Faneli’s in the early morning.
It’s two am on a Sunday, and Fanelli’s is mostly quiet now. If you get in before last call you can sit quietly at the wooden bar and laugh with the bartender as he wipes it down. The tourists are gone from Soho and the cobblestones look old again. It’s two am, and time for one last beer.
It’s seven on a Monday morning and the Lower East Side looks like a hurricane came through dropping NJ’s detritus onto the streets. The shops are shuttered and the garbage lines the sidewalks waiting to be picked up. Aside from the delivery trucks there is no traffic at all.
It’s four in the afternoon on a Tuesday and you can still get a seat at Blind Tiger before the crowd rushes in. Ask Katie for a suggestion, drink your beer slowly, and wait until the bar is so full you have to stumble back out into the early evening, fortified for whatever comes next.
It’s six-thirty on a Wednesday, but you can still put in an order for two dozen oysters at Sel Rrose before happy hour ends. Try the Beausoleils or the Nootka Sounds. Eat all of them with nothing but a squeeze of lemon and pretend you’re in Paris.
It’s eleven am on thursday morning and no one is sitting in the lobby of the Algonquin Hotel. But you can order a cocktail or a coffee and pretend old writers still sit in the corner. Pretend Midtown is still a circus instead of a shopping mall, and stay safely inside until well after lunch.
Almost midnight on a Friday and you’ve been drinking for too long. You realize why New Yorkers don’t go out until eleven, but it’s too late for that now. Sit in Washington Square Park for an hour and try not to ogle the college kids with their pink hair and acoustic guitars. Let them think they might still win at chess, and when you’re ready, move to the French Roast for an espresso, or possibly another drink.
After all, the night is just getting started.