The Rusty Knot

Fashionista and I were mulling bar ideas on a bleak, rainy Friday. We wanted somewhere undiscovered, somewhere zippy, somewhere with eligible bachelor potential, anywhere that would make for a fun Friday adventure. I was reeling from a rough Thursday, but after a few pep talks I rallied for round two. I'm good like that.

It hit me like a ton of bricks. I'm thinking Automatic, no, Gansevoort, no, Red Lion, no, Horseshoe Bar, no, The Rusty Knot!

I first read about it on my favorite New York in-the-know Site Urban Daddy. The Rusty Knot was created by The Spotted Pig's Ken Friedman and Freemans’ Taavo Somera. Both restaurants are at the top of my list of must eats in this city so going to The Rusty Knot was a no brainer.

Fashionista and I were some of the first to arrive at the Knot. I had some serious doubts as to where it was and how to get in. All I knew is that it kissed the West Side Highway. Of course there was no noticeable sign, but how many bars could there be on 11th Street and West? Luckily I picked doorway A over doorway B and found myself in what felt like a cross between the lower decks of a sailing boat and your high school friend's basement-turned-party-room.

Throughout the rest of the evening, I admit to feeling schadenfreude as I watched others trying to discern where the place was. One girl with her rainbow umbrella and Jimmy Choo's walked by at least five times. She'd glance in the window--how did she not see us inside? before she'd strut off down the block, only to swing back by, glance in again, this time briskly heading north and fumbling with her cell phone. I wanted to congratulate her with a beverage and an applause when she finally walked in.



Fashionista and I sat at the mini wooden bar counter in the middle of the room that separated the lounge area from the bar. There were about eight stools and I enjoyed being able to face outside. The nautical theme was lost on me, however. Minus a few oceanic touches like the aquarium, the leather boat seats and a smattering of sailing wheels, I wasn't feeling it. And the '70s blinds did not help. I went hoping for an urban escape, but my city home was accentuated by the faux-maritime kitsch. I give the Rusty Knot an A for effort, but a C for delivery.

We ordered a couple of cocktails and snacks. One was right on the money, while one left us thinking, really? That's it?

The pretzel dog was amazing. If there was ever a best bar snack in this city this would be it. Think Auntie Anne's Pretzels meets Nathan's with a whole lot of spicy mustard. One of these was not enough.



We also tried the beer puffs. I don't know what happened in the kitchen, but somebody definitely forgot the beer or flavor in these. I bit into one expecting to be blown away -- I love puffs -- but these were so boring not even the apple sauce or a tub of salt could have made them better.

I couldn't quite make out the crowd either. There were yuppies in business suits and hipsters in skinny jeans; there were girls in dresses shipped straight from the Gilt Group and bobos in Urban Outfitters' tees. I liked that the Knot attracted all kinds of people.
The night was going swimmingly until this crew came in and sat down in front of us. There were about 10 girls with two guys who thought they were circus clowns. They really liked the ratio being in their favor and each time one would tell a story he'd stand up and gesticulate like he was doing stand-up at the Gotham Comedy Club. One kept trying to out-ham the other. Not only that, but the crew ordered the fishbowl cocktails and one of the guys constructed a straw out of six straws to cross the room so one of the girls could sip it. I felt for a moment we were at Senor Frog's in Myrtle Beach and not in what was supposed to be this hip new spot in Manhattan.

To me, The Rusty Knot was a victim of its own hype. I'd been reading about it and hearing about it and went in with expectations that were way too high. Some places meet those expectations. A friend recently asked me what restaurant is worth the hype. I responded without a flinch. Babbo. Rusty Knot, sadly, did not. If you're in the mood for some ocean, some drinks and some snacks, go to a real ship, The Frying Pan. I did last Sunday and I vowed to go there till the end of time, or at least until it closes for the season.

425 West St., at 11th St.
212-645-5668