245 S. 1st St (btw Roebling & Havemeyer)
Brooklyn, NY 11211
Bathroom situation - there may be others, but we’ve only ever seen the one in the back corner on the left. Shit is bombed-out & depleted, but never seems to be much of a line, despite its proximity to the dance floor. And that’s even when it’s thick with booty-meat up in here, which is always and forevermore.
Takes credit cards? - yes, with a $20 min.
Crowded on weekends? - fuck a muckabuck, yes. Visceralist rolled by here on a recent Friday night and it was like packed like a live-action Keith Haring mural. And though we still wanted to bum rush up in there and get our shit all the way off cuz the spot is that serious, the other brodies in our crew at the time were all like, “Waah...don’t wunna...” Hs were S’d.
Seating - a couple booths up front and an exquisite dearth of stools near the bar. So if you’ve managed to get one, don’t turn your head too far to the left, cuz the next man’s gonna swerve right, yoink your seat and you’ll find your Fatty Arbuckle on the ground, wondering why you ever moved to NYC in the first damn place.
Neighborhood - don’t let the “S” in their address fool you, this is firmly in the “Yo! The Mouse Trap board game I ordered off eBay just came in! Can’t wait to get this up on the bookshelf!” part of Williamsburg.
Pretentious/assholes - we’ve only been actually approached by (a) some chick in neon blue snowpants (w/ suspenders) & (b) some bolo who was all like, “Yo, you want some coke?” (possibly on some 21 Jump Street ish), but neither really annoyed us, so think we’re good.
Cost of Stella - they don’t have it on tap here, which is really the only drawback of this otherwise magical spot.
What time people start showing up - we recently showed up here after a late Saturday dinner at the nearby (and tasty d-liteful) Rye and it was dead for about the time it took us to take our seats and turn our heads to the left. Soon as they got back centered, it was fuckin' party time and it was official.
Bartender efficiency - the area around the bar is pretty narrow, which leads to some not so insignificant traffic jammin, but the bartenders know their business and go about it with some considerable aplomb. So tip them early and often, you...
Official Website - here. Phone number, email, address & hours. And that’s it. Just the way poppa likes it. Now come ‘ere...
Food? How late - booty meat. Served all night lawng.
TVs? What's on - if you don’t get the fuck with that bull...boy, if you came in here hoping to catch some episodes of the Larry Sanders Show on some ironic shit, then you need to just get all the way out of our fuckin’ sight by yesterday, fuck-o’clock. And fuck you too. And your breath stinks.
Guy:girl ratio - and this is why you come to the new set of cool bars in BK. Honestly, if your late-night plans include going to places where you can even see the Manhattan skyline, then you lost before you got started, B.
Toys - if one of you commenters could PayPal us here at Visceralist one of those new 4K TVs so we can finally play some goddamn Halo 4, that’d be great, just real great. Kthxbb.
Age of clientele - that part of your 20s when you can say “Eh, I’ll start focusing on my career next month...” and actually get away with it. Which hopefully extends into your 30s.
Space for dancing? - shit, where to start with this one? On the weekends they have the twerk team up on the bar, gettin’ it crackin’ like if the “Rumpshaker” video had a fuckin’ baby with 2 Chainz’ “Birthday” video.
Music medium, style & volume - any song that’s ever had the word “Booty” in the title and any of the songs that would come up if you put any of those first batch of songs as the seed song in your Pandora.
Specials or most popular drink - psh...dutty wine, prolly. Shit, just get your booty here.