Drank No. 3: Henry Public

There's a certain bar and restaurant aesthetic that has emerged in New York in the last half decade. Its epicenter is Brooklyn, but it drifts north to lower Manhattan, too. I've even spotted it as far west as San Francisco, but it was foreign, like a lost expat.

It's a pre-20th century look, urban America circa 1860 to 1890. The same era when Jerry Thomas published the Bar-tenders Guide, the volume most consider the world's first book devoted to cocktails. If you've seen Gangs of New York or Lincoln you wouldn't be far off on how things look. It’s candles and dim lights. If electricity is absolutely necessary, it’s bare Edison bulbs or milk glass fixtures. Zinc counters and mirrors with faded silver. Wallpaper and taxidermy. Bartenders with waxed mustaches. I am not making this up; there are guys here waxing their mustaches.

Sometimes it's shtick. But sometimes, like at the latest bar to open in my neighborhood, Henry Public, it feels contemporary, normal, of the moment.

At Henry Public, they stir drinks. Besides creating silkier drinks and being a nice way to see the drink change color — they use glass pitchers — it has another benefit. You can talk to your bartender while they stir. Shaking a drink is loud, it interrupts everything.

They taste drinks before serving. This is common practice at most serious bars these days, or at least the ones who take themselves seriously (maybe too seriously). The bartender dips a straw in, tops it with their finger to reserve some, pulls it out and slips it in their mouth, sips, throws the straw away. They nod and give you your drink, or furrow their brow and remake it.

On the bar: shot glasses filled with fruit peels and matches to light them and tooth picks, 

On the bar: covered glass jars with sugar, olives, etc and whole fresh fruit in enameled tin bowls. You can see the ingredients.

Like at many bars, the beer taps are black enamel, unnamed, on top of a gorgeous mottled brass.

Besides a couple small recessed lights, the bottles behind the bar are lit with candles. They're tucked in among the bottles. In front of a bottle, behind a bottle, two at a time at the edge of a shelf. Their light makes the glass look shapely and beautiful. But as much as anything else, they make you feel lost in time, forgetful, ready to order another.

I wrote this originally three years ago, in 2010, and since then the Civil War look and feel, honed in Brooklyn, has become very national and, to some extent, a cliche. Some of the practices have passed (mercifully, waxed mustaches). Some, like tasting drinks before serving and putting ingredients on display, have thankfully become more common.

The Henry Public

329 Henry St

Brooklyn

Drank No. 6: Brooklyn Social, or Curved Bars and The Buyback

 

The Brooklyn Social is my neighborhood bar. As far as neighborhood bars go it’s no Del Rio, God rest its soul, but it earns high marks.

In Brooklyn a neighborhood bar means there are two busy periods on weekdays. One is right after work—6 to 8pm—when the F subway line empties the bankers from Wall Street and publishers from Midtown. You spot a lot of wingtips, a few loose ties, women in heeled boots. The second period is after 10pm. Writers, musicians and anyone else who doesn’t have to wake up early arrives then.

The name Brooklyn Social is a reference to the Italian social clubs that litter my neighborhood. This used to be one of those clubs. Members’ portraits still hang on the walls. Sometimes family come in and reminisce. There’s a framed portrait of JFK too, who, I guess, being Catholic, is an honorary Italian. For me, this helps place the bar and all good bars have a sense of place, a feeling that you could be nowhere else but here.

The bar top is curved, a soft “L” shape. If any of you are going to build a bar some day remember this: make it curve. It’s a key to making a bar work its magic. The reason is people go to bars to look at each other. You can’t do that when the bar is laid in a straight line. (Mirrors help, too.)

There is an old fashioned cash register, not digital, the one that clanks, standard issue for most bars in New York.

There are fresh herbs and citrus on the bar.

Citrus peels get lit for several drinks. This is where the Brooklyn Social makes one of its few mistakes. Folks, if you’re going to do pyrotechnics—I like it, it makes great bar theater—make sure to remove the wax from the peel first. All citrus is waxed these days. You light it without washing and your customer’s drink will smell like a tire fire.

Neighborhood bars in Brooklyn also have a wonderful tradition: the buyback. It works like this. You come in now and then. You buy a couple drinks. You tip well. You don’t be a douche. Once in a while, when you order a third, the bartender says, “I got this one.” You tip extra well and say thank you—you just got a free drink. Buybacks are probably illegal for all I know. But they do create regulars.

This is the kind of place where bartenders are a fixture, part of the reason you come. You don’t know their names but they say, “Hello,” and “It’s nice to see you again” if you’re a regular. The one I see most often, Ivan, is a bit of a lothario, but he’s also the kind of guy who recognizes when you’re reading The Savage Detectives and tells you how much he liked it.

The bar menu is the size of an index card. It lists ten drinks, all nine bucks each. I appreciate the brevity. It says what they’re about quickly (cocktails with an Italian edge). You can hold it to a candle and read it all in a minute and make up your mind quick because, hey, this is a neighborhood bar, the lothario is going to take your order now, there are girls to talk to.