Lucy’s Is Your Grandma’s House But With Whiskey
When I hear terms like “slumming it in the East Village” or “East Village dive” I immediately conjure up images of pretentious blog douchebags who think that because there’s graffiti on the walls that this is a bad part of town oooooooh. Let’ s be real; the East Village has been, relatively neutered since its punk rock days and “dives” tend to feature more expensive drinks that many upscale lounges. Thankfully, maintaining the punk rock days with some sincere un-pretension is the lively dynamo Lucy and her name sake bar.
Unlike some questionable mascots like Max Brenner or Willy Wonka, Lucy actually exists and she would like you to drink a lot, preferably Zwyiec. She’s been standing behind her lovely wood bar for years now and remains lively as ever to the wayward youth that comes in to check out the stalwart juke and pair of pool tables (and an inexplicably constant poster for Paul Rudd’s “I Love You, Man”). The floors get sticky and the tables wobbly, but if you care then you suck. It’s an always pleasant atmosphere not ready to change for anyone and happy to show you that it was better back when. Craft beers and clean bathrooms are nice and all, but when you’re looking for some sort of glorious combination of a dorm basement and grandma’s living room there is really no better place on Earth. And I don’t say that lightly. Come to Lucy’s, respect Lucy, and tip well.
135 Ave. A (btw St. Marks Pl. and 9th St.)