For the longest time, Sweeney has been threatening to do some kind of running Preppy Old Man Places series where he and Conor Corcoran go and hang out when they feel like believing that the whole F. Scott Fitzgerald lifestyle can even exist anymore. It can’t, but engaging in the premise leads you to some cool, underlooked corners of the city. And it is, at the very least, a fun experiment that almost always proves, if nothing else, that holy hell, we do indeed live in a bona fide City. Anyway, Tavern 17, located on the first floor of the Warwick Hotel on 17th Street in Center City, fits in this category and yet, it doesn’t. But it has this very specific vibe, part could-be-anywhere hotel bar and part overlooked-gem, that makes feel like you’ve actually gone somewhere. And nowhere! At the same time! Which is magic, right? The best way I can describe is those scenes that always turn up in Martin Amis books where a bunch of oh-so-literate types are hating each other across tables that you kind of have to love. The also have these sliders (which at Happy Hour cost $1.70 alongside $1.70 mini-cocktails, natch) that are really great. You should go there. Happy hours are for savages; at least Tavern 17 allows you to pretend to be civilized.
4 Responses to “Places We Secretly Love: Tavern 17”
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Wow. Really? Seriously? You’re not joking? Time after time I give this place another chance, but the service is just unbelievably awful. Worst. Service. Ever. Horrendous. Every single time. So many times I’ve sat at that bar and waited 15 minutes just to be acknowledged, let alone served a drink. I guess I’ll give it another shot based on this post, but I’m not holding my breath.
It is well known among the decently read that Joseph K perpetually receives bad service at all venues and bureaus. There would be no “Kafkaesque” otherwise. The shaft comes with the nominal territory. Sorry it’s so, Joe.
Be forewarned: The gingersnap calamari is good in concept, but spending the following 24 hours puking my guts up will make me think twice before ordering it again. (And I feel relatively certain it was the calamari: I was the only one who ordered the calamari, and I was the only person who got sick afterward.)
Their daytime bartender is the fucking man, however, everything else about the place sucks. I used to sit at the bar when it was Circles, terrible food but great bartenders.
You should continue to secretly love tavern 17. I will never take advice from this blog since Phoodie editor is obviously and openly batshit crazy to publish this.