You Guys, I Found The Cutest Speakeasy in NYC
Okay, so picture this: It’s a random Thursday night. I’m running around the city, pretending I have my life together, when I suddenly realize—I need a drink. Like, the kind of drink that makes you feel like an old movie star, where the bartender has mysterious eyes and probably knows too much about whiskey. You know what I mean?
So, obviously, I text Monica, because she’s my go-to for anywhere that serves fancy drinks in fancy glasses (and also, let’s be honest, I knew she'd already have a spreadsheet of NYC’s best cocktail spots). She sends me this super cryptic text:
“Go to the unmarked door on 9th. Knock twice. Ask for Vincent.”
I mean… WHAT. Immediately, I’m intrigued. Also mildly concerned I’m about to be part of something illegal. But you know me—if there’s an opportunity for a good cocktail and some 1920s mystery, I’m in.
The Entrance (AKA My Spy Moment)
I arrive at this completely unassuming black door tucked between a very normal looking laundromat and an equally normal bodega. No signs, no frills, just a door. I knock twice, exactly like Mon said, and then—silence. Nothing. For a split second, I start spiraling… Did I mess up the knock? What if I was supposed to do, like, a rhythm? What if there’s actually no bar and this is just how people in NYC prank tourists!?
But then—click. The door opens just a crack, and a guy with slicked-back hair and, like, the most ridiculous mustache looks at me and just says, “Password?”
Oh. Cool. A password. That I do not have.
So, naturally, I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind:
“Uh… Vincent?”
The guy gives me a look—the kind of look that says, you do NOT belong here but I’m going to let this slide—and waves me inside.
Inside the Speakeasy
Guys. THE VIBES. It’s like stepping into The Great Gatsby’s living room—if The Great Gatsby's living room had the best playlist ever, glowing candlelight, and people who looked way cooler than me sipping on drinks with fancy garnishes. There’s this low hum of conversation, and the whole place smells like citrus and oak (?? Listen, I don’t know if that makes sense, but trust me, it did).
The bartender (who, yes, has mysterious eyes—I knew it) slides over and asks what I want. Now, usually, this is my moment to panic and order something embarrassing, like a vodka cranberry, but tonight? Tonight, I am a woman of sophistication.
“Surprise me.”
Because let’s be real—when you're in a speakeasy where the door guy has a mustache of authority, you do not order off the menu. You let the bartender work their magic. And let me tell you—what he made was nothing short of a masterpiece. It was smoky, a little sweet, a little spicy, and served in a glass so delicate I was afraid to breathe near it.
A Perfect NYC Moment
By the time I left (which, let’s be clear, was because they were closing and not because I was ready to leave), the city was draped in this perfect late-night glow. You know that feeling when you’re walking around New York, and it’s just quiet enough that it feels like the whole city belongs to you? Yeah. That.
Anyway, I’m not going to publicly post the name of this place—because apparently, that’s not what you do with speakeasies—but if you want in, you’re just gonna have to figure out how to find Vincent.
Which, honestly, is half the fun. 😊
Would love to hear from you guys—what’s your favorite hidden gem in NYC? Drop it in the comments (unless it’s also secret, in which case… DM me, obviously).
