It is inevitable - at some point you will leave Boston. You, too, will travel. Whether you spend an afternoon on the Cape, three months in Europe, or a weekend in New York City, you will find yourself somewhere other than Boston and if you're of age you will probably want to visit a bar or two... or eight. The fastest (and consequently the blurriest) way to see most of a city's nightlife is to hit as many places as you can in the shortest amount of time - in other words, to go on a pub crawl.
Though it's a city where actual crawling is not wise, given the status of the sidewalks and the presence of more than a few weirdoes, New York is absolutely teeming with nightlife. Since many bars and most clubs or lounges are open until morning, it's quite feasible that a pair of ambitious Jumbos could travel to as many as eight bars in one evening. Take advantage of the fact that the city never sleeps, as cliched as that sounds, and treat yourself to a solid seven hours of socializing.
For the sake of cab fare and simple logistics, we limited ourselves to Manhattan's Upper West Side, where the concentration of relatively un-sketchy bars promises to quench the thirst on almost every barfly's palate. The only problem with this neighborhood, as with much of Manhattan, is that businesses open and close like there's no tomorrow and your favorite bar tonight could be your favorite empty warehouse tomorrow. Well, maybe not an empty warehouse on the Upper West Side - maybe a day spa or a caf?©, but the point remains the same.
One such neighborhood favorite, Vermouth, closed shop this winter after briefly teasing with one of the East Coast's best martini bars. The menu featured classics like the vodkatini and the cosmopolitan, as well as funky favorites like the cinnatini (made with Goldschlager and Cinnamon Stoli, if memory serves) and the vanillatini, served complete with chocolate chips in the bottom of the glass. Of course, such a place attracted only the yuppiest of yuppies, but the bartender whipped up the concoctions so quickly and with such a flourish that after he presented you with the creation, you and your drink were the only two people in the world.
Though Vermouth may have closed its doors, the lesson learned remains the same: start your pub crawl at a relatively swanky place. The advantage to this is that you can enjoy the atmosphere without worrying about disrupting it. After a few bars, you might not be able to navigate a wide-lipped martini glass through a crowd of people wearing clothes worth as much as I'll be earning next year.
Okay, so that's a bit of an exaggeration, but the navigational part and the part about me not earning anything are still true. Taste the bitterness of that statement. Taste the flavor of your drink. Go somewhere with really yummy drinks to get started, since, let's face it, the later it gets and the farther along on the pub crawl you go, the less it matters what your drinks taste like.
But Vermouth is gone. We're over it. We've moved on, and so should you. Speaking of moving, we started our own little pub crawl in the West 70s, wandering up Amsterdam and Columbus, entering old favorites and discovering new surprises. It was an uptown journey through free shots, quarterbacks, and bagels, ending on a high note at a smoky jazz club in the low 100s. Do not underestimate the importance of the New York bagel on this evening. It is imperative that you buy one every time you have the chance to do so, not only to absorb what you're ingesting but also because they're so damn good. And what could be more fun than stockpiling bagels. Try H&H Bagels at 80th and Broadway for a 24-hour bagel bonanza. Eat them on the sidewalk, eat them in the bars, eat them in the subway, eat them in your cars... just eat them, and you'll thank me in the morning.
On our way uptown, we found ourselves in an unpopulated sports bar called Time Out. With tons of televisions and one really big one, it's definitely a true sports bar, though the patrons don't seem to be your typical sports enthusiasts - unless you count girlwatching as a competitive game. One mumbling and perhaps toothless man approached us and, speaking only to our chests, said a few incoherent things, pointed to his friend, and smiled, leaving us no choice but to smile politely and hope we hadn't just agreed to some kind of scary ritualistic ceremony involving sheep's blood and electrical tape.
So why would we want to frequent this establishment? Simple economics - free drinks. Seated cautiously at the rather sticky bar, a scary looking man surrounded by scary looking women handed us some flyers. We feared it might have been some kind of pimp recruiting propaganda, but were pleasantly surprised to discover that they entitled us to one free drink of our choice. Score! After ordering one tequila shot (throwing caution to the wind, we abandoned all strategies for pacing ourselves and opted for the most efficient means to our ends), another one appeared. Thinking these new mystery shots were from sketchy men down-bar from us, we were wary... but the waitress divulged that it was Ladies Night, 2 for 1 shots. Score! Turns out, they have similar specials every night, so you can always drink for cheap here. And what's even better is that they not only let you dance on the bars, they encourage you to do so. Not that there's any shortage of dance music or floor space, just that it's so fun to be up in the air!
Be sure to come down from your high quickly, though, because Time Out isn't where you want to be spending the rest of the evening. Take advantage of the drinks, and move on to a safer atmosphere, maybe where you aren't the only females. Ooh, maybe that explained all the free drinks. Whatever.
Head a few more blocks uptown to Bourbon Street, where you'll run into college kids home for the weekend, actors from Downtown with hippie names, and young professionals living in the area. With ample lighting and sardine-packed crowds, this is not the place to get up on the bar, so get that out of your system before you arrive. Here, however, folks actually dance on the dance floor, and you needn't worry if your foot starts tapping to the music. You can afford to be picky here when it comes to conversation, since there are definitely a few gems in the crowd. One cute but oafy looking fellow turned out to be the son of a well-known writer and a quarterback for Yale. Unfortunately, due to circumstances beyond our control (read: someone's really bad idea), we were operating under assumed identities when we met this fellow and his friends.
After freaking out because, well, honestly, because we can't lie, we hastily left the conversation with the quarterback only to be trapped in another scary position. Thinking we were in the clear and could successfully pull off the "Claire Bobeck" and "Candice Caldwell" personas, we started conversation with two safe looking men. Funny how we live in a small world, and how these worlds keep colliding, and how just when you think you're in the middle of a huge city and you can tell people anything, you run into someone who grew up in your hometown. Not only in your hometown, but five houses down from you.
Claire and Candice fled the scene. The moral of this story is cheaters never prosper, and liars always have to leave the fun places because they're afraid to get caught.
Leaving with a bad taste in our mouths, we stopped for a bagel... mmm... all is right with the world... on the way Uptown to Smoke. This live jazz lounge attracts some of New York's best and brightest musicians, not only as performers but also as patrons. When we entered, a lone trumpet played from beneath a stark spotlight, cutting through the noise of the street outside. The scene was just like an old black and white photo from the '20s. When the backlights came on, who should emerge from behind the tarnished trumpet but Wynton Marsalis, having wandered in unannounced. Even without the jazz master, that evening's band played great tunes late into the night, as we sat in our velour booth enjoying the thick atmosphere. It's like living in a movie or a dream, where all your senses are stimulated but one in particular stands out.
Apparently we, in particular, stood out, since while hearing the life story of a 45-year old divorced musician who teaches and composes, we fell subject to the glances and snickers of a table of five boys from New Jersey. When our older friend got up to talk to the musicians at the end of the set, the Jersey Boyz sent over a scout. If he was their best soldier - and he made the divorced older man look good - that tells you all you need to know about them.
However, for the most part, the patrons at Smoke are true, cool jazz enthusiasts and behave as such. Most conversations, if there are any at all, revolve around the live band or the topic of music. If you can't hum A-Train and you don't know where Basin Street is, you probably won't enjoy the folks here. But bring your own friends, and come for the old-world, Prohibition atmosphere and the great music, which you'll be able to appreciate even if you think Billie Holliday is a man.
The evening ends here around 4am, as the band packs up and the people start to wander home. For the true hard core New Yorkers, the party continues at Smalls Downtown where you bring your own drinks and listen to more great jazz. But our bagels have run out almost as fast as our wallets have emptied, and it's bedtime for Bostonians.
With summer approaching, you may find yourself with the opportunity to visit the Big Apple. With the Great Big G approaching (we refuse to actually name it since that would be admitting that it exists and that it will happen to us in May as it happens to all seniors), seniors may find themselves with some job opportunities in the Big Apple. At any rate, it's only a train or bus ride away and you're almost guaranteed to have an adventure or two if you're looking in the right places.
