Two highlights:
1) A reference to the olde Englishe song (and, I hope, the old Traffic album):
That's when Ayre knew the John Barleycorn must die. "It was a pit-of-the-stomach feeling," he said.
2) The bar's owner set up artifacts from the bar in his house and has had regulars over for some wistful drinks.
Ayre moved all the bar's furniture to his house in Santa Rosa.I wasn't going to do the obvious thing, and bemoan that Baltimore had some magnificently crappy watering holes that are no longer (the hot and crooked Miss Irene's is reopening with the same name but appears to be no longer about to collapse, and now it has a website with a wine glass logo, fer christssakes.) But I am kinda doing it anyway. Sorry.
Not long ago, Antico and Elke visited him there. They sat at the 25-foot-long bar in Ayre's great room, perched on their customary stools. Ayre poured them pints of Guinness, for old times' sake.
Places that frightened off the tourist trade and those in search of a mojito (no offense to the mojito, mind you) are harder to find in every respectable city. There was another great place on Lancaster Street in Fell's Point called "Bar." It had a wine list that read thusly:
WINE LIST
1 - Red
2 - White
Please Order
By Number
1 - Red
2 - White
Please Order
By Number
Anyway, old urban bars for professional drink enthusiasts are closing because of gentrification, and it is a shame. Though it means the city is probably doing better, which means more tax revenues, so that's not a shame.
Let's end on a positive note: Here's a drink recipe from the Colonel.
Recipe:
two quarts of Glyndon Bourbon Water
one package of noodles
one bunch of chopped mint
1/4 cup of sugarDrain noodles
Discard noodles
Drink the broth
Do not drive or use heavy machinery
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