The Thousands

On Monday, I messaged my friend Flores. “Our girlfriends are going to leave us.” I was sitting at the bar of the Baxter Inn. It has 300 whiskeys on its shelves. Later this week, he messaged me: “well this is how you make a bar.” It’s the most essentially true review of the Baxter available.

The location is video-game. Navigate down completely unremarkable fire-stairs to find a basement full of everything you need. The image attached to this article is figuratively representative: I was armed with only an iPhone and a chest full of old-fashioneds, which is a state I recommend. But the interior is one of the most immaculately executed conceptions I’ve been in, anywhere. Dark, bricked, accoutrements, candelabras. It is so unmistakably a bar. And the bar itself – my arms will wear a groove in that long bar.

As mentioned earlier, whiskey is the focus. I know nothing about brown liquor, aside from knowing I enjoy a rye manhattan. They pointed me to some blends, some single malts. The dedication to, and knowledge of, the drinks here has a tenderness. Let them guide you to something. Or have an espresso stout, or a Brooklyn Lager. You get to go into a special vault if you buy some of the vintage wines – here’s Flores’ whiskey-soaked explanation.

Later in the night, I began to understand Bob Dylan’s line about the ghost of electricity howling in the bones of her face. It was the old-fashioneds biting, and it was excellent. This is indeed how you make a bar.