The Seventh Regiment Armory – the huge, turreted building occupying the block between 66th and 67th streets, and between Park and Lexington avenues – isn’t exactly the most inviting building in the city. If you’ve ever been inside the hulking structure, it was probably for one of the art auctions periodically held there. And if you pull back the massive wooden doors on any non-auction day, you’re immediately met by a uniformed military officer, who says, “Can I help you?” in a clipped, brusque tone that suggests you must be in the wrong place.

Until recently, however, you could tell the officer, “I’m going to the Mess.” He’d nod and grudgingly point you to an elevator. You’d go to the fourth floor, where you’d find a long, expansive hallway decorated with an array of ornate furniture and stuffed animal heads. At the center of the hallway was a bar, which was pretty much like any other bar except it was in about the last place you’d expect a bar to be. Off to the side, in a dining room decorated with paintings made by prisoners of war, you could order food.

This was the Seventh Regiment Mess, which was my favorite secret spot in New York until it closed a few months ago. Like all the best secret places, it was open to the public but felt like a private club, and even the savviest New Yorkers tended not to know about it. There was no exterior sign announcing its existence, no advertising, no publicist. Not many customers, either, which is presumably why it closed. Sometimes a place is too secret for its own good.