The Perfect Pint: Top of the Pint

This was typed on Thursday, written on Wednesday on the last page of extras in my edition of One Hundred Years of Solitude, and posted whenever this post says it was posted. At some point, I’ll figure out how to get pictures taken with my new cell phone into my blog.

Just got up to page 375 on the train from North White Plains to meet Marty Sullivan. It’s 4:50, the rain has just stopped and I’m sitting on a dry stool that stayed dry under a thatched eave over the rooftop bar (aka Top of the Pint) at The Perfect Pint on East 45th Street. I thougt to myself as I sat down that I wished I’d bought my notebook because this is a location that at this moment wants me to write something rather than read. (Yes, I was the geek at the bar carrying a book.)

I’m the only person here, and have been so for the last five minutes, settled in this little patio, red brick and lanterns on the west wall, large Guinness mirrors nestled underneath embedded plasma screens with ESPN crawl crawling its way northbound toward the entrance, which is framed with a sign that says St. Jame’s Gate (such poor proofreading!) that arches over the doorway. On the roof you get your Guinness (and later, your Kilkenny cream stout) in a plastic cup, but now the solitude is broken by two peole speaking Spanish, one of whom is Irish. I’ll pay closer attention then to the newer Irish music playing at just the right volume. I’ll also take some photos so I can more sophisticatedly blog the moment.

This is a place where I could sit and drink Guinness and write and stand by the railing watching the pedestrian traffic on 45th Street and Third Avenue and watching the folks working on the third or fourth floor of the gray brick office building across the street, people who must look with such envy at so many hours in the day when they would rather be sipping beer than sending email.

But now it’s 5:05, and my pal Marty is here, so farewell.

Epiblog: Marty informs me that you can reserve tables that have a circle of taps coming out of the middle of them on each floor. You get charged by the ounce. If you’re sitting at three o’clock and you want to drink from the tap that’s on the other side of the table, you can just turn the taps, lazy susan style, until the quaff you desire is yours. Now that’s a concept.