Floyd’s Bar, Brooklyn, 2009
I cherish Sunday afternoons, nothing is more zen to me then a copy of the New York Sunday Times, Van Morrison on the radio and an ice cold pint. I am a creature of habit, especially when it comes to Sundays. Over the years, I have moved my Sunday ritual around the city. It started ten years ago, at the Blind Tiger bar that use to be at 518 Hudson St. in the West village.The bar had a low slung ceiling, an old wooden bar, good tunes, amazing afternoon light and a new bartender every Sunday. Sadly, the Blind Tiger got replaced by a Starbucks.
I migrated over to Sparky’s Ale House, which used to be on Court St., in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn. The owner, Jerry, was a lovely man. On Sundays there would be a larger complimentary hero sandwich and potato salad on the bar, the jukebox had the NYC standard pub selection: Van Morrison, Nina Simone and Billie Holiday and great afternoon light. Again I was ousted from my pub by closure. Since these two mainstays of my Sundays are now left to my nostalgia, I have been drifting from bar to bar on Sundays looking for a new home to spread out the paper, bask in the glow of afternoon light, hum Astral Weeks and drink an ice cold beer in pure bliss. Some bars like Floyd’s on certain Sunday afternoons encapsulate that perfect moment for me. My wanderings continue in hopes that I will fine that one bar where I can be enraptured in a moment of bliss.