the delancey

Entering The Delancey, I pulled back. Nearly pitch black, I adjusted after floating around the Lower East Side. I pulled back to Alvarez, "I don--" and stopped myself. Roll with it. The velvet modern seats, a few candles and bartenders that didn't seem surprised to see us, although we were the only ones in there.

He lead me upstairs into a scene on par with restaurants I'd been to in Mexico: a little heaven in the urban sprawl. The contrast is so dramatic, that in that moment I found pausing to take it in. We settled into a bench and sipped on Makers Mark.

I would be interested to see how the scene shapes as the evening pans out. It looks to have the potential to get packed, but the online reviews aren't in their favor.