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Eater's Drinker's Journal: Seven Grand

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.

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