• Barred

    McSorley’s Circa 1970

    January 22, 2015

    Photo: JP Laffont/Sygma/CORBIS via EV Grieve Photo: JP Laffont/Sygma/CORBIS via EV Grieve

    Faith Seidenberg, a lawyer possibly best known for forcing McSorley’s Ale House to allow female patrons in 1970, died last week at 91. Whether or not as a 55-year-old woman actually wanted to drink at McSorley’s was beside the point. Women in bars, particularly non-young women in bars, is one of my dearest causes despite the surface frivolity.

    Please do read this New York Times account from August 11, 1970 (subscription required) of the first day women gained entry. Fights broke out, insults were hurled, and a “stein of ale” was dumped over the head of Lucy Komisar, a vice president of NOW.

    The best quote from an observer:

    ‘It’s not exactly First Avenue,’ commented one man, referring to the ‘singles’ bars on the Upper East Side.

    So, then what was the East Village scene? According to a woman who’d stopped in with her husband:

    …I don’t think many girls will come here. It’s a neighborhood place, and the neighbors are mostly Ukrainian women who aren’t interested in drinking beer.

    exterior mcsorley's ale house macau

    I have never been to the original McSorley’s, just the Irish wrapped in Italian conjured by Chinese outpost, established roughly 2008, inside The Venetian Macau where gender politics are probably not top of mind.

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  • Barred

    Barred: Station House

    December 31, 2014

    Scripps via Riverfront Times Scripps via Riverfront Times

    When: Wednesday, 9:03pm

    Despite billing as a gastropub, the Station House might possibly be the most Guy Fieri establishment I’ve ever been to–and I’ve been to two Guy Fieri restaurants. It’s also possible that I’m just responding to our server’s easygoing “hey, guys” rasp and thumb’s up flashing when checking in. (At least it wasn’t the hand gesture pictured above.)

    Continually, I was convinced I was in another city. First, when I noticed $39 12 oz. beers highlighted on the menu. It was like when you’re disoriented in a foreign place and it takes a second to register that you’re seeing kroner or baht. Then I remembered I was off the E train in Queens, which still didn’t explain the barrel-aged Vespers, $14 cocktails (having just sampled a few quality tiki drinks for $10) short rib kimchi empanadas (which I ate and enjoyed) and Blueshammer-esque tunes I couldn’t muster the energy to Shazam. I think all second and third tier cities now have a place like this. I’ve been to them in Oklahoma City and Charlotte. I’d like to believe this is what Hoboken is made up of in its entirety.

    Despite the fratty portrait I’m painting, the crowd was not homogenous, a hallmark of Queens that I always appreciate. There were young black women sitting with emo girls, grizzly men in baseball caps, a gentleman with an Aztec profile in a peacoat, and most importantly for my intents and purposes: two women hovering around 40, one with a bun, one with an indoor scarf.

    Age appropriate? Close enough. While the average age was around 29, there was nothing that translated as uncomfortable for those a few decades older. I would argue that the Blackberry Bootlegger (Virginia Highland Port-finished Scotch, pinot noir, blackberries, ginger, lemon) is begging to be drunk by a mature woman.

    Was I carded? No. I was surprised, though, to see what was either an informal doorman or authoritative customer with the appearance of one sitting on a stool near the entrance as I was leaving.

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  • Barred

    Barred: Réunion Surf Bar

    November 7, 2014

    surfing

    When: Thursday, roughly 8pm

    Until that promised Señor Frogs opens in the base of my office building, Réunion will remain the only beachy drinking spot around Times Square. I had been under the impression that this was an after-work hangout–and maybe it is–but by true evening the subterranean space plastered with surfboards is occupied by a clientele that is obviously just post-college, recently transplanted–and not to the boroughs.

    Upon squeezing into a space at the bar to try and peek at the taps (frozen drinks are more the thing) a young man seated on a bamboo stool handed us a drinks menu unprompted. Later, a different young man bumped into me and said “sorry,” further blowing my mind with politeness and the dawning realization of how abusive Brooklyn kids truly are.

    Wholesome was the decided upon adjective for this scene. I’ve never seen an episode of How I Met Your Mother (I accidentally saw part of the series finale, I’ll admit) but this is how I imagine the characters being in the early seasons. And to further the model millennial atmosphere foreign to cooler neighborhoods, the crowd was surprisingly multicultural with every race downing Riptides (Midori, lemon juice and blue curaçao) in harmony.

    Was I carded? Yes, and scrupulously so. It would only take a one-second glance up from the ID to recognize a face that’s no lie.

    Age appropriate? Maybe on the earlier side. I shared a chuckle with an older blonde, business-attired woman in the bathroom when a guy walked in mistakenly as we were washing our hands, yet when I looked for her a few minutes later she was nowhere to be seen, making me think I’d been hallucinating the whole exchange.

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