Nine Lives

Nine Lives is one of those rare spots that feels both effortlessly cool and genuinely thoughtful. Tucked away in a basement between train tracks and the road, you might miss it if you're not looking – there's just a neon sign with nine lines. But once you're whisked downstairs, you're hit with this warm, dimly lit space that's equal parts Tiki bar and Scandi garage den. The furniture is all reclaimed or upcycled, the staff uniforms are second-hand, and even the sound system was lovingly restored from discarded parts. There's no pretension here; it's just a really well-executed concept with heart.

The drinks menu is refreshingly straightforward. Instead of a bewildering list of obscure cocktails, they organize by spirit – each with a classic, their twist, and a guest bartender's version. I went for the Regular Joe, their Old Fashioned with Bulleit Rye and poached banana syrup, and it was superb. The bartender, Cal, was happy to demo the difference between rye and bourbon, then launched into a discussion about their zero-waste approach. The Kelross Daiquiri, made with Bramley apple juice from the owner's garden and local honey, proves you don't need air miles to make a great drink. The food – seasonal Mexican tacos from a truck in the back – pairs perfectly with a Margarita or Paloma.

What really sets Nine Lives apart is the attention to detail. The music is played on a custom-built quadraphonic system that sounds rich and warm, perfect for after-dark listening and dancing. The decor is intentionally mismatched and slightly shabby, but it works. It's the kind of place where you can have a proper conversation, enjoy a genuinely creative cocktail, and feel good about supporting a business that actually practices what it preaches about sustainability. It's not a tourist trap; it's a proper neighborhood bar with serious credentials.