Where is it written nowadays that when you order a drink at a bar it either has to be served to you by an unsmiling guy in a white tuxedo jacket who seems to stir a drink for twenty minutes or a douche bag with a waxed mustache who only wants to talk about his homemade bitters? We say, fuck that.
Bars are the last refuge of the tortured soul. Bars are for celebrating and for commiserating; bars are for loud off key singing in a room full of strangers and dirty jokes whispered behind the clinking of glasses and conspiratorial winks. Bars are your home away from home, the calm in the midst of the storm. It’s not about showing off or being pretentious; it’s about letting loose with your like-minded, booze soaked brethren!
We are here as a celebration of bars and the American cocktail spirit. We serve Punches, big glorious bowls of perfectly blended booze that dare you to do anything in moderation. Punch is a glorious celebration of drinking with friends. Originally from India, punch found its way to the West via the East India Company and British Colonialism. It reached American shores around the 17th century as the original libation, usually served in a large bowl and sipped over hours in a café. As the times changed and the pace of life quickened, so did the world’s drinking habits. The days of George Washington doing body shots of Fish House Punch off Ben Franklin at his inauguration gradually gave way to the age of Dale Degroff’s Cosmopolitan and its countless derivatives. Well we say: fuck Dale Degroff and fuck Cosmoplitans. Let’s get good and drunk the old fashioned way.
