OK, I’ve finally gone around the bend. I’m sitting in my Manhattan studio and listening to the “Colonel Bogey March” from “The Bridge on the River Kwai” on YouTube. I’m checking out other Mitch Miller hits that were on some record my parents had more than a half-century ago. I’m even singing along to old hymns from the days when I would go to church for something other than weddings and funerals. (“O God, our help in ages past …”)
It doesn’t take a shrink to realize that I’m yearning for a long-gone, less complex time.
Maybe that’s why an old Van Camp’s pork and beans commercial keeps going through my rattled, nearly 59-year-old brain — something about simple pleasures being the best. Fortunately, that tune morphs into Billie Holiday’s soulful voice: “I’ll be seeing you in all the old familiar places …”
Ah, yes. The old familiar places. My favorite New York restaurants and bars. In this time of pandemic and protest, I can’t have a meal or a drink in any of them.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful for the takeout and delivery service that’s been available at many spots — and for the possibility of alfresco dining. But it’s a tease, a Potemkin village. You can get a taste of what’s behind the facade, but you can’t go in, sit back and really enjoy it.
I want a nice, dimly lighted place where I can soak in the atmosphere, a perch where I can people-watch, gossip or sit alone and read a newspaper.
With Lady Day providing the background music, my mind floats a few blocks over to West 72nd Street near Columbus Avenue, where Malachy’s, a longtime Upper West Side watering hole, sits still and was temporarily boarded up during the protests.
I miss Dorian, the weekend daytime bartender, who has a passing resemblance to Flo from the television show “Alice.” She starts the day by playing classical music before turning to jazz and classic rock. “Come for the Bach and stay for the Brubeck,” Dorian might quip. She’s also a published mystery novelist. In the early afternoon, it’s a lovely place to enjoy a BLT and a cranberry and soda while everyone else is in Central Park.
My mind transports me west along 72nd Street past Broadway to the Emerald Inn. I picture walking down a few steps, going in and taking a seat at the long bar. There, Maura, who’ll be behind the bar, will make sure I have a strong cup of coffee and offer a sober — and sometimes justifiably dour — take on the latest happenings before bringing me a hot turkey sandwich for lunch.
I am not parochial. My familiar places are sprinkled all over town, and I’m now thinking about Midtown, specifically Restaurant Row on West 46th Street, where Joe Allen, Orso and Bar Centrale — the ever-dependable trifecta of nightlife — have been closed since March 14.
I’m looking forward to a time when I can walk in the front door of Joe’s on a non-matinee day. Kevin, one of the maître d’s, will lead me back to Table 7, where I’ll sit amid vintage pictures of mostly forgotten actors and posters of Broadway shows that flopped. There, I’ll while away an hour or so with an old friend and have the meatloaf or the calf’s liver and a banana cream pie that’ll send me into a deep sleep.
My mind transports me outside and up a flight of stairs to Bar Centrale, the cool theater district hideaway that’s a homage of sorts to classic Manhattan spots like El Morocco. I helped close it down on March 14, the last night it was open.
I want to sit on one of those zebra-print stools at the bar and enjoy some Widow Jane bourbon and ginger ale. Maybe I’ll order the shawarma or the lobster quesadilla. I want to talk with Craig, the bartender (and a playwright and dancer) about the latest shows, and argue playfully with Mary, the manager, about the political shenanigans of the moment.
But it’s time to check out the East Side.
In my mind I’ve walked into Neary’s, a mainstay on East 57th Street near First Avenue. On a normal Saturday night, Duffy would be holding court behind the bar and slide a Heineken. If it’s early enough, Jimmy Neary, who will turn 90 this year and has more energy than I do, would be regaling patrons.
There are so many other familiar places on the East Side: Hudson Malone, Smith & Wollensky, P.J. Clarke’s, Donahue’s. But I’m getting a little melancholy. Besides, it’s time for me to order some delivery and get back to YouTube. Time to sing along with Mitch.
