Funny things happen at Pravda.  It’s where my visiting friend ordered three $25 glasses of Johnny Walker Blue,  another sat next door to Jerry Seinfield and shared “eyes” pre-Soshana and one or two bent on mind-erasers.  It’s that subterranean world which is like no other, with a formula (and the Balthazar stamp behind it) standing the test of time. Down the stairs you go. Inside:  round, red leather banquets, a curvaceous, full-stocked bar, skinny little model servers, distressed mirrors, low candlelight and great drinks.

After all these years, the place is still cool.

Photo by Youngna Park/NYM

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