The Marshall Plan
by Audrey Ference
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The Marshall Stack 66 Rivington St, LES
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The Marshall Stack, a cozy little spot recently opened on the Lower East Side, is an odd blend of highbrow and lowbrow sensibilities. The bar menu, for example, features a sandwich made with truffle oil, duck en brochette and foie gras, alongside the decidedly less fancy cheese balls and toaster pizza, all made in an ad-hoc kitchenette at the end of the bar. Dom Perignon sits next to a can of Schaeffer, wine by the bottle shares billing with Night Train. If you were one of them metaphor makin’ types, you might say it’s a pretty apt one for the New Lower East Side, home of the $4,000-a-month tenement.
It’s a great little bar, though. All the drinks are priced fairly, and they serve the wine in those big let-me-swirl-this-to-release-the-bouquet globe glasses, though we’ll see if those survive once the roving packs of liquored-up frat boys find the place. There’s a well-stocked old-timey Wurlitzer, and the décor is that warm brick-wood-soft lighting-antique knick-knack style that is homey without looking like a creepy grandma’s house. You know, smoked mirrors and an old-fashioned cash register but no figurines or cats.
Tables line the windows of the long, narrow space, with views out to Allen Street. Though it seems like it’d be a real bitch to navigate if it got super crowded, half-way full it was just the kind of snuggly boozerie winter hibernation requires. Let me just say that on a recent evening I was not the only lady at the bar by herself with a book and some wine. (That’s right, I go to bars by myself. What of it?)
There are, unfortunately, none of the eponymous amps in the place, though there’s a photo of the Who destroying one behind the bar, and a mural of one in the ladies’ room. Am I the only one who for some reason thought that the walls were going to be lined with amps? Probably. I don’t know where that idea came from. The other bad news is that they serve beer and wine only, so sorry, Mister Shakes, you’re going to have to drink your gin out of a paper cup on the sidewalk before you come in.
In general, the Marshall Stack is the kind of bar that everybody loves — welcoming and classy without being all yupped up about it. It remains to be seen whether the weekend locusts will fuck it up, but for now, at least, it’s a keeper
The Marshall Stack 66 Rivington St, LES
……………………………………………………………………………
The Marshall Stack, a cozy little spot recently opened on the Lower East Side, is an odd blend of highbrow and lowbrow sensibilities. The bar menu, for example, features a sandwich made with truffle oil, duck en brochette and foie gras, alongside the decidedly less fancy cheese balls and toaster pizza, all made in an ad-hoc kitchenette at the end of the bar. Dom Perignon sits next to a can of Schaeffer, wine by the bottle shares billing with Night Train. If you were one of them metaphor makin’ types, you might say it’s a pretty apt one for the New Lower East Side, home of the $4,000-a-month tenement.
It’s a great little bar, though. All the drinks are priced fairly, and they serve the wine in those big let-me-swirl-this-to-release-the-bouquet globe glasses, though we’ll see if those survive once the roving packs of liquored-up frat boys find the place. There’s a well-stocked old-timey Wurlitzer, and the décor is that warm brick-wood-soft lighting-antique knick-knack style that is homey without looking like a creepy grandma’s house. You know, smoked mirrors and an old-fashioned cash register but no figurines or cats.
Tables line the windows of the long, narrow space, with views out to Allen Street. Though it seems like it’d be a real bitch to navigate if it got super crowded, half-way full it was just the kind of snuggly boozerie winter hibernation requires. Let me just say that on a recent evening I was not the only lady at the bar by herself with a book and some wine. (That’s right, I go to bars by myself. What of it?)
There are, unfortunately, none of the eponymous amps in the place, though there’s a photo of the Who destroying one behind the bar, and a mural of one in the ladies’ room. Am I the only one who for some reason thought that the walls were going to be lined with amps? Probably. I don’t know where that idea came from. The other bad news is that they serve beer and wine only, so sorry, Mister Shakes, you’re going to have to drink your gin out of a paper cup on the sidewalk before you come in.
In general, the Marshall Stack is the kind of bar that everybody loves — welcoming and classy without being all yupped up about it. It remains to be seen whether the weekend locusts will fuck it up, but for now, at least, it’s a keeper
