Bon Vivant Diner: located on Broadway b/w 11th & 12th Streets

This diner is pricey. Probably too pricey. It’s decent though. But nothing to scream and shout over. Though, their milkshakes are tasty. Recklesley was so taken by the chilled drink she proposed there be a way to, “inject [the] milkshake directly into [her] veins.” We Brooklyn Skeptics prefer sugary treats over liquid heroin. We feel you just get more out of it.

As for the service, the waitstaff seemed pretty competent, for the most part anyway. At one point during the meal I, the author, asked our waiter for the location of the (women’s) powder room, and my question was met with the response, “yeah, sure.” Hmmm, interesting answer. Interesting and not at all helpful. (No need to fret, I eventually found the restroom on my own. Because I am a champion.)

There isn’t really anything more to be said about Bon Vivant Diner (English translation: Good [Something] Diner). It was pretty mediocre in all respects. My overall opinion: Nay-ish.

*I should point out that this diner is not in Brooklyn. Sorry.

Royale
506 Fifth Avenue @ 12th Street
Park Slope, Brooklyn

Royale might actually be the polar opposite of Jackie’s 5th Amendment. It is a real cool bar. There are no old people here. There are only track jackets and hoop earrings as far as the eye can see.

When Brooklyn Skeptic hit this place up, we were fortunate enough to have staked out a prime piece of real estate in the back room at an enormous booth, only made cozy by the fact that we had seven or eight people sitting in it. From this slightly elevated point, we had a tactical advantage in assessing the crowd. They were, for the most part, very hot. They danced on the tiny, illegal dance floor. They flirted while wearing enormously tall stilettos. They drank Manhattanly-priced drinks. The DJ was wearing an Elmo tee shirt, and that was weird, but notwithstanding… Upon reading that over, the crowd sounds super-douchey and downright Midtown. This is not the case. What I’m trying to say is that this is a cool bar with hot people. They dress well. They dance well. But you don’t get the impression that they’re total assholes. Can you even imagine such a place?

The bouncer, though, made the bar. I loved him. At just a shade over 400 pounds, he perched on a stool just inside the door. He wore a three-piece suit and a fedora. And he had a lapel pin which was – get this – delicate silver handcuffs. He winked at me when I left. Classy!

I hear there’s a good happy hour until 9pm. We’ll check that shit out and get back to you.