When: Friday, 11pm on the dot.
What did I drink? Turkey Jerky (Redemption rye, Osocolis brandy, cinnamon sugar, Angostura bitters, Bittermen’s Tiki bitters) Two Hemingway daiquiris (maraschino and grapefruit juice makes the difference) which I’ve decided will be my spring drink if it ever becomes spring-like outside. $10, apiece.
Old To Be here? Oblivious To Boundaries? On The Bench? Obviously Too Broken-down?
OTB proves that it’s possible to even make off track betting (RIP) Brooklyn old-timey. It also reminds me that I really need to get to that Aquaduct racino for a very different, mostly likely highly age-appropriate, experience.
What the bar could’ve looked like.
The design includes a trio of antique rotary payphones that will make elders feel welcome while confounding digital natives (my favorite new coded job description phrase). The evening candle light (ours was snuffed out three times because I’m a blowhard–but it was promptly relit every time) is also kind to the older woman. That doesn’t mean you’ll see any, though.
As with Williamsburg generally (I swear, I’m branching out soon) a quick sweep of the room rarely turns up anyone obviously over 32. It’s the obvious aspect that’s making me start to wonder, though. I don’t think that I or most of my female friends look overtly 40+ (though stating that aloud is a sure sign of being Wurtzel-level delusional) so who is to say that I’m accurately pegging the ages of others?
Was I carded? No, OTB is semi-restaurant in nature.
Age appropriate? Yes, in that no one will pay attention to you one way or the other.
Photo: Yana Paskova/New York Times