Editorial Review

What a pleasure of a place. A Europhile epicurean’s dream, it's a cozy restaurant in back and a tin-ceiling tavern in front where Cat-Power-listening low-fi locals blow off steam by reading the New Yorker at the bar and discussing brewing techniques with the tatted-up bartenders. Though the menu’s not for the faint of broth—try rabbit legs braised in Dirty Bastard Scotch Ale with spaetzle—humble pots of mussels are the norm. Not that you’re here for the food. Belgian beers are the draw, which is why the front bar looks like an indie-rock chemistry class. Served in a tall hourglass beaker with a separate wooden handle, Kwak is the stuff, a light blonde 8% Belgian draft ale that's one electron away from ambrosia. (Great restaurant in back with mezzanine and lumberjack chic Ameri-European entrees that'll surprise you more than the alcohol content in those giant European beers.)