There’s certainly something magical about Grand Central. It’s the essence of New York. It’s hustle and majesty. It’s the center of everything. Hidden in one of its many nooks and crannies is a bar that perfectly typifies the glamour of the place. Once the office of ’30s tycoon John W. Campbell, the whole place has been restored to its original glory, complete with tons of ornate oak, velvet sofas and yards of leaded glass. One could stand and gawk for hours, if he wasn’t being jostled by some complete asshole in a $1,200 pashmina. It’s such a damn shame when pinstripe-suited, cigar-chomping pricks and their power-skirted, perfectly made-up, cosmo-toting, stomp-on-your-manhood compadres have to invade places like this en mass and turn it into some kind of fashion show/I-can-afford-$8-beers-all-night kind of joint. We guess it’s inevitable that a classy joint like this would attract snooty white folks. Then Mr. Hipster shows up soaking wet in his jeans and t-shirt after getting caught in a storm. Man, what an entrance. On top of that, I had to take out a bank loan just to buy a drink. Luckily, I have pretty good credit and was able to secure a $12 Kettle One from one of the out of work actresses posing as an out of work porter. [MF]
15 Vanderbilt Ave. (Bet. 42nd & 43rd St.)
212/297-1781
thecampbellnyc.com