You know that summer in St. Trop is only fun if you avoid the army of wrinkled German men in thongs and retreat to Les Caves du Roy nightly. You understand that skiing in Klosters is better than Meribel, and regularly find yourself semi-clad at the Casa Antica at 3 a.m. You can play the name game with the best of them -- e.g. "Oh my gawd, you went to Bryanston? You must know Cornelia Pomkinson-Hurrah-Saxony!" You know that B.A. World Traveler is a kindly euphemism for Steerage. Face it: you're Eurotrash, and you're at a loss in Philly, where the cheese steaks and chicken wings don't measure up to the gastropub delights at Latitude.
So where to quench your thirst for a dirty -- nay, filthy -- martini? Where to sip Veuve while scoping out androgynous Prada-clad males and chic blondes looking fashionably homeless in ensembles they scooped up at Galeries Lafayette? Well, nowhere near here, but Red Sky is the next best thing. A luxe lounge bar in Old City, Red Sky tries its best to merge SoHo with South Beach and, for the most part, succeeds. Chef Michael Salvitti, formerly of BYO fave Audrey Claire, presides over the kitchen at this stylish little spot. Choose from tempting fare ranging from the quirky -- lobster quesadillas and miso-glazed sea bass -- to the traditional, with comfort foods like BBQ mac and cheese. A far cry from nibbles at Costes, yes, but delicious nonetheless.
If the eclectic menu doesn't grab you, the sexy decor will: think big black leather banquettes, industrial blue stairs and a mezzanine level covered in red glass, contrasting with the stark white space below. The lighting is perfect for showing off your just-back-from-St-Barths tan, and the music is mellow enough so you can hear the skinny Swede to your left slur sweet nothings into your David Yurman-adorned earlobe. Cosmos go for just $7, but if you're feeling adventurous like that time you pissed on the floor at Olivia Valere, order the Red Bubbly. Go on Sunday nights for the H20 party, where bottle service and valet parking go without saying. You're in for a treat, just like the staff will be when you unleash your obnoxious sense of entitlement at the bar.
