![]() ![]() The place might seem stuffy, but don’t let that fool you: Nick’s is the real thing. Among other things, he’s got complimentary Visine in the men’s room. It’s clearly a power bar, with lots of lawyers and pols, but Nick doesn’t take himself too seriously. All-male help wearing those waiter’s uniforms, and (get this) they pour everything-soda, juice, even water-from pitchers or bottles. It’s all corner booths and tiny, intimate cocktail tables, with a huge, snaking bar. Despite all that, it’s the best Manhattan-style lounge I found. And as if that isn’t bad enough, it’s an expensive fish restaurant. Nick’s is not only downtown in a big bank building that looks like a Ronson lighter, it’s also a restaurant. Nick’s Fish Market, First City Tower, 1001 Fannin. He also gives directions willingly and well-a must for a bar bartender. Rice University beer bar with marvelous deco crapola and a daytime bartender who calls you neighbor. Nice group of regulars at the bar and passable drinks-though the place did serve a Scotch and water in a stemmed glass, which is troubling, and it did offer a two-for-one happy hour, which is unforgivable. There’s a loft if you want to get semicozy and a room off the loft if you want to get paranoid. Inside, it’s not dark, it’s subterranean. There’s just this door, like to someone’s office. Two reasons: the place displayed no sign announcing itself, and it had that frequently ignored bar bar essential, a door door. ![]() I knew this was a bar bar before I even entered. The criteria for what I call a bar bar are fundamental: no ferns and no froufrou, an adequate degree of darkness, stiff drinks, engaging bartenders, no-nonsense waitresses, and that most elusive quality of a great bar (see “ The Bar Bar, ” for more on this), the sense of not being there. I’ve listed in no particular order the places I liked and the places I could remember. “This is off the record, isn’t it?”īars and objectivity have never gone well together. “Serving my constituents is what I’m all about,” he said. In 24 hours I had more tips than I could handle, not to mention a generous offer of assistance anytime I needed a drinking buddy. So I staggered over to the nearest pay phone and called my favorite state senator. You want the real skinny on bars? Go to the real authority. ![]() I fretted over this for a while, and then one evening, deep in the throes of a self-pitying stupor, the answer suddenly dawned on me. Barely three calls into my survey, I noticed that I was getting a lot of “Oh, yeah, there’s this place right outside Rockport… Damn, what was the name of it?” When they did remember, it was invariably a place I already knew about, one that was closed, or one that I knew didn’t fit my criteria. I know a lot of people who should have been able to help me with this-bar owners and bartenders and inveterate drunks-but for some reason the old memory retrieval system doesn’t work too well when it comes to bars. The first problem I had with this drinking man’s guide was to get your macro-picture, to generate a universe of tips on joints. ![]()
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