The cold hurt my bare fingers and my phone was almost dead, making me loath to double-check the directions on Google Maps. I arrived at what I thought was my destination, but instead found HiLot, a fancy cocktail bar that requires you to ring a doorbell to be let in. Confused, I tried the bell and gently padded across the plaid carpet, supremely aware of there being just one couple in the bar at 7 p.m. on a Friday evening. Uncomfortable with my predicament, I ordered a fancy cider before I had the courage to nonchalantly ask if HiLot was formerly a sake bar. Was it the question or my request for a cider at a cocktail bar that hinted that I didn’t want to be there? “Oh, that’s next door,” the bartender replied.
Relieved to know that my intended destination hadn’t closed, I collected myself and found a seat. I sipped the cider as though it were my go-to cocktail order and enjoyed the bar’s glamorous decor before leaving this accidental bar for Accidental Bar (98 Loisaida Ave. between East 6th and East 7th streets). As soon as I stepped into the real Accidental Bar, I relaxed and swept off my coat. Tea candles and a couple of warm light bulbs softly lit the room. Two regulars sat at the bar and the owner stood behind the counter. With a small wooden bar (about 8 seats) and just a few tables, the space fills up quickly, and in my experience, once seated and ordering, it’s hard to make yourself leave.
Turning Japanese
Everyone and their brother seem to be visiting Japan these days. I know four couples and a single friend who’ve all visited within the past year and a half. An urban planning organization I belong to recently did a study trip to Tokyo. Since May 2025, the New York Times has published an ultimate 10-day travel guide to Japan, a guide to Tokyo, and what to do with “36 Hours” in Sapporo. In December, a substack I follow, Noahpinion by Noah Smith, had a post entitled “Why Everyone Loves Japan.”
Despite all this interest in Japan, people remain more familiar with sushi, Kurosawa, and Wagyu than with sake. Accidental Bar’s owner, Austin Power, agrees: “I would say 95% of consumers say either, ‘I don’t really like sake,’ and I say, ‘Who hurt you? Was it free? Were you in a mall?’ or they say, ‘I don’t really know that much about sake.’ And I say, ‘What do you know about a vodka soda? Nothing, but you ordered 2,000 of them last year!’ You don’t need a PhD to enjoy drinking.”
Sake, which actually translates into “alcohol,” is Japanese rice wine—a fermented, brewed beverage with an alcohol content that’s generally higher than regular wines (closer to 15-20%). For the unacquainted, Accidental Bar is so much fun because they offer about 20 sakes ($14-19 for four ounces), each with a short description of where it was produced and what it might taste like. Descriptions like “Body-ody-dy with apple bottom elegance!” or “23 Flavors! The Dr. Pepper of Sake *wink wink*” may sound vague, but having had the Dr. Pepper of Sake, I can confirm that they’re spot on. You can also have an Orion beer ($8) or a glass of wine ($16; they usually offer a white, a red, and a rosé), but that would be like visiting Junior’s and not ordering a single piece of cheesecake.
Overwhelmed by the menu? Power’s go-to question is, “What are two things you like drinking?” Your answers will help him recommend a couple of sakes for you to try, after which you’ll be off to the races. The frigid evening I stopped in, a small party of six friends had reserved some of the tables and a couple of pairs sat at the bar. I quickly made friends with a couple who was visiting Accidental Bar that evening for the first time. They’d stopped in before having omakase nearby, and had now returned post-meal, hooked. I learned about how they’d met, what types of board games they enjoyed, and then discussed urban planning with the woman—she’d always been interested in the field, but worked in healthcare administration. We mulled over ways she could slowly dip her toes into a different career as they each ordered an Austin Special ($10; Power’s version of a sake bomb, which he considers a “gateway drug” to sake drinking).
The fun menu, warm vibes, and friendly bar chatter are all thanks to Power. Many people experiment in college and for Power this meant drinking sake. He moved to New York City from South Carolina to study at Parsons School of Design (he’s a painter and designer), and soon became good friends with a Japanese businessman, ten years his senior, who’d left his career in Tokyo to study design. Soon they were drinking sake and shochu together on the weekends and competing—whoever had better critiques that week didn’t have to pay for the drinks.
One of the biggest collectors of Power’s paintings also happened to be a big sake nerd. Spending time with them allowed him to try beautiful bottles that would have otherwise been out of his budget. Sake also led him to Sake Bar Satsko, an Izakaya restaurant located just a block away on East 7th Street (they also serve sake, but in a more traditional setting). After meeting its owner, he began showing his paintings at the bar, and the bartenders trained him to take over for them so they could take longer smoke breaks. When someone didn’t show up for work one day, Power was ready to formally step behind the bar.
During the pandemic, Power began working on an interview series called Accidental Education, in which he hoped to ask interviewees, “How did you f**k up and end up finding things you love doing?” Around the same time, a friend’s bar was closing and he stopped by to help them try to find someone to take over the space. After getting a little drunk on sake, one of them looked to Power and said, “Why don’t YOU do it?” His response, “Yeah, why don’t I do it?” The interview series didn’t pan out, but the sake bar did—simultaneously taking on the series’ name and answering its question for Power.
One of my most prized possessions is a pin from my late father. It says “Goof Off Expert” and I love it—a reminder that life isn’t always so serious. So, when I walked up to Accidental Bar that freezing night and saw the sandwich board advertising “serious sake 4 silly people,” I knew I’d fit right in.
As Accidental Bar proves, sometimes being a little silly and trying something new is the key to uncovering a seriously fulfilling life.
