The third bar of the night was Chelsea Place, where we met up with our friends Mark and Kathy. Walking in, I instantly liked the place: really dark with original wood panelling and high ceilings. It seemed like the space had been a bar for a very long time. The bartender quickly pointed out that there was a table in the back, and ushered us over to it, quite possibly the only time that I've been officially seated in a dive bar. The place was mostly empty, populated only with a few local hipsters, but it was pretty early. There was a fireplace in the back, but even on one of the coldest nights of the year, it remained unlit.
So, comfortably seated with my mug of beer, I was just starting to tell Molly how much I liked the place, when she extracted some bizzare insect from her cocktail. Apparently it wasn't big enough to warrant sending the drink back, because Molly (being the trooper that she is) drank it down anyway.
The biggest problem (other than the wildlife) that we found with this bar though was the language barrier. All three employees spoke fairly little English, which as long as it doesn't hamper the ordering of a beverage, makes no difference to me. Unfortunately, it did make a difference when it came to Kathy's lemon drop. I'm not sure what "lemon drop" translated to behind the bar, but whatever it was, it came back in a salt rimmed glass. Kathy tried to power through it, but not only was it strange, it was undrinkable as well. So much so that Kathy, who's pretty shy and doesn't like sending stuff back, asked for another drink. I don't know much about international custom, but I would imagine that if you send a drink back in another country because it sucks, you would get a replacement free of charge. Unfortunately, they came back with another cocktail for Kathy and politely said "that will be $5". Strike three, and off we went.
Chelsea Place, 641 Bush Street
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