June 1, 2011

I think I may have thought of a place that will have the elusive glass swizzle sticks! I was looking over last year’s bar list and I noticed the bar Painkiller, which was bar number 184. They have some real exotic tiki drinks and stuck all kinds of fancy doo-dads in them and the place is kind of pricey, but the drinks are worth it...this just might be the place that houses the ever-elusive glass swizzle stick! Let’s find out!

It's a nice night out and the Empire State Building is Mellow Yellow.

And here we are at Painkiller. No fancy sign, just a painting on the door that you have arrived at a Tiki Bar.

Ahhh, nice and dark inside. Al will approve. Let's find a seat at the bar.

Mike and Pooja were seated next to me and were trying to figure out what to order from the cocktail selection. And that's not an easy task, there's 110 drinks on the menu!

Fancy bottles on top of the bar.

And there's a familiar face behind the bar. It's Valentin, who I met last July while visiting Painkiller on the bar crawl.

I ordered the 151 Colada which is one of the STRONG drinks in the bar. They only allow you to have one of these per visit.

Valentin is swizzling the drink together, but what sort of swizzle stick will get? The tension mounts!

Holy shitballs, he's putting a metal swizzle stick in the drink!

And here's the drink and the metal swizzle stick! Nicely done, Valentin! So far, Painkiller is the bar to beat in this swizzle stick contest!

The drink is strong and mighty potent, so in-between sips (sip ahoy!—patented catchphrase courtesy of Uncle Waltie!) let's take a look around.

Rescalla and Kaina were on duty at the end of the bar. They're both fun and nice people and Rescalla is a musician with a CD coming out that's a theme CD all about bars. We'll keep you informed about that, it sounds interesting!

A tiki goddess on the bamboo wall opposite the bar.

And another tiki lovely on the bar.

A longshot of the railing opposite the bar.

Three tiki gods hang on the wall in the back room.

And a vintage Ballantine Ale ad featuring "Papa" Hemmingway hangs on the brick wall up in the front of the bar.

The ceiling is bamboo, I think the only bamboo ceiling in Manhattan.

Okay, the drink is done, let's take a closer look at that fine swizzle stick we scored!

The end of it is a spoon...hmm...it makes me think of the early '80's for some reason...

Memories! Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.

If They Do Say So Themselves!
(Two paragraphs from the “Aloha” page at Painkiller’s website.)
We believe that the tiki bar should be a place where one can always see a sea of smiles. The bartenders are glad to be there. The guests are happy. The cocktails, the island dress and the music aren’t necessarily the only elements that make a tiki bar a place where we all want to go for an “escape.” The PEOPLE make it great. YOU make it great. We are carrying on a tradition. This bar will be doing things differently but by no means not showing respect and reverence for those bartenders that came before us.  We are attempting to do just as Trader Vic and Donn Beach did before us…Make beautiful, delicious cocktails.

We hope that we will be welcomed into the fold as an island outpost amongst the many within the pantheon that we all look towards for an “escape.” We promise to always make sure that everything that we prepare for you is made with respect and care. Our vision is practically the same as any of the great tiki bars: we hope that people will leave our bar with a smile and a sense of happiness. We want people to remember that the island of Manhattan, to us, is the greatest island on Earth. When you are at PKNY, we do not want to provide you with an escape from where you are; we want to remind you that you are where you want to be.

Painkiller
49 Essex St. (Near Grand St.)
212-777-8454

The Swizzle Stick Collection So Far

Further reading: Jeremiah’s Vanishing New York, Grub Street, Esquire and Examiner.

You might also like: Fancy Cocktail Glasses, Fancy Glasses and Fancy.

Four Other Painkillers
Vicodin
Morphine
Heroin
Budweiser

Whatever Lola wants,
Lola gets.

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May 23, 2011

Last week we met the Chillmaster and when I talked with him the following Monday I asked him if he’d be interested in having a Chill Dance Party. His response was: “Why the fuck not?”

Why the fuck not, indeed! And so a Chill Dance Party was planned. Below, the results of the aforementioned Chill Dance Party.

We decided to meet at the Mars Bar for a drink before heading over to the Chillmaster's. Do you feel alright? I know I do!

Here comes Terry!

Aaaahhhhh!

Goggla's painting for the art show at Mars Bar today.

Here's Ed with his collage of dogs and models.

Why (the fuck) not?

Our chill group...hey, where's Goggla and Ed?

And here he is! The Chillmaster himself, chilling the fuck out!

Once inside, the Hennessy is poured...

And the chilling begins!

And that's how you do a Chillmaster Dance Party people! Thanks to everyone for coming and thanks to the Chillmaster for making it happen! And a shoutout to the soulful EV Grieve, where it all started! Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.

A Chillmaster Dance Party
Ingredients: Fun people, Hennessy, Vodka, chips, beer, sweet soul music.

Shake
You move your body all around,
And just shake.

Thats the way you do it Shake, Shake, Shake it baby.
Shake it like a bowl of soup,
Let your body loop de loop,
Put your hands on your hip,
Come on and let your backbone slip,
Move your body like your hip,
And just shake!

Shake early in the morning,
Shake early in the evening.

A Ring-A-Ling-a-Ling,
Honey, Shakin' is the greatest thing,
But if you really roll gotta do the thing with SOUL!

That’s how you do a Chillmaster Dance Party people.

You just shake.

Why the fuck not?

Further reading: EV Grieve.

Shake!
That’s the way you do it!

ARCHIVES

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May 21, 2011

Well, if this guy is right, this may be the last MAD post, so I thought I’d go right back to the place where I started: Ray’s Candy Store in the East Village. Last week Ray got fucked over fined and shut down by the DOH, over and over again. You can read about it over at Bob Arihood’s great blog, Neither More Nor Less. Here’s the story as it broke and just like when you tip your masseuse enough, there was a happy ending. Great reporting and photos by Bob! Ray’s is open again, hooRAY!

Let’s go congratulate Ray!

Here we are in the East Village, just a few blocks and we'll be there.

Wow, check it out, they're screening a Charlie Chaplin movie on this building!

Very cool! But we have to get to Ray's, let's go!

There's Ray's, straight ahead and it looks like the lights are on.

To quote EV Grieve, YES! Ray's is open again!

A glance in the window confirms things are operational at Ray's again.

Love trumps the DOH any old day of the week.

Let's go inside and see what's shaking.

I got a vanilla milkshake and here's Amy making it.

And here she is serving it up and showing her cool grilled cheese painting that's in the front window. Nice!

And here's the man himself, Ray! He manages a smile, even though he has a shitload of fines from the DOH. Stop by and help him out if you can. Tipping is allowed at Ray's and will help him stay open.

Great pull quote on the wall, sorry about the fuzzy photo!

Two free toppings!

These people were in town all the way from Texas and came by to support Ray's, very cool indeed!

Obligatory Ray's mirror shot!

To Ray's! The best candy store in NYC and the world! Stop by and help him stay open. And fuck the DOH. If you're afraid of a little dust in your hotdog you shouldn't be eating in New York City.

Ha! Deja vu on the way home. Usually I'd say, "Goodnight and see you tomorrow after dark," but considering the outlook for today, I'll just say, "I'll see you in hell, later tonight!"

While there was a happy ending to this tale, Ray’s troubles aren’t over. Now he’s socked with thousands of dollars of fines and he was out of business for several days. If you live in the city stop by and buy something from Ray and if you can, leave him a decent tip. If you don’t live in New York you can still help out by visiting Ray’s online store and buy a product emblazoned with the Ray logo! Let’s help keep this man in business!

Ray's Candy Store
113 Ave. A (Near 7th St.)

Further reading: EV Grieve, Neither More Nor Less, Grub Street and Jeremiah’s Vanishing New York.

You might also like: Candy Corn, Candy Canes and Candy Darling.

Four Other Rays
Ray Charles
Ray Davies
Margaret Ray
Raymond J. Johnson (You can call him Ray.)

Candy says I hate the big decisions,
That cause endless revisions in my mind.

ARCHIVES

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Bonus Section!

Rapture T-Shirt by “Boris!”

Resident MAD artist, “Boris” has designed a special t-shirt for today’s special Rapture moment. Order one and show everybody that you survived Judgement Day! And if the shit really does go down? Well, order one anyway and put it on a credit card, it’s not like you’re going to have to pay the bill afterwards!  Here’s what “Boris” has to say about it: “Be the First (or Last) in your Neighborhood to wear this (soon to be) Collectible. You can't take it with you, so you might as well buy a T-Shirt. Wear It Like There's No Tomorrow.” This collectible t-shirt is available for a limited time only, so get yours before hell freezes over, it may happen sooner than you think! Check it out and buy one here: Rapture T-Shirt.

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And speaking of Rapture, Gene and Smoopy, two thirds of the BBC (Baltimore Bar Crawlers) are in town and on their way to their 1,967th bar yesterday, they snapped a picture of the kook the man Gene described as, “The end of the world guy.” Yikes, he's almost as scary looking as the Cardboard Box Man!
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And a final cartoon from Jaws. Goodbye everyone! I hope they allow blogs in hell!

May 14, 2011

Okay, last Sunday’s post was a little bit of a fiddle. Meaning the end wasn’t what really happened. If you don’t remember or haven’t read that post here it is: Last Sunday’s post. I left everyone hanging and wondering why the mysterious East Village Chillmaster of East Third Street’s window was closed, when he’s usually got it open to reveal a legendary coffee table of knives, a chess set and a nice display of liquor bottles. And of course blaring out of those windows is classic soul music.

What really happened is he was trying to sleep and heard Kate and I outside and wanted to know what the hell was going on. I explained I had read about him on the EV Grieve blog and he was amazed that he had been written up on the internet and that people had left comments about him. He had to go to bed early, but we made a date to meet the following Friday night and chill. And that night is tonight! I’m meeting Kate from One More Folded Sunset and then we’re off to meet the Chillmaster!

And here's the subway, off we go to the land of chills and soul music. I can't wait!

I've just met Kate and she's a little camera-shy tonight, so she's staying out of the photos. But it's good to have her along, this is quite an adventure!

And, whoomp! There he is, The Chillmaster himself! The soul music is blaring and he's chilling out on his chiller easy chair.

He welcomes Kate and I into the Inner Chill Sanctum!

And it's not polite to show up empty-handed, Kate and I brought a bottle of Hennessy as a chill offering. Here I am with the man himself, The Chillmaster! Let the good times roll!

I placed the bottle on the legendary chill coffee table alongside his liquor bottle presentation, state of the art knives and a chess set. Oh and there's a picture of President Obama smoking a blunt. Hilarious!

The view from the inside. Nice!

Here's the state-of-the-art sound system that outputs The Chillmasters sweet soul music. Great set up!

Hennessy is poured...

And with a quick snap of The Chillmaster's thumb, the music begins along with the chill night.

Let the chilling begin!

I output a poster of the original EV Grieve post that inspired this whole evening.

The Chillmaster loved all the comments from everyone. He had no idea he had such a following!

Who's the man?

EV Grieve's the man! The Chillmaster sends his love to you and all the EV Grieve community!

The Chillmaster loved Gumby!

And he even let him have a seat on the Chillmaster Chill Easy Chair. This chair vibrates and has a heat control!

The Chillmaster demonstrates the fine art of chilling. He is the master!

Wow, he's really chilling now! I think it's time to call it a night! If you'd like to contact The Chillmaster, here's his email: hwchillmaster@gmail.com.

The Chillmaster
I first read about the Chillmaster at the wonderful New York City blog, EV Grieve. Here’s the post: Chillmaster post at EV Grieve.

I loved all the comments and was intrigued by a man who’s life seemingly revolved around an open window, a cocktail, sweet soul music and the occasional catcall to women walking by. I doubt I’d ever be able to live that kind of life, but wanted to observe someone who was living a chill dream. And last night I was able to fulfill that wish. And the Chillmaster did not disappoint. We had a great time.

Hennessy was poured, soul music blared, we laughed and laughed and in between, we chilled the fuck out. He told me his real name but I prefer to think of him as The Chillmaster. He’s retired and has been in his Chillmaster pad for the last eight years. He grew up in Harlem and was telling Kate and I stories about his parents and at one point said, “My daddy was a rolling stone,” and then I shouted out, “Papa Was A Rolling Stone!”

“You want to hear that?” The Chillmaster shot back.

“Fuck yes,” I answered.

Within minutes the classic song, “Papa Was a Rolling Stone,” was blaring out of his speakers louder than I had ever heard it. The three of us grooved to the music, drank and chilled. Pure heaven!

The Chillmaster is a legend on the block and as you sit inside of his chill lair, it’s fun to watch the world go by. The soul music wafts out to the people on parade on the sidewalk and they look in, smile and wave and give a thumbs up in appreciation. There’s not too many places where you can check your nerves and worries at the door, but there is one place on East Third street, near Avenue A where they can be checked and then a drink is poured, classic soul music happens and you chill right the fuck out. I can’t wait to go back.

To the Chillmaster!

Further reading: EV Grieve, Urban Dictionary, antimoon and One More Folded Sunset.

You might also like: Soul Food, Filet of Sole and Rubber Soul.

Six Chili’s
Chili Apprecitation Society
Wikipedia
Chili
Manhattan Chili Co.
Red Hot Chili Peppers

Do you like good music?
That sweet soul music.

ARCHIVES

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May 11, 2011

The other day I was perusing blogs and was looking at pictures over at the fine photo blog, Musings by Melanie. One of her posts was titled, “Joe’s Bar in the EV.” In this day and age of wacky-ass theme bars, it’s nice to see a bar simply named, Joe’s Bar. According to New York magazine they’ve got a great country jukebox and they’ve made it a “Critics Pick.” I don’t know how I missed this place on my bar crawl last year, but seeing as tonight is “Swizzle Stick Tuesday,” I’d say it’s high time we paid Joe’s Bar a visit!

A view of the Empire State building from the block where I work. Goddamn, it's still pretty chilly out here for May.

We'll be taking the F train from Herald Square. I always wonder why this area is named "Herald Square?" I secretly hope it's for the character of Herold Heckuba from Gilligan's Island, but sadly, it's probably not.

Holy freaking shitballs, I just got down here and here's a train! I've been having great luck with trains lately. I hope this is the F train.

Yes! The "F" on this train stands for "Fuckin' Ada!"

Well now, this fellow has certainly made himself at home here. Nighty noodles!

Hmmm...it appears I've entered a sleeper cell.

Okay, here we are at Houston St., just a few blocks to Joe's Bar from here.

And here we are, Joe's Bar. It looks great, a nice, dark bar, Al would love this place! Let's go check it out.

Sadly, there are no swizzle sticks in here, just the shitty little plastic stirrers. The place however is a classic old school, New York dive bar. But the sadness continues as bartender Jamie informs me you can't take pictures in here. The owners frown on it and Jamie would get into trouble if I snapped any, so I took one of my drink and put my camera away. I don't want to get anyone in trouble. I can, however, share the following mental photographs with you. Sometimes words are worth a thousand photos.

Click: I walk in. It’s dark in here. A small, well-worn dark L-shaped wooden bar is situated at the front of the place and there’s a pool table, a jukebox and a few tables scattered in the back. It feels like the past in here. You kind of expect Travis Bickle to come out of the bathroom at any minute and wait for Dee Dee Ramone to come in and order Blackberry Brandy. Nobody has a cell phone out, there’s no one texting anyone and it feels delightfully like 1977.

Click: I take a seat at one of the stools in the middle of the bar. There’s three others at the bar, all tending their drinks quietly. I order a double gin and tonic and soak in the atmosphere. I notice a deer head poking its way out of a wall behind me. Four kids are playing pool and laughing. I immediately feel at home and relaxed. It’s the perfect place for a double gin and tonic, even though the  swizzle stick sucks.

Click: Bartender Jamie and I talk about writing. He’s written and published a book, which if memory serves me correctly is called “666 Ways To Get To Heaven.” But bar memories are sometimes a little blurry, especially while drinking double gin and tonics, so don’t quote me on that.

Click: I go to the jukebox, a real jukebox, not some internet confusing piece of shit. It vomits my five dollar bill back twice and Jamie gives me singles to feed it. Some selections I chose: “Buckaroo” by Buck Owens and the Buckaroos, “That’s Life” by Frank Sinatra, “Highway to Hell,” by AC/DC, “I Fall To Pieces” by Patsy Cline and “Call Me Lightning,” by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts. It’s a great jukebox!

Click: When I return, Jamie introduces me to Pauly, who’s taken residence of the stool next to me. Pauly’s a bald guy with a rubbery, friendly face. He tells me he was born on 18th Street and has lived on St. Marks place for the last 40-something years. He tells me I don’t want to know what he pays for rent and I believe him. He’s drinking red wine and buys me a drink. Jamie warns him that I’m drinking, “tall ones, doubles” and Pauly doesn’t hesitate and buys me one anyway. Pauly points to the pool table where a cute, red-haired girl who doesn’t look old enough to be in here is taking a shot. Her ass is up in the air and Pauly and I clink glasses to that. Our conversation whips and weaves through New York stories and the movie, “The Hustler”—did you know there’s only two people still alive who had dialogue in that movie? Pauly does, but I forget their names. I’m on my fourth double gin and tonic by now. Soon we’re discussing old TV shows...“All In the Family,” “The Odd Couple,” “Barney Miller.” Jamie throws out that his first celebrity sighting was Abe Vigoda on 7th Street years ago. Pauly jabs me and points towards the pool table. The redhead's ass is up in the air again. Pauly is grinning ear to ear and it’s infectious.

Click: Time to feed the jukebox again: “Something Stupid” by Frank and Nancy Sinatra, “Sing Me Back Home” by Merle Haggard, “Wooly Bully” by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts and “Tiger by the Tail” by Buck Owens and the Buckaroos.

Click: Back to my perch at the bar. Pauly leans in and tells me he’s retiring from his doorman gig in six months and moving to Las Vegas and buying a condo. He’s never been to Las Vegas in his life and asks if I know anything about it. And he’s moving there. I love this guy!

Click: I buy Pauly a glass of wine and have a final double gin and tonic. I’m a little buzzed by now and enjoying hearing, “Something Stupid” floating out of the jukebox. It’s dark and the quiet guy in a NY Yankees baseball cap to my right is nursing a Budweiser and eating potato chips. He hasn’t said a word since he came in, except to order a beer and a bag of chips. The redhead’s ass is up in the air again and Pauly is observing it and smiling ear to ear, his Silly Putty, rubber-dubbery face is all a-glow. All is well in Joe’s Bar.
Joe’s Bar
520 E. 6th St. (Near Ave. A)
212-473-9093

Further reading: Jeremiah’s Vanishing New York, New York on Tap, Village Voice and Time Out New York.

You might also like: Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Time.

Five Joes
Joe “Mama” Besser
Joe Friday
Joe Cool
Joey
Cup of Joe

The time is right your perfume fills my head, the stars get red,
And oh the night's so blue.

ARCHIVES

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May 9, 2011

Tonight I’m meeting Kate who is the writer/photographer behind the fine blog, One More Folded Sunset. I got to know Kate after she got involved in EV Grieve’s International Coalition of Tree Tossing in the Spring (ICTTS) competition. I was amused at Kate’s obsession with this contest as it mirrors my own obsession over some things. And one of those things is a guy who lives close by the place I’m meeting Kate at who’s known as the “Chillmaster.” I read about the Chillmaster first at EV Grieve’s blog back on April 11th.

It was a nice day that day, so I assumed that this was EV Grieve’s way of saying, “It’s spring.” But after reading the comments, it turns out there’s a whole story behind this photo that EV Grieve posted.
Apparently there’s a guy who lives in the East Village, who leaves his windows open all through the year, blares soul music and has a display  of liquor bottles on his coffee table. Check out these comments from the post that EV Grieve put up:

“This guy is the man! We all call him "Chillmaster". He honestly chills harder than anyone I have ever seen chill in my entire life. Would love to hear a back-story or have someone interview him.”

“CHILLMASTER FLEX. what a hero for chillers everywhere. One time my friends and I were drunk during the day and we had a chillmaster dance party outside of his window. he liked it.”

“I pass this guy all the time, and he often cat calls. I would love to hear his story.... “

Ha! I was really intrigued. From what I could gather from the comments was this guy is a neighborhood hero, dedicated to drinking, listening to soul music, chilling out and catcalling women. That’s my kind of guy! I went there that night hoping to interview him and get some photos for MAD. However when I got there he was talking to a woman and I kind of butted in to ask him if he was the Chillmaster. It was stupid of me and he wasn’t too happy that I interrupted his conversation with the woman and asked where I had heard of him. I didn’t want to mention EV Grieve’s blog without checking with him first, so I told the Chillmaster I couldn’t remember and asked to take his photo and he told me no. It was kind of unpleasant and I left and took some photos of the Hell’s Angels building instead, but I made a mental note to go back and try again. And I’ve been obsessed with meeting the Chillmaster ever since.

I told Kate about this and we decided to try and meet the Chillmaster after dinner tonight. We decided to meet a few blocks from the Chillmasters house at Boca Chica, one of my stops from the bar crawl.

And here we are at Boca Chica. Of course i'm about 45 minutes early, because I'm always worried about being late. But that'll give me time to take some photos before Kate arrives.

Hey, there's a familiar face behind the bar.

It's bartender Ivan, who was on duty when I stopped by on the bar crawl last year. He remembered me and we had a nice little reunion.

Here's the back wall of the bar.

A porcelain Indian greets you at the door.

Orange lights hang over and illuminate the bar.

Latin music is played at a conversational level on a turntable! A true blast from the past.

More records are housed below.

A view from the front windows.

The dining room which is located directly behind the bar.

The specials of the evening are written on a mirror on the back wall.

Ivan and his co-workers at the end of the bar.

At this point Kate showed up and presented me with this card. It reads: "Enjoy these swizzle sticks, but alway watch your...

Back." Aaaahhhh!!!! He's everywhere! Great card!

And here's the swizzle sticks she gave me to add to the ever-growing MAD collection. They're glass Christmas tree swizzle sticks! Perfect! Thanks Kate!

And here's Kate and I with the swizzle sticks. Now it's off to meet the elusive Chillmaster.

We got there and the window was shut! This was weird, because everything I read about him on the EV Grieve post said he never shuts his window. We went and had a drink at the One and One and came back about a half an hour later.

Still closed! What's going on here? Did the Chillmaster move? Is this the end of chilling as we know it? I vow to answer all of these questions and more within the week. Stay tuned!

Review From the 365 Bar Crawl
Here’s the review of Boca Chica I wrote last year for the 365 Bar Crawl.
Boca Chica has been a favorite Latin American Restaurant and bar on the Lower East side for close to fifteen years now. The restaurant has a relaxing, low-key vibe with brick walls and festive colors. The bar is cozy and the staff are friendly. The cliental is mainly local folks from the neighborhood and regulars at the bar.

There’s no draft beer but they do have a full bar with a decent selection of bottled beers. Some of the signature drinks include house Sangria, Margaritas and Mojitos. If you like shrimp, this is your dream restaurant, there’s eight different shrimp dishes on the menu including: Shrimp, Avocado and Heart Of Palm Salad; Shrimp Chipotle; Shrimp Ajillo and Moqueca De Peixe shrimp and fish in coconut sauce. Other entrees featured are: Skirt Steak Chimichurri; Cuban Sandwich; Burrito Cubano and an Argentina Chopped Steak Sandwich with chimichurri mayo.

Brunch is served on Saturday and Sunday from noon to 4pm.

Boca Chica
13 First Ave. (at 1st St.)
212-473-0108

Further reading: Shecky’s, Chillmasters, Soul Music, Songfacts.

You might also like: Dino, Desi and Billy.

Four “How to Chill” Instructions
ABC News
Men With Pens
wikiHow
Fast Company

Well she held a bass guitar and she was playing in a band,
And she stood just like Bill Wyman,
Now I am her biggest fan.

ARCHIVES

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Bonus Photos From Lex!

My friend Lex is in town from Canada and yesterday she went to the East Village. I suggested she stop at the Mars Bar and she did. Here's her photos from her day at Mars Bar.

Marcus, Lex, Hamlet and Eric at the Mars Bar.

Lex and Hamlet.

A drawing from Hamlet to Lex on her map. Nice!

Lex and Paola at the bar.

And the Marty sticker on the cash register. Great photos, Lex, thanks for sharing them! To the Mars Bar!

May 4, 2011

Okay, it’s Tuesday and that means time to play, “Where’s My Swizzle Stick!” If you’re new to the blog or have serious memory problems, every Tuesday I go to a bar, order a double gin and tonic in a tall glass (which, if properly made should have a swizzle stick included) and then rate the swizzle stick. I’ll also note the price and quality of the bar and drink (thanks to Gene Rubbico for that idea!)

Tonight I’m going back to a place that holds a special place in my heart, Otto’s Shrunken Head in the East Village. It was the very first bar that I went to on my 365 Bar Crawl last year. Let’s go see if Lani’s working!

It's nice, so I thought I'd just walk there. It's a bit of a hike, but what the hell. Eastward, ho! Sorry for calling you a ho.

It looks like the Cardboard Box Man's family reunion down here.

Irony = Filene's Basement on the top floor of this building.

Fancy psychic window!

Okay, we're about a block away, almost there.

And we're here, Otto's Shrunken Head!

It's Dark Water Tuesday tonight and Father Vincent is your host. Stupidly I forgot to get a picture of him. You'll just have to go for yourself to see him.

Wow, it's crowded in here and people are sparkly. Acid flashback alert!

I found a seat in the middle of the bar. Oh, bartender!

The lovely and beautiful Nell served up the drink...but oh no, it's a plastic straw instead of a swizzle stick!

Nell quickly resolved this problem by inserting a sparkly black swizzle stick (okay, it was a straw, but what the hell, she gets points for trying) plus a little drink umbrella and an orange plastic monkey. Almost the equivalent of a Michael Nesmith swizzle stick! Very nice!

Some of the lit up bottles behind the bar and if you look closely an obligatory bar room mirror shot.

DJ Kage 23 was spinning the tunes and some of them included, Paint It Black, Rock the Casbah and Now I Wanna Be Your Dog.

Some of the beers on tap at Otto's.

A tiki woman on the wall.

Gumby!

Photo booth!

Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark!

Swizzle Stick Rating

Okay, it was really a black collapsible straw, but the fact that mini umbrellas and a plastic monkey added made this an acceptable swizzle stick night. The double gin and tonic was twelve bucks, but I got a buy back after two drinks, so this was a very good swizzle stick night on the town. To Otto's!

The collection so far.

Otto's Shrunken Head
538 E. 14th St. (Near Ave. B)
212-228-2240

Further reading: Jeremiah’s Vanishing New York, New York magazine, Village Voice and Photobooth.

You might also like: Eenie, Meanie and Moe.

Seven Shrinky Links
Shrinky Dinks
The Incredible Shrinking Man
The Incredible Shrinking Woman
Head Shrinkage
Shrinkage
Sigmund Freud
Karen Carpenter

Gotta find my kind of woman,
Oh yeah!

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April 22, 2011

If you follow this blog, you’ll recall that Tuesday I was inspired by a post about Sardi’s Bar and swizzle sticks at Jeremiah’s Vanishing New York to go seek out a glass swizzle stick. I went to Sir Harry’s, one of the cities pricier and upscale taverns in the Waldorf Astoria and was disappointed when I only got a shitty plastic one in my 41 dollar drink.

It got me thinking it would be fun to travel to the other end of the spectrum and order the same drink and compare experiences. I didn’t have to think too long to come up with the flip side of Sir Harry’s: Blarney Cove!

I had to work late again tonight, so we'll be traveling by taxi. Sweet overtime!

And here's a yellow chariot.

And we're off to the Blarney Cove.

A shot from a moving cab at 12:37 in the morning.

Okay, it's right down the street here.

And here we are at the Blarney Cove, one of the last true dive bars in the city.

Neon in the window advertises Budweiser American Ale.

Golly, what a shock.

Let's go in and see what's what in here and check out their version of a double gin and tonic.

I ordered the double gin and tonic from a lovely and friendly bobbed-haired Asian bartender. It was ten bucks, which I thought was a little pricey for the Blarney Cove, but it sure as shit beats 41 bucks.

Instead of a swizzle stick you get a discreetly covered plastic straw for a stirrer.

Here's a shot of one end of the bar.

And here's a shot of the other end of the bar. After I took this, the bartender said no pictures are allowed in the Blarney Cove. So I put my camera away and ordered another double gin and tonic. I got a buy back after just two drinks. That's the kind of place this is. Goodnight everybody and see you tomorrow after dark.

The Blarney Cove has quite a different crowd as the shift changes. It opens at 8am and that’s the time of day you should go to witness the true spirit of this East Village dive bar. Years ago I worked a job where I got off at seven in the morning and I used to go to the Blarney Cove now and again at the first opening bell to escape the sunshine and the harsh and cruel morning 9 to 5 crowd of coffee drinkers and glad handers hustling and bustling about in a manner that's never made me feel comfortable. Old timers would shuffle in and start the day with a draft and a shot. I remember one morning when a guy who looked like a walking corpse slowly hobbled his way inside the dark and dingy tavern and carefully made his way to a stool at the bar. His eyes were sunken and a curious combination of yellow and red. They kind of resembled egg yolks having a period. His skin was gray and the few white hairs jutting out of his bloated head looked like bleached white straw. Once he got situated he promptly passed right the fuck out on top of the sticky formica bar. The bartender on duty laughed, poured out a beer and a shot and shook the fellow awake. He got up, dutifully drank his breakfast and then—boom—out again. There was never a lot of chatter and the music played on the jukebox was mainly old soul with a ratpack song here and there. Two peanut machines in the back offered solid food, for those that could keep it down. Most of the regulars stuck to cheap drafts and shots at regular intervals. It might have been sunny outside, but inside the Blarney Cove it was always a nice permanent midnight on my morning visits there. I seem to remember cartoons playing on the TV, but that could just be a drunken memory. I do know one thing for sure though, I’m usually a nervous wreck, but I always felt nice and calm while drinking a beer at eight in the morning at the Blarney Cove. The rest of the world may be starting the working day, but mornings at the Blarney Cove are a magical drunken mess.

At night there’s still some of the regulars, but there’s also a smattering of hipsters and curiosity seekers. I also noticed that they have an internet juikebox now. The music blaring from it was bad pop music and some rap and hip hop. I hate the morning, but the Blarney Cove is the rare place where the am trumps the pm big time.

Blarney Cove
510 E. 14th St. (Near Ave. A)
212-473-9284

Further reading: Jeremiah’s Vanishing New York, EV Grieve, New York magazine and Time Out New York.

You might also like: Cock Soup, The Sizzler and Chicken Fried Babies.

Three Internet Articles on Liver Disease and a word from Snoop Dogg.
Medline Plus
Wkipedia
Mayo Clinic
Snoop Dogg

Oh, Foot Foot,
I wish I could find you.

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