Welcome to all the blah the UWS has to offer. It’s no wonder this neighborhood has garnered a vanilla image and squeaky-clean, prepster attitude. Places like this just add to the ho-hum, with its rather typical interior and chino-wearing, hands in pleated pocket crowd. None of the homemade brews stick out in our minds, but a raspberry beer went over with mostly male crowd about as well as an albino outing to the Sudan. It’s unoffensive (unless the J. Crew catalog circa 1998 makes you puke) and somewhat inviting, but, like a Michael Mann movie, it soon fades from memory, leaving only the semi-hoppy taste of microbrew in your mouth. [MF]
340 Amsterdam Ave.