Settle into Mangroves' classy quiet comfort

"Ambience," answered Mangroves co-owner Sam Shah. We were seated in the corner booth observing the crowded main bar. It was around midnight on a recent Saturday. I had just asked him to try and pin down Mangroves' chief attraction. "It is built to make you feel comfortable," he added, in between sips of superb, 21-year-old Glenlivet single malt Scotch whisky.

Mangroves has been a SoHo institution since opening 13 years ago. I had my first kamikaze cocktail (triple sec, vodka, lime juice) there about a decade ago. Since moving to a place within walking distance 2 1/2 years ago, Mangroves has remained one of my favorite upscale bars.

For starters, there's the covered wooden deck with the tables and cabanas. It faces Howard. I enjoy sitting there and watching the barely 21 crowd stumble to and from MacDinton's. It's the ideal spot to take someone whom you actually want to converse with — without having to scream.

At the main inside bar, the counter is stained glass. Flat-screen televisions are strategically positioned just below the ceiling. The male and female servers are fast, efficient and always friendly. Top 40 music plays — but not irritatingly loud. Professionals between, say, 25 and 40, mingle. No one shouts, pushes or acts obnoxious.

Patrons largely come to socialize and enjoy mixed drinks. Excellent champagne cocktails and martinis are all fairly priced at about $10. There are also $25 sangria pitchers, $35 mojito pitchers and $40 margarita pitchers available if you're entertaining guests.

Before I switched to scotch on the rocks, I asked my bartender, Devin Spiering, to make me his specialty. A few minutes later he delivered a fat glass of Fresh Strawberry Basil Martini ($9). I enjoyed it so much I handed Spiering my reporter's notebook and asked him if he minded jotting down the recipe. He was slammed but obliged anyway.

"Fresh strawberry and fresh basil muddled with simple syrup and a splash of sour mix," he wrote. "Shaken and strained into a chilled martini glass. Enjoy."

I did — and plan to re-create the concoction the next time I have a party. (I'm an amateur mixologist trying to evolve from two-part drinks and mojitos.)

In addition to the Mangroves' main bar, there's a second, slightly smaller one around the corner. On Fridays and Saturdays, the upstairs loft off to the left is transformed into a lively dance floor replete with DJ. It has the nightclub feel — but classier and sans cover charge.

Unlike most hot spots, Mangroves does not allow anyone — not even ladies — younger than 21. There's also a dress code. Guys are not permitted to wear hats. It sounds silly, but having spent the bulk of the past decade writing about nightlife establishments, dress codes do cut down on the take-five-shots-and-start-a-fight types.

Mangroves' safe, upscale environment pays off by attracting a respectful, estrogen-leaning crowd. After explaining to me the importance of ambience, Shah surveyed the room. It was around 1:30 a.m. "There are more women than men," he said with a smile.

Maybe that's another reason I like to occasionally get gussied up and walk over to Mangroves.