A Night Out

I was talking to a old friend who just turned 50.

"20 years ago I was 30." he said. "It went so fast. 20 years from now I'll be 70. I'm afraid it'll go by even faster."

I told him it probably would. And I told him I had no intention of sleeping through it.

Friends come and go.

But I'll be left alone with myself.

Trying to make the best out of the next 20.

And it'll be the small things I remember.

Like a night out in the city,

and a subway ride uptown.

Trad Rules (# 33) LL Bean Boots

Women and children may wear blue, green and red Bean boots. Men wear brown. Velcro Bean boots are only worn in Florida where natives never learned how to tie shoes.

Happy Birthday, Miss O'Day

No getting around the fact I have something for Anita O'Day.

I don't know what it is - but I love her. Full stop. Born 91 years ago today -- the video is from a 1963 Japanese TV show available here. I have a copy and it's damned good sans the live audience's lack of applause.

Charlie Davidson told me a story where Anita begged him, beggged him, to come see her in a club in NYC on her birthday. Charlie couldn't commit but he busted his ass getting the shuttle from Logan and flew into Laguardia where bad weather almost diverted his plane to PA or worse. But luck was on his side...

Charlie took a cab to the club, walked in, saw Anita by the bar rehearsing with the band and said, "Baby, I made it!" And Anita said, "Shut the fuck up and get me a double Scotch." I asked Charlie what kind of Scotch Anita drank. "Single malt," Charlie said.

The pictures are from her 1981 autobiography, "High Times - Hard Times." There's been a recent re-issue but try to find the original for the beautiful cover. You wanna pour a single malt (maybe a double) and drink to her? That's your business. I've already beat you to the punch.

Mr Hoy's Strainer

(above photo by Tina Fineberg, Associated Press)

Mr Hoy made my first NYC martini (Beefeater up with olives-very dry) in 1984 after my first job interview (20th Century Fox). We told each other lies about our years in the Army. Me leaning towards him on my bar stool lighting another Marlboro. Mr Hoy leaning into his corner where the bar turned. I didn't get the job and didn't see Mr Hoy again for years.

In 1990, my job was to entertain - mostly Brits - mostly in Chicago - sometimes in NYC- always with O.P.M. (Other People's Money). I returned to the Blue Bar and Mr Hoy. I told Hoy, "You made my first martini in NY and we told each other lies about the army." "Yes, I think I remember you." I said, "You're full of shit, Mr Hoy." And he laughed.

I went back to see Mr Hoy with increasing frequency. Late afternoons it was dead and we could talk. Other times, usually late at night, things could get strange. One night a man and his wife asked me to join them in their room. Another night I realized I was buying drinks for a hooker.

Mr Hoy was celebrated in 2006 as the oldest working bartender in NYC. He was 90. He claimed to still remember me whenever I stopped in. Now I was a New Yorker. And if I was ever a pain in Mr Hoy's fourth point of contact - and I'm sure I was - he never showed it. I took my seat at the bar, saw his smile and felt a warmth overcome me before the first sip of gin.

I stopped by recently. The lobby was packed but the bar empty. I sat on a stool, ordered a Beefeater martini and watched the Yankees with the bartenders. I asked a bartender how Mr Hoy was doing in his recent retirement. "Oh, Mr Hoy passed away a couple of months ago." "Shit." I said. "Yeah." he said. I stared at my martini. Lost in the memories of my ass on this very bar stool with Mr Hoy across from me.

I saw the familiar julep strainer on the bar in front of me and while the bartenders watched the game, I reached over, picked the strainer up, put it in my pocket and placed a twenty dollar bill where it had been. I asked for my bill, charged it (I wanted a record ) and put a tip on it as well. "Thanks." I said and climbed off the stool.

The bartender looked at the twenty on the bar, picked up the check folder and gave it a glance and looked at me surprised. "Thanks." he said. "No. Thank you." I said and left. I don't know how old my strainer is. I don't know how many martinis were made with it. I don't know a lot of things about it. I only know where it came from and what it did.

I took a walk and knew in my liver Mr Hoy was with me. Strolling Time's Square, an area I usually detest.

But something was different that night.

Everything was bright for my token. For some strange reason I felt I had to photograph it. Unless I lost it or a bartender chased me down and demanded it back.

A small wake in the city for a man I barely knew but whom I always felt connected to.

I think of all the connections Mr Hoy made with a spoon full of holes. "Yes, I'll always remember you."

Discover Avery Lucas & Booker T.

Avery Lucas - Esquire Magazine 1993

It's unique everywhere you go

Avery Lucas Four Button Jacket

Button down

Flap pocket shirt

Patch pockets

An Autumnal Wine that's hard to find

Turn up Booker T & The MGs

Avery Lucas took me on a sartorial road trip. He called and asked if I'd check out a four button tartan jacket he was making. "A what?" Avery said, "It's very Trad." I said, "How in the hell is four button Trad, Avery?" "That's why you gotta see it." he said. Ok. I don't have the stones for this. Now. But that may change.

The tweaks and nods to Trad are everywhere. From a distance, it's as Andover Shop as the day is long but, up close, it changes. I love this shirt with the J Press flap pocket, rounded collar points and beautiful MOP buttons. If you're a designer - start taking notes.

The jacket has a traditional stance but it's rich in Italian drape. The patch pockets keep it clean and simple and you barely notice the fourth button. It's not finished yet and I can't wait to see how it comes out.

This isn't a Friday Belt but Avery thought the jacket very Autumnal so I went looking for something. Italian for the cut but with a twist. Approachable but different. You know? Like the jacket.

At Dell'Anima, they turned me onto a white from Italy made by nuns with help from Paolo Bea's son, Giampiero. Coenobium Rusticum is best served with a slight chill. Not too cold and not too expensive. Less than $25. And like Autumn it's a beautiful gold with just a hint of a cider finish. As off the reservation as Avery's Tartan.

And because I haven't heard them in years -- I offer something for you to turn up and head into the weekend with. Booker T & the MGs doing Time is Tight - - When four button jackets where everywhere.

A NYC Discovery: Bar Carrera

Something said to look inside

Manzanilla Sherry was the give away

Not sure what the pinball machine is all about

Never tell a woman from Brooklyn you love bullfights

A convert to Mazanilla

The order form

The picks

The favorite - Egg in a Blanket

Wine list

He really liked the Manzanilla

Cava rose with dinner

I could live off this picture

Luisa & Manzanilla

I'm told this is a fashion blog

Caught putting this under my jacket on the way out

I discovered Bar Carrera on 2nd Avenue. No NY foodie turned me onto it. No NY Times review. Nada. I found it and I'll tell you how. It is a rare thing to see Manzanilla Sherry on a restaurant menu. I'm not sure why. It's perfect with olives, warmed almonds and white anchovies. And it's cheap. Trad isn't cheap but Trad is a good value and Carrera is that.

Everywhere in NYC there are adorable restaurants, usually in midtown, with charming bistro tables, beautiful facades and they almost all suck. Not only do they suck but they're overpriced. What an insult. Now, I was thrown by the pinball machine but hang with me for a minute. Which is about how long it took to get our starters.

We were early. 5:30PM or so. It was empty. Not much cooking with nuts, olives and anchovies but that's the beauty of Spanish Tapas. White anchovies with Manzanilla Sherry is like having sex on a beach. A little messy but you'll never forget it. Munching warmed Marcona almonds is like drying off afterwards. Soft and salty and rich. I love olives but Carrera seemed to have procured theirs from my father's bar.

Tables are shared - at least the best ones - and while I'm usually not a fan of shared tables or wandering musicians - our neighbors had just returned from 12 days in Spain. Wonderful people. I turned him onto the Manzanilla and told her I loved bullfights. One and outta two ain't bad.

The Foxtrot ordered the egg in a blanket and, quite frankly, I haven't come up with a sex act to compare it to. It was that amazing. Serrano ham, Manchego cheese and an egg drizzled in truffle oil and baked in a brioche. It was the best thing on the menu...

Followed by the Jamon and Mozzarella combination plate. Crusty bread is included but I think it gets in the way. The pork belly was good but fat is lost at Carerra when everything else is so clean and bright. The $40 Cava was a steal but the $8 a glass Manzinilla adds up fast. I lost count and I think our waitress Luisa did as well.

Luisa suggests you come early. Things start 'happening' here around 9PM and when things get 'happening' - it's time for me to leave and find a beach. Check Carerra out for yourself. 175 Second Avenue. Across the street from the loudest squeaking door in New York.