Bar Review: Bar Basque

At first, Bar Basque appears as if it might be a miss -- mid '90s space tunnel vibe meets midtown lounge music is never terribly promising. However, upon following the red airportish walkway past serious personnel stationed at every corner and through a room of low slung couches, Bar Basque opens to a barroom full of suited up financial types. Behind those financial types is an illuminated case of self-serve wine taps ripe for the automatic pouring. Stake out a table, wait for a pretty waitress to exchange your credit card for a wine key card and have at the whimsical Enomatic machine. It spits out three pour sizes of nearly 30 wines and flickers delightfully as the pour begins and ends. One evening, musky chorizo and piquant padron pepper smells wafted around guests who thankfully range beyond FiDi guys -- out-of-towners likely staying at the Eventi Hotel downstairs gaped at the wine spigots while a woman costumed in a fat suit, exercise clothes and a hiked up purple leotard sipped her glass of white. "What are you?" the waitress inquired. "Camille Toe!" she proclaimed toasting her self-poured albariño in the air and resting her fat suit breasts on the counter. The only inquiry we had was how to tip seeing as we'd been serving ourselves the entire time. Had we a fat suit that night, we might have ordered each pintxo that passed by -- Iberico ham, a pile of Spanish cheese and lovely little ice cream cones -- but we stuck to wine and left a nice tip anyway.   

Bar Basque 
839 Sixth Ave. 
(646) 600-7150

Photo from Gothamist

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