t-cool has slowly run down the subculture ladder, hitting rungs like rockabilly-cool, biker-cool, and reprobate-cool as it traveled. Now, it has finally headed out to sea, with rustic-nautical-cool becoming the it-cool du jour. From Ken Friedman (Spotted Pig) comes the Rusty Knot.

The new West Village haunt, the Rusty Knot, has managed to make the seafaring-aesthetic cool for the first time since Ishmael and Queequeg were hitting the bar scene. Compact and heavy on the wood, the word “dive” has run rampant in writings about the Knot, but that’s slightly misleading. “Dive” doesn’t mean what it used to.

After the beautiful big-glasses kids co-opted almost every bar worth puking in, “dive” became a new buzz-word (ala “alternative”). Subsequently and naturally, faux-dives began opening everywhere, catering to the last-to-know; however, the pretenders didn’t have the zeitgeist right and, thus, tended toward kitsch.

The Rusty Knot charts this haphazard "dive bar" pilgrimage with decidedly mixed results. Calling the bar a dive is incongruent. Neither a neighborhood joint nor a tacky appropriation, the Rusty Knot is a cleanly laid-out, homey bar (though, the wall-mounted fish and jukebox speak of a certain forgivable affectation).

With Friedman’s name attached to the project, the Rusty Knot has a recognizable pedigree and its early popularity speaks to that. Though celebrity sightings have been reported, reasonable prices, the easy rec-room décor, and a far-off location lend it inclusiveness. Open until 4:00am daily, featuring a pool table, and offering a reasonably priced drink and bar-food card, the Rusty Knot should cultivate a diverse and loyal following.