Studio 100 at the Marriott

This is a great low-​key spot to step out of the chaos of Time Square, grab a sofa with a few friends, and relax. They have happy hour specials from 5−7pm.

What a really good kept secret for Downtown New York! A billiards place thats not even packed, very good appetizers, and friendly bartenders. The only thing I didn’t like was that I ordered Calamari– but there was no cook on duty to do it so they had to use another kitchen which was fine. But I could hear the bartender talking to the manager in a negative way about how there was never any help.
I wish they opened earlier, I would be there all the time. But the food is still delicious, we took the pool table and the whole other room for well more than one hour because it was so quiet. I even took a break and spoke to the bartender for a bit. She was very friendly and since she was the only one, made use of her time talking to all the people at the bar. Very good service.
The manager just stood around. Not what I was looking for with the management.

Quite bar, no crowds, nice music, lounge, pool table. A quite spot to have a drink at the end of the day when you want to get away from it all.

It was cozy and mellow when I went early on a rainy Saturday night. Small pool table in a side room, no extra charge. No tourists, hence no crowd.

Tucked up on the third floor of the slightly easterly step-​sister to the glittering Marriott Marquis, is a lovely little thing so away from our bad day, so away from the crap that was going on in our lives and heads, so away from the noise and heat and light of The City, that it deserves A Real Good Unilocaling.
An hour earlier we had trudged into the oppressive throng of midtown, after three separately long days (weeks, months, years) shared in one stressed out office, seeking only a quick beer to dull the twang of stress ringing our nerves.
We walked past our usual McGarry’s because it was far too packed. We stopped outside a pub on 8^th but the appendages jutting into the street pushed us on. We walked East for blocks and past the din of three more places. We shielded our eyes from the blur of Parrotheads crowding into and spilling out of Stout. (Oh really shitty day??? You gotta throw a Buffett concert in? Parrotheads blocking my way to sweet potato fries?! Ech. That is so below the belt.) Then, we saw that the other always empty place across the street was closed. Sigh. We walked on. Decided to just walk the seven blocks straight towards salvation, a bar where my friend works that is usually too far, but to which we had already walked halfway. Yeah, you guessed it, we arrived to another mess of people blocking our way. We turned around and started to walk down the block. I thought it was over. I thought we were bound to give up. We had to. This unending series of disappointments had just been too much to bear. And our feet were tired.
But then.
I think it was Jaime that first halfheartedly pointed up and said, «What’s that?» As we crooked our necks up and our eyes focused in I remembered seeing those neon signs on the third floor a few times before.
«Studio One Hundred, Bar and BIlliards» I read. «Let’s go» I heard from a resigned Arti. Speaking tiredly of the dark, empty, velour upholstered space we all wanted, we walked across the street and into the Marriott Residence Inn.
On our way up to the third floor, through a pretty wood trimmed and modern lobby, Arti pointed out the sign reading «Jazz Thursdays». Jaime loves Jazz. This was a good sign.
Upon entry, a friendly if slightly too perky for my frayed nerves «Hi! Welcome!» greeted us. We purposefully circumnavigated the whole bar, my need to escape drawing us into the far and dark corner. The last in a series of banquets and booths all covered in soft maroon velour fabric under mild blown glass lighting — it was perfect and generously proportioned for three. Had we been dating, it would have been quite the romantic spot, hidden up there behind the dark yet sheer curtains obscuring the now backwards view from behind those neon signs that had grabbed our attention from the street.
In our hour of rest we went from three girls staring straight ahead barely able to carry on awful and stress-​full carried-​over-​from-​work conversation, to three girls cracking a smile and even giggling as we felt at least a small piece of our unhappiness melting away with every tired breath. Was it the jazz singer around the corner just out of sight with the absolutely beautiful voice? The dark environs we shared with only a handful of other patrons that felt oh-​so-​blissfully far away from everything that we’d walked past to get there? The realization we were sitting a few feet away from one of the only free pool tables in NYC? The freshly scooped bar nut/​crunchy mix served to our table or the mix of smells from the wide variety of food that passed us by? Or perhaps the jokes that started as we sipped our last sips, about the bartender who walked like a fawn. You know, like Puck from a Midsummer’s Night Dream. She even had Puck like-​boots on. Well, like Puck would have had, had he not been hooved. Regardless of what the exact culprits behind our relaxation were… our hour spent there was refreshing, and that is perfectly enough for me.
Lastly, I had walked in knowing full well that I would be paying stupid hotel prices for a simple beer. But when the bill came, the price was less that $ 5 a pint.
Sniff.
I’m almost misty at the memory.