Popina — A Girl's Guide to Drinking Alone

127 Columbia St btw Kane and Irving Sts, Columbia Street Waterfront District

The Place: A tiny, cozy Italian restaurant in the similarly tiny, cozy neighborhood of Columbia Street Waterfront District.

The Time: Thursday April 21, 7:30pm. I had kind of a shitty, boring day so by the time my tummy starts rumbling for dinner, I know I need to get out of my apartment. I’ve lived in Cobble Hill for over a year now, and yet I still haven’t crossed the BQE into Columbia Street Waterfront District. If you’ve never heard of this part of Brooklyn, that’s ok, because it’s literally 22 (small) blocks sandwiched between Brooklyn Heights and Red Hook, with a perfect view of Governor’s Island. I mean, it’s named after a single street. Still, I’m surprised real estate agents haven’t nicknamed it CoWaDi or something dumb like that. But it’s got some good-looking restaurants that I can walk to!

The Vibe: I leave the industrial quiet of Columbia Street and push my way through heavy gray curtains into a bustling restaurant that smells like parmesan. Nearly every table is full, and almost every one of the few bar stools is taken so I wait until the host ushers me toward the end of the bar, my happy place. However it’s right by the kitchen and acts kind of like the hub for the FOH staff, so it’s hard not to feel in the way. But I’d probably feel in the way no matter where I sit since it’s such a tight squeeze in here. There are gray slate walls, wooden tables, low lamps and the main feature of the space: a big picture of Nonna looking down on you disapprovingly. There are quite a few larger parties, and everyone seems to be 35+ (lots of older folks wearing beige trench coats, if you catch my drift). More people enter this tiny space than seems humanly possible and if you didn’t know there was a backyard, you’d think, “wow the chef sure has a lot of friends!”

The Bartender: There’s just one, probably because there’s no room for any more. He’s got a mustache and is wearing a red flannel shirt and kind of embodies a Brooklyn Freddy Mercury. His name is Anthony and he’s super kind, mostly leaving me to the book I’m reading. (Which I am absolutely ENGROSSED in. It’s called “The Bartender’s Cure,” a debut novel by Wesley Straton and it’s one of those books I can’t seem to put down. I’ve got an advanced readers’ copy but it’s out in June so do yourself a favor and pre-order now!)

*Paccheri with maitakes, creminis and spinach*

The Drank: A rye Manhattan, one of the few cocktails listed on the menu and the drink I always want when I’m feeling kind of down. It’s in a massive coupe glass that I could literally drown my sorrows in, with a brandied cherry at the bottom. A good Manhattan is like getting a warm hug and it’s exactly what I need right now. They also have a lovely shelf of amari behind the bar and an impeccable wine list. And the food is fucking bomb: I get the paccheri pasta with mushrooms and spinach. It’s so delicious; earthy and chewy and savory. When I’ve basically licked the bowl clean, Anthony asks if I want dessert, so I order the arancini. Not dessert arancini, but regular, cheesy arancini. Does this make me a monster or a genius? I think genius. I also get a glass of Italian white to go with my arancini, because why not.

Was I Hit On?: Nope, it’s just me, my Manhattan and my pasta, enjoying reading at a bar on a Thursday night. At one point, the GM (I think he’s the GM) informs Anthony that a regular is coming to sit at the bar at 8:30, and he likes skin-contact wines. And at 8:30 on the dot, the regular comes in with his friend (date? spouse?) and they’re wearing nearly identical red-and-white cable knit sweaters and he orders a skin-contact wine exactly like the GM said he would. I’m possibly a little in love.

Should You Drink Here Alone?: Would I trek at least 15 minutes from the nearest subway station just for a Manhattan at Popina? No. But I’m a local and hopefully will be a regular because the food was delish and the atmosphere was delightful. Popina is charming and homey while still feeling sophisticated. So if you’re in the neighborhood, come wither under Nonna’s gaze before she asks why you don’t visit her more often.