Photo by me walking in sober. The second bar I chose was the Subway Inn on 143 East 61st Street (corner of 3rd Ave & Lexington Ave). This dive bar is located right across from the prestigious Bloomingdales. I heard that a woman once bought a brasier there for $900 and her husband divorced her, I’m just saying. The bar probably feels the same way I do when I sit across from a skinny glazed eyed model on the subway when I’m all gaseous and bloated and playing Tetris on my cheap android cell phone holding in farts. I didn’t think a stink hole like this could possibly exist in such a fancy pants part of town but it does. My mate Sean suggested the place so I begrudgingly had to invite him along. Sean is the same loud guy from the previous review. He more than met his match in the loud and annoying department this time, more about that later. As of late, Sean has been doing quite well in New York and now hangs out with lots of second rate stand up comedians. This has resulted in him developing an incredibly annoying habit in which he thinks that loudly complaining about things in a heightened state of incredulation is funny. It isn’t. This is his all time favorite comedy album. I rest my case.  He also likes to tweet about pointless shit such as him sitting beside Janeane Garofalo or that he can buy a cake at four in the morning unlike his midwestern friends and that’s why he loves New York so much. His baseless confidence is now well displayed in his unshifting swagger when ordering a screwdriver. He even twists his two fingers around indicating the craftsman’s tool itself. But as we say in Ireland: Sure he has a heart of gold, heart of gold. Translation: He is harmless retarded.

The calm before the storm

The walk up to the bar is one of the least interesting walks in New York. The streets are littered with over priced clothing stores managed by twats who serve over-entitled douche bags, a multitude of Gyms filled with stupid frightened people terrified of tomorrow or upscale eateries filled with a combination of all of the above. Outside a homeless man begged for changed as jocks texted on their iPhones and smoked. I walked in and my first impression was how loud the place was. Seriously loud, the last bastion of culture and the most basic human joy, The Conversation, was truly being beaten with the progress stick in here. In other words, y’know that thing that makes us all feel a little less lonely, well you wont be able to partake in it in here.

The bar was to the left and ran most of the length of the building. To the right were several booths, the first Sean had already occupied. At the back lay the toilets and trash cans. The light was low, the bar was lightly populated with regulars and the bar tenders very welcoming. The latter makes a bar, pure and simple.

Noise, Noise and Noise

To my pleasant surprise Sean had invited the talented Hattiesburg routed, Mississippi transplant Sharon Spell to join us along with his Brother David and his old school friend Meg. This was a relief as although Sean is like nails on a chalk board sometimes he does have lovely friends/family. It also meant I had other people to talk to.

Excellent & Attentive Bar Keeps.

Sean & Sharon

Dave & Meg

Screwdriver Please

Sharon & Katrin

The toilets: For a dive bar they were quite functional. A complimentary beer was left on the toilet.

On the house.

Good? I wouldn’t Bansky on it.

Strangely enough behind the shitter was a double over hand paper roll ass wipe apparatus. I guess sometimes you need both hands.

Let’s fucking do this.

The Menu – All food cooked in noise.

Bling – Sean thought this was hilarious.

Food came in styrofoam boxes.

Four screwdrivers in.

Who caused the 2008 banking crisis?

Guys, you gotta listen to the notes I’m not playing, Jaaaazzz!

Screwdriver #6

Have you heard of my band Depeche Mixolydian Mode?

Lil’ Don Draper/Fun Size Jon Hamm

Actual Don Draper / Big Jon Hamm

Photo by me walking out drunk. We all staggered out for the subway home although I don’t recall much of it. Jazzman apparently spent the following day getting sick as he turned out to be a teetotaler that I pressured into drinking. Sean, Jazzman and Meg went back to Inwood, Katrin dashed back to Brooklyn and Lil’ Don Draper, Sharon and I got the N train home. My last memory is of trying to speak without slurring on the train which always looks terrible regardless. Overall a fun night out, this is New York after all. CONCLUSION: Credit cards accepted. The bar is wheelchair assessable but the toilets are not. The jukebox is hogged by brainless tone deaf thugs and way too loud. Friendly bartenders. The regulars leave you alone while the irregulars pad out the place and get in your way, even on a week night it got very crowded. Most people there were more into getting hammered than conversing which alway gives a bar a desperate feel. The food was alright, nothing you would eat sober but not terrible. It’s not a real dive bar just a lesser regular bar in a fancy neighborhood. Drinks were standard price. They do serve screwdrivers. If the person you are with is loud and annoying there will be music to drown them out and beat them at their own game.   The bar opened in 1937, Charlie the 97 year old owner is still on the scene and according to what I heard has no trouble chasing trouble makers from the place himself. The bar won the 2004 Dive Bar of NYC award. I can’t help but feel it was a different bar back then. If I could make just one suggestion it would be to turn the music down. Then we could talk and discover what bars are really for. In the words of an old friend – A bar is the beach for people who cannot swim.

Where is it again?:
Subway Inn