The Lamb's Club is Our Bar of the Week

Leslie Pariseau

The Chatwal may not be a little girl's dream hotel (The Plaza is more likely), but with a lobby bar decked in red deco sofas, shimmering powder room floors (à la UES sidewalks), Petraske cocktails and a fireplace the size of a medieval hearth, it will most certainly do for a grown up girl. Bouncing toward The Lamb's Club bar after discovering the massive compilation of Duraflame logs throwing heat into a posh red and black dining room, one such girl was greeted with a gin cocktail and the guayabera'ed Sasha Petraske himself. "You feel like Eloise, don't you?" he smirked. Swinging her legs over the barstool across from a pretty barkeep, she sipped the Hays Fizz ($18, gin, lemon, sugar, soda and absinthe) through a straw and watched guests traipse upstairs to the oversized lounge bar. Forkfuls of calamari tucked into an origami napkin were alternated with spoonfuls of lemon meringue tart, tips artfully bruised with oven burnish. One cocktail later--the Lambs Cup this time--she finished the meringue and made friends with Jane the bartender, Giovanni the bar back, Sasha the owner and several bar guests. As the night wore on, red-lipped Jane shook many more fizzes and Giovanni left for home in his white coat. The post-theater restaurant crowds dwindled, departed hand in hand and the Duraflames died down. With a final sip and swaying barstool descent, the girl shut down the bar that evening and returned the next to do the same. If Eloise had grown up, she'd have been a barfly here too.

The Lambs Club
132 West 44th St.

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