Mounted antlers, fluorescent PBR sign, shuffleboard, illuminated jukebox, whiskey, hipsters -- this is the new quintessential Williamsburg scene. Now that Southern food has permeated the shiny-gritty depths of the neighborhood (Pies 'n' Thighs, The Commodore, Brooklyn Star) the Southern bar has finally earned its plucky place beginning with Lady Jay's. On an early evening, Willie Nelson's gravely voice floated about the already broken in bar while a couple flirted at the shuffleboard table, hands draped around hips and glasses of iced down bourbon. Miller High Lifes were ordered by the half dozen and carried to the back patio where they dripped condensation in the sticky heat, were drained quickly and followed by a round of PBR tallboys. The crowd was less country than Graham-stop cool, but seemed happy to take part in the backwoods dive theme singing along when twangy tunes popped up on the jukebox, and ordering exotic-sounding moonshine from Sam Mason, former chef-owner of Tailor, who held down the bar. Come winter, Lady Jay's new scene sheen might wear off and the drinkers may become more local, but that's as it should be -- every neighborhood requires a dark, private bar where one can cry into a shot glass and wail along to a tragic country ballad -- you might just be crying along with the 50 other locals who've adopted Lady Jay's as their own.
633 Grand St.,