You can feel the pulse. You can feel it's breath of life. You can hear the sounds in your heart. NYC touches every sense you have. Yet at times it just doesn't make sense. Its the relationship city. A person, a friend, a lover.
The history of the 21 Club is so NY. You walk in and feel you stepped back into a time where men where men and women weren't allowed.
It's an old 40's black and white. Lauren Bacall is leaning with her back against the oak bar. sipping an old fashioned. LB is way too classy and is such a real lady to have a maritini glass. She's not a cliche. Bogart walks in wearing his signature hat, over coat and seems so much taller than he was. Stops at the coat check girls that smile nervously. He hands then his things, winks and calls her doll.
The service at 21 club - greeting is by many many men in dark suits. 2 coat check girls. 2 host stations with computer's to check in.
Escorted to the table by another suit...sat by another.
Another suit hands us menu's and asks us if we would like a cocktail.
Then a white coat man server (they only have male waiters) takes our orders. As i decide yes I would like cocktail, he walks away.
The last suit returns and I say I would like a cocktail. He walks away and returns with a wine list, then walks away again.
White coat waiter returns. I want to call him Joe. He reminds me of Joe our surley waiter from the Bar. Joe worked at the bar for 100 years. He was 120. I worked with Joe for about 2 years. Every Tuesday. Joe would come into work at 6 carrying his canvas Strand book bag that held his shoes. We started at 8. But he would come early for cocktails. Shuffled to the front door and park himself on a stool. No movement for hours as he would sit like a cigar store Indian. Not really greeting or speaking, although when he would talk he sounded like he had marble's in his mouth.
One tuesday night Joe just stopped coming to work. He didn't call.He didn't quit. He didn't stop by. He just stopped. No one is sure if he is still around. I like to think he's shuffling around at the Strand Book Store mumbling and yelling at clerks and asking for 2 Yengling.
Our waiter finally returns and takes our order. I don't think he ever spoke to us. Maybe he does know Joe.
Due to the respect I have for these classic old establishments....there is nothing I can say about our meal.
NOTHING. Nothing good that is.
The service was an experience. We had about 16 people stand nearby as it would appear to serve us. Yet, the service was poor to " ugh, I can't stand this I wanna get my own salad. "
Our water was filled often.
It is a place to go for drinks. History...yes. But it is NYC, we got alot of that.
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