Another round, bartender!
Twenty-five years ago, Siberia—a gritty dive bar run by Tracy Westmoreland—was a quintessential New York haunt. Famous for stiff drinks, cheap beer, and what Westmoreland affectionately called its “shithole” atmosphere, it drew a mix of high-profile and everyday New Yorkers, including Anthony Bourdain (who dubbed it “heaven on Earth”) and Jimmy Fallon. After closing its second location in 2007, the bar has now resurfaced for a third act, reopening last month in a snug underground space near the 57th Street and Eighth Avenue subway station.
“Siberia welcomes everyone,” Westmoreland told The Post between sips of Captain Morgan and soda. “Famous writers sat next to down-and-out strippers. If you’re cool, come in. If you’re a bigot or racist, stay out.” True to its roots, the bar embraces its dive aesthetic, with jarring red lighting and unpretentious grit. Westmoreland recalls patrons once “having sex on the bar” at the original location but promises the new spot is a “sanitized, kosherized version”—though he still vows to attract “the freaks.”
The MTA reportedly supported the bar’s late 4 a.m. closing time, and the space retains quirks like red curtains blocking subway views and nods to its former tenant, Gotham Tacos. The crimson glow—a Siberia trademark—bathes the tiny interior, where patrons mingle beneath gritty portraits by local artist Dana Nehdaran.
Westmoreland, who started in nightlife as an 18-year-old security guard at Studio 54, opened Siberia in 1996 in the 50th Street subway station. Amid crack vials and debris, he carved out a haven where Samuel L. Jackson once drank and Anthony Bourdain curated the jukebox. The bar’s name nods to a Siberian friend, and KGB rumors were later confirmed by artifacts found in the walls.
Celebrities like Sopranos actor Michael Imperioli—who calls Westmoreland “the grungy Toots Shor”—flocked to Siberia. Imperioli even brought co-star James Gandolfini, who “loved it.” The bar became a media staple too, with New York Times writers and NBC staffers frequenting its “shipping container”-sized original space. Greg Gutfeld later dubbed Westmoreland “a cross between a Viking and a larger Viking.”
Bourdain was a regular, often arriving post-shift for Heinekens. Westmoreland encouraged him to pivot from crime novels to writing about kitchens, leading to Kitchen Confidential, where Westmoreland is acknowledged. Their bond nearly birthed “Siberia South” in St. Martin, but Westmoreland refused to leave New York.
The new spot lacks a public bathroom and remains barebones but upgrades the jukebox to a smartphone-controlled TouchTunes. Reflecting on the neighborhood’s evolution, Westmoreland notes Hell’s Kitchen now lacks “chalk outlines and pimps,” but Siberia’s spirit endures. “I’m just a guy from the Rockaways,” he said, tearfully. “But I’m hanging out with the smartest people on the planet. That’s the great thing about New York.”