Rose’s

In the citronella-scented back yard of Rose’s, a man in a stiff Carhartt jacket disparaged a recent meal to his friend, a five-hundred-euro affair that dared to include a classless dish of couscous and a cold egg yolk. Luckily, that evening, the egg yolk served on a particularly juicy burger was hot and runny to perfection. Until the bar was bought out by two of its managers, last April, Rose’s was owned by Francine Stephens and Andrew Feinberg, dons of the tastiest mafia on Flatbush Avenue, which owns the beloved pizza restaurant Franny’s and Bkln Larder, a fancy (and pricey) market down the street. Service is a relaxed, hands-off affair that encourages independence, and a refined eye is necessary to distinguish the plainclothes waitstaff from the customers: a Jesus-beard-and-German-fade combo can often be found on both sides of the bar, as can cute women in horn-rimmed glasses and cut-up tees. The food is as much of a draw as the creative cocktails. If you’re forced to choose just one drink (and it’s now or never, as the menu changes every few days), the Shady Lady is, indeed, as they claim, “a pretty sassy aperitivo”: the cloying sweetness of sherry is balanced by a thick slice of cucumber and a dash of prosecco. There’s also the Spodi Odi, a glass of red wine and a shot of bourbon. If seeking a shot of a different kind, dollar clams and oysters shucked by Charlie, the fisherman who harvested them a few hours earlier in Montauk, go down in two chews and a very briny gulp. ♦