Review: Russian Vodka Room

Barfly usually scoffs at the words “piano” and “bar” on the same marquee. When we saw them together recently on an awning in midtown we almost decided against entering the darkened watering hole. But then we saw the two words that trump any other combination – “Russian” and “Vodka”. Standing for a second outside the door a potent smell wafted in our direction. We knew the odor well; it was our old friend, a past muse, a long lost lover. The smell of espionage is unforgettable. We decided to have a drink.

We walked in the Russian Vodka Room and were immediately transported into a James Bond movie. Definitely not the sleek and steroid infused Bond that suffices for entertainment today (though he can hold his alcohol). This was Roger Moore’s world – dangerous ‘70s design, droll wit, and full of spies that would potentially love us (KGB code name: hookers).

We cased the joint and raised an eyebrow in classic Bond style – there were large jars full of a chemical-looking substance perched on a shelf above the bar. Surely some mad nuclear scientist was up to something – could these be disfigured fetuses preserved in formaldehyde? Harvested organs intended for a diabolical plot to resuscitate the cold war?

”You? Vodka?” our bartender Mitzie asked. Stale cigarette breath poured from her Siberian lips.

“Yes.” She looked at us questioningly. Damn these stupid mistakes, our cover was almost blown. We sat up straight and pounded a fist on the bar “Da. Vodka.”

Mitzie obligingly poured a two ounce shot. The liquid looked strangely like the substance that floated in the most suspicious of jars. What was Mitzie up to?

“What’s this we’re drinking today, Dollface?”

Mitzie motioned to the jar. She cleared some nicotine phlegm from the back of her throat. “Horseradish infused vodka. Today special. $3 a shot.”

A portly man started tinkling on the baby grand. Mitzie sauntered over to a couple at the bar and gave a hearty laugh. We lifted our shot and hesitated. Could this be the end of Barfly? Felled by some nefarious Russian plot in the style of a cheesy spy movie?

We decided to live and let live, threw our head back, and gulped it down. It was calming, spicy, with only a hint of preserved fetus.

“Another?” Mitzie beckoned as she held the bottle above our empty glass.

Piano music hovered in the air. More laughter echoed from the end of the bar. A bosomy waitress passed carrying a tray full of colorful shots. “Da. Vodka,” we repeated. The wall had come down, the cold war was over, and if we were going to part with our secrets and lies, this was the perfect place to do so.

Ratings: The Russian Vodka Room

Smoking Ban in a Russian Bar – 1 olive – It just doesn’t feel right. The pregnant women at the bar would look so much classier with a cigarette in their hands.

Vodka infused with Polonium 210 – 4 olives - That power grabbing Putin keeps trying to get us drunker than we want to. Do you think he’s trying to “have his way” with us?

Mitzie’s Makeup – 5 olives – That mole was painted on. Or was it?

Roger Moore as Bond – 5 olives – As a proper spy, he spends less time in the gym and more time in bars like this.

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