when you don’t. — Melissa Lafsky

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