Memories of Manhattans A Christmas disquisition on bars and time, by Joshua David Stein
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t’s Christmastime, when the ghosts of the past, present, and future come waddling up to you like dread ducklings muttering of mortality. It’s Christmastime, when, from behind panes of glass, trees glimmer and families in ugly sweaters smile in a silent tableau while you watch, forlorn from the sidewalk on the Upper West Side, collar turned up against the cold winds of inflation and loneliness. It’s Christmastime, goddammit. Time to head to a bar. Ever since George Bailey walked into Martini’s Bar—“where we serve hard drinks for men who want to get drunk fast,” in that ur-yuletide flick It’s a Wonderful Life—the bar has been a refuge for the forlorn and brokenhearted on the holidays. But, as George also finds out when he bellies up next to kindly Clarence, it’s also where angels order flaming rum punches and rest their wings too.
New York City, where I call home, has perhaps the most varied and diverse bar scene in the world. There are secret cocktail lounges and preening watering holes. There are dives of profound depth and radiant rooftop bars, towering above the street. Bars can be found that specialize in amaro and agave and bourbon and bitters. There are bars that serve only natural wine (though no bars that serve unnatural wine). There are bars that serve hard drinks for men who want to get drunk fast and bars that serve nonalcoholic drinks for men who want to stay sober. (Women are serviced too.) So, it is into bars I burrow more than restaurant banquettes to seek comfort from the chill wind howling its Christmas carol along the avenue. And it is in bars I find glimpses of past, present, and future. Live in New York long enough and on every street corner lurks a memory: a first kiss on 1st and First, circa 2006; the sound of a man’s head
NICK JOHNSON
VERNISSAGE
AVENUE MAGAZINE | NOVEMBER—DECEMBER 2022
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10/27/22 9:12 AM
