Last night, Joey and I went with a couple of friends to The Blind Pig, a bar that is almost just a rumor, until you actually find the door, ring the bell and are let in.
Stepping in feels like an invasion, like inviting yourself into someone else’s rendezvous, like discovering someone else’s private affair. I can see why the regulars would be a bit upset that their little hole has been made known to people like me (thanks to CNNGo).
It’s a lovely place, at least as much as I can see. It beckons the Prohibition era, when every drop of liquor was precious and every sip was a secret. The chairs feel plush. The muted light fixtures make everyone speak in hushed tones. The bar list is short but select. Their olives are fantastic. The servers are well-versed in the whole drinking affair. They allegedly have the best cocktails in town. I can’t vouch for that but they were great. Except I really like my whiskey neat so I passed up on the Goldrush, their bestselling scotch, honey and lemon juice concoction and settled instead for Gordon’s Cup, gin with Cucumbers and Mint leaves.
It was dark, so I couldn’t take photos of my drink and of the place. But The Blind Pig is a perfect place to savor your choice of poison with company that requires no exchange of words to make for a good night.
Photo above is from Pinterest.
p.s. How to find The Blind Pig.