False Idol

Where Ironside makes a spectacle of its industrial seafood hall, False Idol goes full stealth—you walk through another bar to find the entrance, then descend into a world that has nothing to do with the India Street passeggiata happening two blocks away. This is the neighborhood's tropical anomaly: carved tikis, thatch ceilings, and rum-forward cocktails strong enough that locals treat them like a two-drink maximum situation.

The craft here isn't ironic. Bartenders build drinks with house-made syrups, flaming garnishes, and the kind of citrus balance that separates real tiki from sugary vacation cosplay. The menu runs deep—expect to spend time deciding between a classic Mai Tai and something involving falernum and Jamaican funk rum. Regulars know to ask what's off-menu; the bar staff will riff if you give them a flavor direction.

The trade-off for immersion is space. Seating is legitimately limited—a handful of tables, bar seats if you're lucky, and a lot of standing room that fills fast after work and on weekends. Reservations aren't optional unless you enjoy hovering near strangers' tables. The music runs loud (tiki bar standard operating procedure), so this isn't your quiet anniversary spot; it's where you go when you want your date night to feel like a tiny vacation without leaving Little Italy.

Parking remains the neighborhood's eternal struggle—street spots disappear by 6pm, so budget for the nearby lots or walk from wherever you're staying. The bar serves light snacks, enough to keep you functional through a second round but not a meal replacement. Prices land in the expensive range, but the pours justify it—these aren't juice bombs with a rum float.

Come for the novelty, return because the cocktails hold up and sometimes you need a break from the aperitivo ritual.