Last Exit to Elsa

This is not a new story. Elsa opened last year at 136 Atlantic Avenue in Cobble Hill to rave reviews. It was a bit of a New York City survivor story because it had been a well-liked cocktail lounge in the East Village for six-years before the landlords decided not to renew the lease. So it made the popular decision to grow up and move to Brooklyn.

The cocktails are good. I had the "New Partner Cocktail" which is not paleo, but is a $13 mixture of Caraway Rye, Honey, Mint, Pressed Apple, Velvet Falernum, Lemon, and Wormwood Bitters. There was a big sprig of rosemary on top. It was served by a lovely bartender and it smelled like an expensive meditation candle.

The lighting in the place was pretty. It looked like somewhere Don Draper would have gone on a date. The bar tap is a re-purposed sewing machine from the 1930s (and ode to Elsa Schiaparelli). The decor was swank. And I was having a great time there until I realized where I was actually sitting. I was in Last Exit Bar and I did not even know it. When I realized that I was sitting in Last Exit, I simultaneously felt like I was being punched in the gut and seeing a ghost.

Last Exit was the best bar in Brooklyn for a long time. I am certain there are a lot of Brooklyn die hards in other neighborhoods who would debate this with me, and I am open to all of the nostalgia. But I think we can agree that this fun little slice of life watering hole is one of the old school experiences, circa 1998, that will live in our memories for its unswank divey-ness. It was real. It was fun. There were DJ's and costumes and local artists' paintings on the walls. The bathrooms were plastered with pages of magazines and the graffiti that represented the angst in our lives.

"Elsa." The name is kitschy-cool, and it's not Anna, who is the other girl from Frozen. All parents with kids walking by this drinking lounge think about the Disney movie, Frozen, when they pass. We don't think about Elsa Schiaparelli first because some of us are not in "design." We are just walking down the street wishing we did not have the stroller so we could pop in for a drink. And even though the space is very chic ("the essence of the Manhattan location, but with greater sophistication"), it's just like the Disney movie character for whom it was not named. It throws sheets of angst ridden ice on the Brooklyn that just wants to dance to hip hop tunes. It does not know how to love Brooklyn. How could it?

Elsa (the cocktail lounge) is a second husband after a death. It's Miguel in "This Is Us." Really freaking nice. The great sad laughter that is life. And for that, we should raise a glass and eat the goddamn rosemary sprig in the drink. But don't forget. Do not ever forget. Because that will be the death of your soul.

(Next time I'm there I am definitely gluing a Vibe Magazine cover to the wall of the WC.)