The April "soft" opening wasn't so quiet, and we missed the grand opening on Thursday, so we swung by Seven Grand last night. Monday is as good as any for a belt of whiskey, right? The reason everyone raves about Cedd Moses' new bar: There's nothing like it. The block its on is darn desolate, on 7th between Grand and Olive, but the neon stag's head sign lights up like a beacon in a storm. Several flights of plaid-carpeted stairs lead to the bar; along the way, windows and walls are filled stuffed dead animals and skulls. Whiskey bottles are as much art as offerings. The bartenders wear plaid, and one a five-inch-high mohawk. Our friend likened walking back to the bathrooms---where mannequin hands offer each other cigarettes in little window boxes---to being in a White Stripes video. Stuffed black crows wearing sparkly necklaces watch over the ladies' room. You could drink beer or even a margarita, but why? A healthy shot of some bourbon we've never heard of slowly melted over two ice cubes. It was just enough. ("Note to self: stairs.") Seven Grand is shadowy, funky, friendly, and maybe even a little scary. Now this is a bar.
Eater's Drinker's Journal: Seven Grand
by Lesley Balla