900 Fulton St btw Waverly and Washington Aves, Clinton Hill
The Place: An all-day restaurant and bar that is the paragon of “Brooklyn Cool,” on a busy block of otherwise quiet Clinton Hill.
The Time: Monday January 22, 9:30pm. I went to see my friend’s show around the corner at Jack, and because it’s a one-woman piece, she had 45 other people to say hello to afterward. So since I get to see her tomorrow at the show we’re BOTH working on (shameless plug!: Balls with One Year Lease Theater Company, running through February 25!), I decide to spend the final hours of my Monday evening with myself and a cocktail.
The Vibe: It’s really pretty in here, with high ceilings, wooden beams, over-oversized bulbous lamps, the biggest skylight I’ve ever seen, plants everywhere, exposed brick that's been painted black. It’s like the hipster section of a West Elm catalogue. The curvy marble bar stretches across the entire space, but I take my place at the very corner, settling into the wicker bar stool like I’m an old man on a porch swing. It’s a calm Monday night; not many people are here, mostly couples, some small groups of friends. The two women next to me are sharing ex-boyfriend horror stories and yeah, fuck Chad. Sleepy jazz is playing, which reminds me of when I dated a jazz musician and had to stay awake through his shows. The waitstaff is also pretty sleepy; it takes a while for anyone to acknowledge my presence. “We’re deciding between the burger and the chicken sandwich,” says the female in one of the couples at the other end of the bar when the bartender finally goes over to them. “I always feel bad eating chicken, cuz it’s the worst treated animal, y'know?” But you’re deciding between that and a burger? Brooklyn, man.
The Bartender: A woman in a blue sweater. She takes my order, makes my drink, hands me my check. That’s about it.
The Drank: Cool Leatherette, a cocktail of rye, ramazzotti amaro, ginger, lime and balsamic. It’s kind of a twist on a Manhattan, still boozy but light from the citrus, and it’s got that twang of balsamic at the end. Eventually though, the twang gets to me, and as it dwindles down, the drink becomes so acidic I can’t finish it.
Was I Hit On? There’s a guy sitting alone at a table, drinking a beer and reading book. We catch eyes a few times, and for me, it’s by accident because he’s directly in my line of vision. But I think he reads into it because he starts to do some strange eyebrow flirting at me. If you’ve never been eyebrow-flirted with, be grateful cuz it's weird AF. Also I witness what is 100% an awkward first date kiss and I am really glad I’m not 50% of it.
Should You Drink Here Alone? Sure. Sisters is a nice, neighborhood-y spot to grab a cocktail and a bite. It also seems to be a prime date place, but I didn’t feel like a spinster because I was alone. I won't make a special trip to come here but Sisters is fine, just fine, even for an only child like me.