I Accidentally Found a Speakeasy Behind a Flower Shop and Now I’m Obsessed

Okay, wow. You are never going to believe what happened to me last night.

So you know how Thursdays are my “wander and romanticize the city like I’m in a Nancy Meyers movie” nights? It’s the one evening a week I wear impractical shoes, pretend I don’t have bills, and just let the streets of New York tell me where to go. (Also, I really needed a distraction because I messed up Trevor’s coffee order at Ralph’s again and he gave me the look. You know the one. The “you can’t tell a flat white from a cortado and I’m rethinking our entire situationship” look. 😒)

Anyway.

How I Wound Up Inside a Flower Shop at 9PM

I’m walking down the Lower East Side, pretending my life is a Lana Del Rey music video (it was chilly, I had my long cashmere coat on and everything), and I see this flower shop — “La Fleur Noire.” It was adorable. Like, Pinterest-board-on-steroids adorable. There were black roses in the window, eucalyptus hanging from the ceiling, Billie Holiday playing softly. It was SO not your average bodega situation.

I walk in thinking I’ll get a couple of peonies to apologize to my roommate Monica for using her Tarte blush without asking (I mean, technically I replaced it, but she is very… thorough when it comes to shelf organization), but then I notice something odd.

There’s a woman at the back — in heels, sparkly earrings, glittery bodysuit — absolutely not dressed for flower browsing. She brushes past this enormous bouquet of wild tulips and suddenly, she’s gone.

Like, gone.

The Secret Entrance

I DEFINITELY was not going to get involved. But then obviously I did. I walked straight to the spot where she disappeared… and yes. There was a door behind the flowers. Like a heavy velvet curtain door. Like straight out of Gatsby’s dreams.

I hesitated for two full dramatic seconds (I had to make sure my lipstick still looked on-point and mentally prepare an excuse in case I was trespassing), and then I stepped in.

And OH. MY. GOD.

Welcome to Bar Reverie

So apparently, I unintentionally stumbled into a speakeasy called Bar Reverie. No signage. No Insta presence. Word-of-mouth only. Literal wizardry in drink form.

It was all dark wood panels, smoky candlelight, and plush green velvet booths. The bartender looked like he just hopped off a YSL runway and made me something called a "Champagne Mirage" — which involved elderflower, absinthe foam (???), and gold flakes. GOLD FLAKES. My drink sparkled like it had a trust fund.

I sat at the bar, made friends with a woman in a thrifted Chanel blazer and an English accent that never wavered even once (rude)… and ordered truffle duck sliders that may or may not have changed me on a molecular level.

Things I Love About Bar Reverie (and Why You Will Too)

1. It makes you feel like a 1930s heiress ducking the paparazzi.
2. The cocktail menu reads like a poem. (Literally. It’s printed on parchment with pressed lavender.)
3. No one’s yelling. Or TikTok-ing. Or trying to DM the bartender.
4. They play Nina Simone and Ella Fitzgerald on vinyl.
5. It smells like expensive perfume and secrets.

Also: there’s a “no phones past the curtain” rule. Which, honestly, I love. Except when you’re me and you keep reaching for your phone to photograph your drink because “gold flakes!” but then you remember aesthetic privacy and lean into it like a grown-up.

“This is what it must feel like to be in love with a book character,” I said to no one, mid-sip, staring into a corner booth like I was waiting for someone to write me into a novel.

Let me live.

A Few Things to Know Before You Go

If you somehow figure out where La Fleur Noire is (I’m trying not to dox them, okay?!), here’s what you need to be prepared for:

• There’s usually a wait unless you know someone. (I obviously didn’t. I just got lucky.)
• Don’t wear sneakers. Don’t even try it.
• Bring cash for tips if you can. They have that old-school vibe and it just feels right.
• Don’t ask the bartender to “make it sweet.” Respect the craft. Or at least fake it.

Final Thoughts from a Flower-Shop-Speakeasy Convert

I walked home giddy, a little tipsy, smelling faintly of gardenias and intrigue. New York always surprises me. Just when I think I’ve seen every rooftop, dodged every pigeon, and Instagrammed every brunch plate, it goes and throws a freaking secret flower shop speakeasy in my path.

This city is like your most exhausting but charming ex. The one who infuriates you but also shows up at your door at 2am with your favorite Magnolia cupcake and a good story.

I’m already planning to bring Phoebe next week (it feels like her kind of weird). Ross can’t come unless he agrees to not mention fossils for a full hour.

Welcome to Bar Reverie. Or don’t. It might disappear by next weekend just to keep the legend alive. 🖤🌸🥂

Love,

Rachel