Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Blackstones

245 E. 55th St.
New York, NY 10022
(212) 355-4474

There's been a lot of muck around the netosphere lately about how Visceralist is only good at roasting bars within our comfort zone (the LES/EV/WBURG). Now watch this...

Bathroom situation
- standard fare. Two stalls + two urinals in the men's. Presumably the same in the women's. Zoom Media in the building.
Takes credit cards? - yes. And they have the touch screen register to prove it. Corporate account friendly and they're not too picky about people saying "It's on his card." Midtown, bitches. Fuck a recession.
Crowded on weekends? - no clue...as we all know, Midtown's more like a ghost town on the weekend. So they operate on a skeleton crew...with one foot in the grave...red dot on your ass like my name is The Predator. [ed. this'll be the last Midtown bar review]
Seating - roughly 15 stools around the bar in front. Handful of stools near the pool tables. Ample seating in the back room, but it's usually reserved during prime happy hour days (Wed-Fri). If you go there then (you won't any other time, trust), prepare to exercise your posture bones.
Neighborhood - residential East Midtown. Next block same as the next. Next Deli same as the next. Next A-hole same as the next. Blackstones is cool tho.
Type of crowd - known for its diversity. Everything from business casual to business formal. Fish in a barrel, I know, so Visceralist is not gonna bother ethering anyone...
Pretentious/assholes - Visceralist has midwestern readers who may not know the ins and outs of NYC neighborhoods...but Visceralist also has NYC readers who hate reading that redundant shit...so let's just compromise and say that everyone is familiar with the frat-bro archetype, and leave it at that. In addition, Blackstones also attracts IT helpdesk dudes.
Cost of Stella - even the smaller, backroom bar has Stella on tap. A rarity. Told you it was cool. Btw, who else can't wait for Lebron to smash the '09 playoffs/finals?
What time people start showing up - 5:30-6:30. The epitome (pronounced ee-PIT-o-mee) of your NYC happy hour spot. However, not unique in this regard.
Bartender efficiency - well-staffed than a muthafucka. If you can't get a bartender's attention, you prolly work for a non-profit...yeah, they can tell. So can everyone else here, FYI. With your brokeass.
Official Website - here. Straight out of the 1999 HTML/Java bag o' tricks, but they have all the pertinent info so we cain't hate.
Food? How late - yes and it's just as classy as it wants to be. Steak tips on garlic bread? Check.
And. Mate.
TVs? What's on - so many TVs they show horse racing on some sometimes...even during March Madness season. Take that LES. Fuck you and your moustaches.
Guy:girl ratio - 50:50...the perfect environment to do something that'll make you start emailing someone else to avoid talking to the chick at your office that you drunkenly slid your arm around cuz you thought she was into your ugly ass. Alcohol's a helluva drug.
Toys - two damn pool tables and a few touch screen multi-game units. AKA the standard Midtown package.
Age of clientele - yuppie whippersnapers - those afraid of them usurping their jobs. And, to think, you put in all those years of wearing a tie every day...ain't that a bitch?
Space for dancing - you don't wanna see anyone here dance...let's move along.
D├ęcor - whatever company is outfitting all the pubs/taverns in Midtown is richer than Madoff's clients thought they were in 2007. The only thing that makes Blackstones stand out is that their back area has a sick moon roof.
Grimeyness - no fucking complaints.
ID check procedure - sporadic. Literally, it's a crap shoot. Plus the guy who checks it (when they do check) looks like depressed, meth'd out Geraldo Rivera in a jean jacket. [ed. that's kinda harsh.]
Music medium, style & volume
- "All up in the strip club / never get a boner / only get hard for d'oh! / I'm homer / and you're a simp, son / and I'm a pimp, son." -Lil Wayne.
Specials or most popular drink - 11am - 7pm: half priced apple martinis and cosmos. Kill't it.
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