Perhaps my favorite bar in all of the Big Apple lays on a quaint end of West 3rd in the heart of Greenwich Village- Fat Black Pussycat. Having been to a myriad of bars in the city, it’s unusual to pinpoint a singular favorite, a place that’s so perfect that I’ve often had fantasies (and close-calls) of driving 8 hours just to indulge in a Fat Black Pussycat craving, but this place, in my opinion, is a perfect 10.
Having three very distinctively different rooms, the bar is sure to appease whichever state of mind you come equipped with. The front room, formerly Kettle of Fish, is a traditional English-style pub with old wooden, high-back booths, dartboards, and a bar sticky with the plethora of international beers available on tap. The bottle list is also internationally friendly offering tasty beers ranging from French (Kronenbourg) to Brazilian (Xingu). They’re very forthcoming with their servings as well- beers are served in a multitude of sizes, but my favorite is the heavy round glass (that’s unfortunately too large to fit into any clutch I may bring with me).
The next room is an intimate and rich room filled with lush, spiced cider velvets, Middle Eastern lanterns, antique sofas, romantic curtains separating parts of the room, golden lights, cozy rugs, an authentic throne, and an ambiance reflective of the prospective offspring of a Moroccan and Medieval union. Exotic, international background music exemplifies the room’s multitude of appeals and enhances the romanticism and luxurious atmosphere.
Perhaps this elegant, exotic room next door to a sloppily beautiful pub is what highlights this bar’s appeal far more than others. It’s an unusual thing to cater to my internal Irish drunk and frolicking princess mentality simultaneously. This place hits the spot flawlessly.
And still there’s a third room- a large downstairs called The Village Underground that has a large stage for frequent musical acts and a black, leather ceiling with a rather interesting light display and, of course, its own bar. This is likely the only venue I’ve visited where a 10-or-more man band can fit comfortably onto a single stage.
But my heart remains upstairs in the combination of old Europe and old Middle East, comfortably existing aside each other, and perhaps metaphorically dictating the ability to have civil and surprisingly complementary relationships with those we may otherwise feel indifferent to. It’s genuinely a beautiful union here at Fat Black Pussycat.
By: Ashley Halligan