A (Drinking) Place of One’s Own

I will not make apologies; I like taking the occasional drink in public. However, what passes for a good bar in my neighborhood these days appalls me. Gone is the sense of locality and owner’s identity from the décor. Instead I see cost cutting, bland kitsch, and some imitation of style selected from focus groups by corporate decorators. I hate the coldness, the haughtiness, and the overwhelming lack of personality of these places. Within close walking distance—and proximity matters if one wants to be local, inebriated, and responsible—are three bars. Two of them are so soulless as to be sure favorites of the Banana Republic crowd, while the third once felt local and now is just on the make to be corporate. That third bar considers decoration a spate of neon beer signs, cheap tables and barstools, and the acoustics of an airstrip. And while I am at it, can someone please remove the televisions from the bar? I understand their place at a sports bar, but when I want a cocktail or a draft beer I need not consume it in the company of the Sports Center or ESPN.

My preference is for a place with its own style, where the staff takes pride in their establishment because, despite the vicissitudes of capitalism and fickle patronage, it has ridden out the swells of trend and time, manages to entice regulars and new members due to its ability to provide tasty libations and conversation with ease, and can be aged without looking shabby. The ideal bar I have in mind is no Cheers knockoff, but a bar that knows its geography and caters to it. Take my former home of Los Angeles and the Dresden Lounge. Say what you will about L.A., but the Dresden stopped following fads years ago, and now it stands above them. Even the folks behind Swingers knew this; the Dresden makes a cameo in this movie because it gives a glimpse of the “cool” of Old Hollywood that the new kids always hope to find.

When, upon walking in the door of a new bar, you sense that the establishment is attempting to be the next hot spot of a city’s nightlife then I recommend leaving. I do not care what drink is in fashion this week/month/quarter, and I should not have to dress to impress the “Style” section of the New York Times just to have my schnapps. My style is my own creation and my ideal bar should feel likewise. I am not saying that my ideas of décor, attire, and attitude must prevail, but I want to respect my bar for having its own unique take on those three essentials.

I will continue to walk the streets of my neighborhood hoping that one day someone will see bar design my way. And yes, I will drop in the local places for a drink now and then, but I am unlikely to become a regular. At least I can find a small sense of solace in the money I am saving from not drinking more frequently at these establishments. Until something that suits me arrives, I will use those funds on the restaurants in my neighborhood, and some of them have lounges. I think more exploration is in order. Would you care to come along with me?