Warszawa’s relatively plain façade has given way to a red and white, Eastern Bloc–meets–hipster minimalist facelift. Inside, most of the decor that lent Warszawa the vibe that you were eating at a Polish grandmother’s house (where the white tablecloth and the good china were put out for the occasion) has been 86’d. A few remnants of that old-world feeling remain (the abundance of framed Polish art and theater posters, for instance), but gone are the books, mirrors, globes and other knick-knacks. In an attempt to add a dash of youthfulness, the lighting has been turned down, the music is more modern and, most notably, a new speakeasy-style secret bar is hidden behind a bookshelf on the back wall.

The bookshelf is covered by a red velvet curtain that gives way to a small room flooded with bizarre neon pink light. Inside you’ll find a piano, vintage lounge furniture and, of course, a bar. The specialty cocktails are made with an array of Polish vodkas and include martinis and a Moscow mule called the Warszawa Llama. It’s a cozy space, perfect to knock back a few drinks while listening to some live piano music.

Despite the new additions and tweaks, the menu at Solidarity remains almost entirely unchanged from Warszawa’s — a safe move, considering the steady stream of regulars over the years. Those regulars want what they’ve been coming back for: signature pierogi that come boiled or steamed, creamy beef stroganoff with spaetzel, rich chicken paprikash and the glazed half-roasted duck served with a knife through the middle. (The only new dish, a kielbasa and onion Polish “taco” special on Tuesdays, reads and tastes like an attempt to appeal to food-mash-up–loving millennials.) Portions are smaller, and the prices for most dishes are lower.

Putting aside the question of whether Solidarity can simultaneously appease the regulars and draw in a new crowd, those pierogi are as delicious (and affordable) as ever — and the crisp, ice-cold vodka martinis should count for something.