After our most epic Terroir Tribeca evening, involving sleazy Miami weathermen (ew), married munchkins on the police force (double ew), veal & ricotta meatballs, beet & gorgonzola risotto balls and lots of good “forest floor” wine, Rosee and I ended the night at Tribeca Tavern (247 W. Broadway).

Tribeca Tavern’s restroom was dank, disgusting and short on toilet paper, as you’d expect of any place with “tavern” in the name, but when it comes to coolness factor, it’s easily in my top 10. You descend a staircase with a green railing, and suddenly you discover that you’re in the 14th Street / Union Square subway station, complete with dirty white tile walls. Ha. The women’s room was a mess – in addition to not having toilet paper, there were wet paper towels on the sink (but no dry ones to substitute for TP), and the black-and-white tilework was uneven and not arranged in any discernable pattern. But the subway station gimmick, combined with a vintage photo of Muhammad Ali in a boxing ring, won me over.

Tribeca Tavern’s bar food also won me over. Mmmmm. Best greasy mess of carb-loaded wonderfulness I think I have ever devoured. I balked when I got back from the bathroom and saw how many things Rosee and her friend had ordered, but we inhaled every oil-laden crumb. Super trashy way to round out a classy evening.