Monkey Bar - New York

Monkey Bar in New York is the kind of place that makes you nostalgic for a time you may not even remember, a time when power lunches weren’t over green juice and salads but stiff drinks, steak tartare, and cigarettes that seemed to burn with the kind of glamour only old New York could muster. Tucked into Midtown’s Hotel Elysée, Monkey Bar feels like a well-kept secret, an oasis from the polished gloss of modernity that so often scrubs New York of its grit and personality. Here, there’s a feeling that anything could happen, that the walls themselves have absorbed decades of whispers, deals, and the sort of conversations that shape the city.

You step inside, and you’re immediately transported. The place is swathed in dim lighting, with deep leather banquettes, dark wood, and a timeless elegance that manages to be both sophisticated and just a little bit rakish. The murals on the walls, done by Ed Sorel, are a tribute to the legends of the past, a visual roll call of old Hollywood icons, New York socialites, and literary heavyweights who once haunted the city. It’s glamorous without being pretentious, intimate but with a buzz that hints at stories waiting to unfold. This isn’t the bar where you’ll find tourists or trend-chasers; this is where New Yorkers come to be reminded of what makes their city great.

Monkey Bar’s house martini is a thing of beauty, a classic that somehow feels perfectly at home in its setting. They don’t mess around here. You get it cold enough to practically knock the wind out of you, stirred with a dedication to clarity and balance that makes every sip an experience. The gin of choice is Ki No Bi, a Japanese spirit crafted in Kyoto, known for its layered botanicals and clean, precise character. Paired with Dolin dry vermouth, it strikes a perfect balance: sharp yet smooth, elegant yet bracing.

What makes the martini at Monkey Bar special is the precision, the respect for tradition, even as it nods toward the global. This isn’t a drink weighed down by gimmicks; it’s one that honors the martini’s timeless form while showcasing a gin with a distinct personality. You take that first sip, and it’s crisp and arresting, the gin’s complexity softened by the faintest brush of vermouth, poured into a glass that feels like it was made for exactly this ritual. There’s a purity to it, a simplicity that reminds you why this drink has stood the test of time.

The garnish is minimal but deliberate: Castelvetrano olives and a lemon twist, both chosen with care. The olives are plump and buttery, less briny than most, offering a rich, savory counterpoint to the gin’s botanicals. The lemon twist, peeled with precision, releases a delicate burst of citrus oil that hovers above the drink, lifting the aromatics without overpowering them.

Monkey Bar, in many ways, is the quintessential home of the three-martini lunch, a relic of a time when lunch was a multi-hour affair, conducted over cocktails and red meat rather than emails and quick bites. It’s the kind of place where you could imagine execs and writers hunkered down in their corner booths, letting the world outside fade as they talked deals, gossip, and the politics of the day. There’s something liberating about that old tradition, about giving yourself over to the slow burn of a martini-fueled afternoon. Monkey Bar understands this. It doesn’t rush you, doesn’t push you to move on. Here, lunch can stretch on as long as you like, punctuated by another round and the quiet hum of the bar’s low-lit charm.

The crowd here is a mix of old New York regulars, young professionals who understand the allure of a place like this, and the occasional celebrity who values discretion over spectacle. There’s an unspoken code at Monkey Bar: what happens here stays here. It’s a place where everyone gives each other just enough space, enough privacy to let the conversations flow without interference. There’s a camaraderie, a sense that you’re all in on the same secret, that you’re part of something that feels both timeless and slightly subversive.

Every corner of Monkey Bar tells a story. The room has seen it all: the rise and fall of media moguls, the slow decline of the publishing industry, the high-flying 1980s with their excess and bravado. There’s something comforting about that, about sitting in a place that feels like it has stood firm while the city around it has morphed and shifted. It’s a bar that makes you feel like New York is still, at its heart, the city of dreams and deals, of smoky conversations and unexpected alliances.

In a world that often feels too fast, too digital, and too disconnected, Monkey Bar is a reminder of the joy in slowing down, in savoring each sip, in letting yourself get lost in the moment. This is a place that knows what it is and doesn’t need to prove anything. The martini at Monkey Bar isn’t just a cocktail; it’s a symbol, a testament to a way of life that may have faded but will never truly die. So if you’re ever lucky enough to find yourself there, order a martini or three and drink in the city that never stops dreaming.

Website: Monkey Bar