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In a faceless desert of bland doorman buildings, Stir vamps it up with a sleek ambiance minus the zip code’s usual gold-card attitude. Under a flattering amber glow, plush, cube-shaped furniture softened with fluffy pillows faces candlelit tables where second-date couples swap Wharton stories as Latin tunes (or old Cure songs) murmur from the sound system. The minimalist décor complements the stripped-down drinks list, full of one-word martinis—Lucky, Passion, Tranquility, Flirt—that sound like club names from neighborhoods cooler than this one. Particularly delicious is the Trance, a girly concoction of strawberry Stoli, crushed strawberries, and cranberry juice, served in a glass rimmed with puckery Pixie Stix dust. DJs liven up the party on weekends. Apparently, this part of town isn’t so dead after all. — Nicole C. Israel