Pace Yourself

Pace Yourself

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We can think of no reason why you wouldn’t be on a date tonight.

And why, on that date, you wouldn’t be channeling a combination of Lester Bangs and a world-class sommelier.

Because, you know, why would anyone think of a sky-related reason for that not to happen?

They damn sure wouldn’t at Fifty Paces, a shelter of wine-having from the good folks of Hearth, now open in the East Village. (Here’s the slideshow.)

This was, extremely recently, Terroir. But one choose-your-own-adventure record-playing policy and a David Bowie mural later, it’s now basically bar-date paradise.

We’ve got prognostications about your evenings here: you’ll pop in for a pre-date glass of wine, a tradition carried over from the Terroir days, and eventually agree to just skip the dinner plans in favor of exploring the wide world of brodo bowls (Hearth’s famous, allegedly all-healing bone broth) and pork ragù sloppy joes (which have been begging for pairings for years).

And about those records: you’re in charge of them. There’s a menu. It’s pretty damn—we’ll go with “eclectic” right now. For instance, on the Dylan portion, you won’t find Blood on the Tracks. You will, however, find Bob Dylan at Budokan.

To be fair, Dylanologists are really coming around on that one.


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