A Story about Beer

In my last post I mentioned that I was recently at a wedding in upstate NY (a lovely and very fun wedding, btw). But this isn't a story about the wedding, it is a story about beer.

Last Friday morning, we woke up a little groggy and still sated from our outing to Peter Lugers. A hint of fall was in the air and I hated to leave the city on such a beautiful day. But there was a wedding to attend.

We all headed to Grand Central to make our way upstate. The wallet was a bit thinner from the night before, but with the crisp $20 bill that was left, I paid for the $4 ticket to Westchester where a ride was waiting to take us out of town.

The familiar "clink" "clink" "clink"......"clink" was heard as my change in the form of silver dollars fell into the metal bin.

Damn, I thought, what am I going to do with these silver dollars?

I can't explain it, but they don't feel like money and I feel just a little more flush when carrying dollar bills instead, and that's a feeling that I need often in New York.

Little did I know that the answer to my silver dollar dilemna was to be found in Oxford, NY.

There, in this remote part of the state, down route 12, after a 4 hour drive, after 2 wrong turns that added an extra 20 minutes, was the most perfect answer to that question.

In this little town, is the most exellent dive bar. And I don't mean a fake hipster Lower East Side Dive bar. This is the real deal. Not quite as deadly as Mars Bar, but not quite that different either. The place is called The Oxford Tavern, or the OT to the locals.

In this gem of a bar that is all characters and smoke, beers can be had for a mere $1.

And I can't explain it, but there is something particularly special about handing over a silver dollar for an ice cold Genny Cream. More then one were handed over and the logic that helped justify the $14 cocktail the night before seemed ludicrous and even a little sad.

Of course, as soon as I got back, I knew that that I would continue to justify my rent, and the bar bills, and dinner that is "almost as cheap as eating in."

And the next morning reading AM NewYork on the train, I giggled...and then shed a quick tear when I read about the $6 special for PBR and a shot of Jack at an East Village bar this weekend.