In this Part 3 of our three-part odyssey, we arrive at Paradise Lost at the western edge of New York City’s East Village.
If ever there were a quintessential tiki goth bar, it’d be Paradise Lost. Paradise Lost is the title of a 17th Century English poem by Milton about the fall of Eden. But what makes the lengthy poem interesting is that imagines the points of view of Satan, the other fallen angels in Pandemonium, and the spawn of Satan that gave Earth sin and death. This dark, barrel ceiling bar with red lights does a great job with the devil/goth theme.
On a Monday night in January they had a dry January nonalcoholic menu, specially printed, referencing the Order of the Fly, the court of the demon Beelzebub.
But it’s not just high-brow literary demonic references. Paradise Lost is also silly surf (in just the right amount). Surfboards serve as tables and a shark hangs over the staircase. As their backstory explains: “Surf demons wrestle 150 ft. waves that lap against the unending surf.” Its a bar that’s supposedly tucked away on a stretch of beach on the lake of fire, “a piece of paradise in the hellscape.”
Meanwhile, the downstairs bathroom imagines on old ‘80s NYC bar bathroom, à la CBGB (only much cleaner and with working doors). In fact, I thought of the entire bar as a cleaner, upscale version of the neighborhood’s Otto’s Shrunken Head.
The music on the nights we were there perfectly suited my tastes — a mix of punk, post-punk and surf. And the drinks were spot on. My two favorite were their two strongest. The classic Cobra’s Fang (which like the Zombie and Jet Pilot I often find too harsh) was well balanced and went down easy. One of the bar’s signature drinks (and a staff favorite) is their take on a zombie — a (Return of the Living Dead) “Tarman.” It’s my favorite Paradise Lost drink. A sweet and very strong, but again well-balanced, drink, the Tarman contains falernum, cinnamon, and hibiscus(!)
While the bar has great Easter eggs and visual elements, the decorative star is found in the entrance. Upon entering the front door, a visitor is met with a long, foliage-lined hall. And at the end of the hall is a beautiful Paradise Lost “Motel” neon sign — an exciting entry to my current favorite New York bar.
