Bourdain would’ve been drawn to Blackmarket Hall in Monti like a moth to a dimly lit,
velvet-draped flame. With its moody speakeasy vibes, eclectic art, and killer cocktails, it’s the kind of
spot where conversations stretch into the early hours and strangers become co-conspirators. He’d have loved
the layered atmosphere - gritty yet refined, bohemian but sharp - and the sense that behind every drink and
shadowy corner, there’s a story waiting to unfold. He probably would’ve ordered something hard on the rocks,
leaned back in a creaky vintage chair, and let a live rendition of Sweet Jane by The Velvet Underground
wash over him.