thebartographer

[thebartographer]

New location: TheBartographer.wordpress.com

[thebartographer]

On PJ Clarke’s

An original bar of New York City certainly still feels like it. Look past the people around you and you’ll see phantoms of a past age. Brick walls lit up by some electric yellow lamp somewhere. Red checker table cloths that were actual knitted fabric and not whatever that cheap foam thing is. Black and white photographs of people who could have been as famous as they were unnoticed. Dark stained bars with smooth and round edges, manned by bartenders in white shirts and black ties and an almost untrimmed beard. I always knew there were a couple of PJ Clarke’s restaurants around, but I figured this must be an original. An oasis in a tall, steel city, this 2 story brick plot of land still offered a bit of paradise to the suits and retirees and tourists that were searching for some hidden gem of old New York in the center of new New York, Midtown East.

The one on 55th is the original, and it has been since 1884. The very same place I walk by every single day. Every time, I looked in the window and couldn’t see more than five feet inside. There’s a crowd at PJ Clarke’s every night, I’ll attest to that. I walked on by every time, knowing little more about the place than that their cheeseburger was toasted throughout the town. Finally, I had an excuse to go in, which is another way to say that friends joined me this time.

Even the name “PJ Clarke’s” is a classic, and the place did not disappoint. There are very few places (and 2 in Midtown East) that sport an exposed ice bar of clams, mussels and assorted seafoods amid the crowd. It’s protected, to be sure, but it lends a sort of credibility to the place. Oldies played on the radio above, befitting the crowd of veterans and young guns. The place is packed, but I suppose that can be forgiven, given the obvious popularity of this place. It’s not as cozy as I’d prefer, but it feels right, it feels true, it feels like it’s not trying to imitate, it just is, and it has been for a really long time.

The service is professional. Your orders are processed and returned, with very little interference or incompetence. Your Bulleit Rye on the Rocks’s are respectably filled to the brim. The sections of the restaurant, from front room bar to midsection to tail end dining area, are separate and distinct and uniquely flavorful. It’s like a museum in the sense that you only have the mental capacity to fully appreciate only a very small section of each room at a time. Next time you come around you can prepare yourself for a wholly different experience.

In the end, the one thing I had expected to be great was only just very good; the burger is not why I’d come back to PJ Clarke’s. I’ll come back for the same reason I’ll go back to McSorley’s. Every visit places you within a very distinct history: that of aplace, sure, but moreso a time. A time in which Frank Sinatra’s voice, or suited waiters, or iced clam bars, were a luxury and also the norm. That time hasn’t ended. It’s just been a while since you’ve remembered it. And that’s what PJ Clarke’s can help you do.

-John Chamberlain, the Bartographer

[thebartographer]

Along Avenue C

It was warm, and though it was rainy, it was still the warmest day of 2015. And so, I donned my jeans and my headphones, put on a jacket, and hailed a cabdowntown. This wasn’t just any mission. This was a game-planned bar hop along Avenue C. No expectations, no recommendations, just judgment-free data collection for the passion project. I recruited some interns by the name of Sean and JJ to help with the work, for that’s what this was. Work. On a day off? Not so hard when all you gotta do is drink some drinks and take a 5 minute walk every hour. Work nonetheless. Bar hops are not a light activity. The rain was a challenge, but less of a problem and more of an encumbrance. Like the thick air that was neither too cold nor too warm, it was just there. The three of us committed folks (others were invited; those same others declined) met at HQ on 13 & 1 for the briefing and the outlining of rules. At least one drink per bar and 5 bars to go. Judgment on the bars was welcomed, but not on the choices. The route was mapped: start at 10 & C, and make our way down to Houston. We didn’t get half as far. The first stop was the East Village Tavern, on 10 & C. I’d passed by it a few weeks prior and made note of it, writing only the address and “Possible dive” in my notepad. This is a definite dive, in the sweetest definition. 2 other customers were there, along with a bartender and a bar back. Nobody here was under 50, except the 3 adventurers. $2 off pints, said the bartender, whose voiced crackled under the whiskey and smoke and arguments consumed over the course of the previous 40 years. We were not the expected clientele of this place, but we fit right in. Using that extra $2 wisely, we took our rounds of beers (Bells’, Racer 5 and a Shock Top) and played a game of pool, waiting as the bar back, who had as much salt on him as the bartender, unlocked the table to retrieve the stuck 4- and 11-balls. It was at that moment that I decided I’ll keep a pool table in my bar, and also just about when I decided this isn’t the last time I’ll be at this bar. It may be a dive, but it’s a warm place for the quiet, the calm, the drunk, and the friendly. Maybe not the best place for a first date, but if she can survive in on the 10th, she’s a keeper. Sticking true to the plan to keep moving, we continued our journey south after two pints. Off to a strong start, I’d say. Two places were just ahead of us: the Wayland and the Summit Bar, both just under 9 & C. Both I thought to be cocktail bars, a huge contrast from our recent experiences at the EVT. The windows were open at the Wayland, but the bar stools weren’t. Already are plan was being compromised, waylayed by the Wayland, and we crossed the street to peer into the Summit, and we decided to give it a try. A cocktail bar it was. The lights above were custom made in bottles of whiskey and beer, the bartenders were slim fit grey vests, and the space extended from some outdoor tables on the street to a patio at the back. 3rd round so far was on me, so I ordered up three whiskey drinks: an old-fashioned for me and two of “The Gov’nor” for my comrades. While they were being conjured, I took a glance around. It’s a clean place, with a clever little U-shaped set-up along the front. No tables, just a countertop shaped around a wooden barrel in the middle. Given a denser crowd, this arrangement is sure to promote interactions amongst the people. But, we spoke to only ourselves as we sipped on our $12 whiskey drinks, and continued on our merry way. We left the Summit with the same general impression: it’s a cocktail bar alright, and while everything is certainly “nice”, it wasn’t a place to stick around, unless you had a bottomless budget to back you up. We avoided the Wayland again, and ended up instead at a place that wasn’t even on my list: The Third Man, stylized as The IIIrd Man, below 8 & C. At the time, I described the exterior as “Gothic punk”, but those aren’t the words. It’s dark and wooden, with two picnic tables hidden behind large brown walls. As my compatriots finished their cigarettes, I went inside to have a look, and it was then I realized we had found one of the rarest places in New York City: an empty bar. There was one man sitting at the bar as I walked in, and even he vacated his seat quickly, hoping I might ask him to cook me up a cocktail. Thrilled, I reported this fortuitous turn of events to the hearty explorers outside. An empty bar is one of my favorite things in this life. It originates back to a similarly rainy Sunday during my time at Lafayette College, when I was the first customer and not just one, but TWO, bars in Easton on the same day. It was on that day that the College Hill Tavern served its first brunch, complete with eggs and toast I had just purchased and transported from the Wawa up the street. Within Manhattan, this is unheard of. I cannot recall any other time that I walked into a bar completely devoid of customers, let alone a cocktail bar in Alphabet City at 6 pm on a Friday. (The bartender, answering my question, assured me that in 5 short answers, the very same venue would be packed to the gills). I cannot help sitting down to patronize an empty bar. In this scenario, I can dominate conversation, ask the bartender questions, customize my drink order, and really get to know a place, which is what we did over the course of two more old-fashioneds at the Third Man. During our stay, a few other customers did arrive, thirsty for curious custom cocktails curated by Christian the bartender. Over free shots of bottom shelf bourbon, he told us about the weather and the tiny televisions stored high up on the shelves near the back, about his impressions of our previous visits and my yet-to-be-named passion project. It was a fitting end to the bar hop, for the end it turned out to be. 2 beers, a shot of whiskey, and three old-fashioneds can spell doom for a bar hop. That’s why this project is not for fun, but for work. We persevered enough to walk in and out of a final venue, ABC Beer, but my memory is foggy enough to warrant a better visit the next time around. What I do know comes from the survey: no TVs, a small bar, some room in the back, and canned and bottled beer available for take-out. We made quick work of the last place, and with four new venues now documented, we turned our sights back to HQ on 13 & 1. We took a few cans of Sierra Nevada from ABC Beer with us (un-opened, of course), grabbed a pie of cheese pizza on our way, and retired to HQ, where we debriefed over said items. The night ended with a rough draft of April’s One Intended, and a cab home by 10 pm. This is the story of the first passion project bar hop. We learned some lessons as to pacing, as well as found some extremely valuable venues to remember for the future. It wore me out, but I’m looking forward to a few more of these over the summer. We found two definite keepers in East Village Tavern and the IIIrd Man, and started what I hope to be a tradition. I want to thank my fellow hoppers, JJ and Sean, who started the night as mere interns, but finished as full-fledged bartographers. I hope to recruit a few more of you into the ranks soon. -John Chamberlain, the Bartographer

[thebartographer]

The Front Story

Welcome to the Back Story of Bartography. Before I get intothe backstory, I think it’d be a good idea to explain the front story as well. So, here’s some context:

Context 1: I live in New York City, which may very well be the best bar town in America. If you disagree, please email me and tell me why and I’ll be at your doorstep in 3 days to inspect the evidence. 

Context 2: Despite the sheer quantity of bars in this city, the question “What bar should we go to?” is not easily answered. Location is not the only, or necessarily best, way to look for a bar. Criteria should include what’s on draught (if anything), what music is playing, whether there are any sports team allegiances, and whether you could actually read a book there. 

Context 3: I’ve started documenting this criteria in an Excel spreadsheet, with the expressed hope of making it screen-able and search-able, so if you want to find a Queens sports bar with a jukebox and darts and a tap filled with macrobrews that’s relatively cheap and serves no food, somebody or something can easily point you to Rocky McBride’s in Astoria. 

Context 4: Documenting this information requires visiting a lot of bars, and visiting a lot of bars is more or less my specialty. 

That’s the front story. The back story is everything that happens during Context 4. Over the course of 2015, my goal is to visit as many bars as is humanly, emotionally and fiscally possible, and relay any of the notable stories back to you.

This isn’t just to make my bar-going habits a bit less unproductive, but I hope that it proves useful for you, my readers. Come here, to the Back Story, to read about the bars in your neighborhood, and what I think of them. Come here, to the Back Story, to watch as I ramble on and on about craft beers and music selections. This is a work in progress; I hope you’ll help me build it. -John Chamberlain, the Bartographer