Remember your first summer in NYC when your co-worker mentioned to you how there was a big boat in the Hudson you could drink on? Remember stumbling around in the keel, marveling at the ping-pong tables, and embracing the thick stench of an abandoned outhouse as you felt like a true mariner?

Well, from the months of May through September (and April and October when it’s at least 65 outside), you can do it all over again. Pier 66 Maritime (but affectionately-ish known by all as The Frying Pan) offers a full bar and grill from noon to midnight seven days a week in the summer. Although 90% of patrons opt for the over-priced-and-underwhelming $34 buckets of Corona, the 10% who go with the white sangria are rewarded for their adventurous choice. Lime wedges and a silent and emotionless swipe of a card complete the transaction, and if you get there early enough you can even sit down at a table and comment on the odd sculptures strewn about.

While it admittedly is a beautiful and unique way to embrace summers on the Hudson, more often than not you’ll be paying to weave through an endless supply of thirsty elbows. On a Saturday, you better get here by 1:00 pm at the latest, lest risk sweating away last night’s hangover in a multiple-block line hugging the fence on the West side highway.

 

The staff isn’t particularly friendly (please keep your appendages, sunglasses, and shame inside the boat), and while a couple Saturday’s at FP are required by the Mid-20s NYC Society each summer, this place just feels like one of those establishments that had its switch flipped from glorious to groan somewhere around the 24th birthday.

Apparently there’s a DJ when the sun goes down, but I always wonder who stays at night when they open up the dance floor. Something tells me it just wouldn’t feel right anyway (like going back to summer camp when everyone’s gone and finding things just aren’t the same).

I think it’s fine to come here for a brief stop with co-workers during the week, or even early afternoon on a weekend before you’re 25. After that, you probably aren’t at risk of having read this anyway.

Suggested attire: Sperry’s, croakies, button-down, misery