Skankalicious at Port 41

Check out Flickr for more from our Friday night out in Hell’s Kitchen.

Google Map of the Dive In NYC Hells Kitchen Dive Bar Tour

Even the drunkest and most hardcore of drunks have one of those nights. You know, the kind of night were things happened in succession up until a point where they became a blur and then a, well, complete void in the time-space continuum until you woke up at some point the following day or, in the most extreme case, the day after the day after, and realized you were in your bed, somewhat undressed but with no recollection of how you got there. This past Friday night was one of those nights for me.

I remember the email from Whitesnake as clear as I do the first beer of the day, which for me, I actually had at legendary South Street Seaport dive Jeremy’s Ale House during my lunch. After all, what better way to wash down a veggie burger on a wintry Friday than a scrumptious 32-oz Styrofoam cup of Keegan Ales Mothers Milk stout? Certainly, water or diet Coke just won’t do in such a situation.

Digression aside, Whitesnake and I were trying to figure out where to imbibe on Friday since a planned dinner party at my pad fell through. Many ideas were kicked around until Whitesnake mentioned that on his way back from the backwoods of PA the past weekend a bar near Port Authority called Port 41 had caught his eye. Being that I knew Whitesnake had never had the pleasure of drinking at revered Hell’s Kitchen dive Rudy’s nor Holland Bar, conveniently located at the ass end of Port Authority, I thought that a tour of the few remaining Hells Kitchen dives would be an ideal way to kill a Friday evening.

In my eight years in New York City, I’ve done two stretches in Hells Kitchen. The first was from September 2000 through June 2001 and the second was from May 2002 through October 2003. During both stints I spent a lot of time at Holland Bar, Rudy’s, and the dearly departed Bellvue and Siberia. So I thought I knew my Hells Kitchen dives and this past Friday night would consist of little more than me showing Whitesnake around the ‘hood and explaining how it was before we both got on the train and headed back to the BK. Was I ever wrong.

Rudy’s Bar & Grill

The night started inauspiciously enough, as we drank a $7 pitcher of Rudy’s Red at my former eponymous haunt Rudy’s.

Whitesnake enjoying the pitcher of Rudy’s Red

It was during the second pitcher that things started getting a tad strange. A local hustler, who’s name I can’t recall but had rebuffed many times in the past, rolled into Rudy’s, spotted me and Whitesnake and plopped down in our booth and said.

“What’s up, man, been a while,” hustler clad in the tangerine-colored leather jacker with shoulder pads said.

“Sure has, how you been?” I replied.

“Cool. Cool. I been looking all over for you,” he inexplicably responded.

Funny I thought since we’d spoken all of about three times, all of which where at Rudy’s, and all of which involved him peddling a sob story to try and weasel some cash of me. I hadn’t bought before and I wasn’t going to start tonight.

“Dude, I know it’s been a while but me and buddy are getting out of here,” I told him.

He mumbled something about just having gotten out of prison and needing some cash when I downed my pint and cut him off.

“I’m really sorry but you should probably talk to Joe. He’s the man with the connections around here.”

Joe, for those who don’t hang at Rudy’s, is a legendary habitué of said bar. A brother in his 60s with a steel reserve and an acumen that’s sharper than a samurai sword, Joe doesn’t countenance fools. Sending the hustler his way would not only get him out of my hair but, after Joe had some words with him, likely keep dude out of Rudy’s for a while. Regardless, Whitesnake and I weren’t sticking around to see and we headed off to the Bull Moose Saloon on West 43^rd between 9^th and 8^t.

Bullmoose Saloon

Unlike Rudy’s, the Bull Moose is not one of the best dives or bars in Hells Kitchen. I rarely went there in the past and I doubt I’ll ever return. It’s a watering hole that exists only to serve those who don’t know that there are any better places to drink in the nabe. Given trends in the area, it could be that folks in Hell’s Kitchen will have very few, if any, better places to drink in the future. Since Whitesnake and I did have better places to go, we pounded our beers and rolled on to…

Port 41, which is where, to quote my good friends Sublime, things got out of control.

Port 41 Bikini and Pool Bar

Words don’t exist to explain, a.) what happened next nor, b.) what boozing it up at Port 41 is like. Let’s deal with the latter first.

Between the game of Big Buck Hunter with middle-aged drunken derelict John to the dude who started doing push-ups on the peep show booth-sticky and filthy floor of Port 41 during some Metallica song, Port 41 defies any rationale explanation. The vaguely-tweaker bartenders are clad in bikinis but do little that could be termed titillating unless you happen to have a fetish for chicks stomping garbage with their kicks. To the, surprisingly diverse crowd of drinkers credit, they seem to be there more for the cheapness of the booze and genuine oddness of Port 41 than they are there for the chicks in bikinis.

Bartender at Port 41 Crushes Trash the old fashioned way

And then there was Al.

In the shocker of the year, I’m going to admit that I do drugs. However, it’s a snowy fucking day in San Diego that I buy drugs. For the most part, I’m one of those dudes who gets high on other people’s dime and does other shit — shrooms, ecstasy, coke — with about the same frequency that no-hitters are thrown. Meaning, perhaps once a year. Seems like there’s going to be a no-hitter this year since I found myself doing lines of coke with Al in the bathrooms of Holland Bar, Why Not, and Port 41 Friday night.

Group mug shot at Port 41

In my experience, cokeheads differentiate themselves from most habitually users of drugs by refusing to do the drug on their own. For some reason, they only like to do coke if others are doing it with them. Take Al, for example. When I wouldn’t buy coke from him, he offered to share it so long as we bought him some beers at Holland Bar. Let’s see. Coke for a couple of beers at one of the last remaining dives in Hells Kitchen? Who could turn that deal down?

I certainly couldn’t and that’s when the Friday dive tour of Hell’s Kitchen became a Friday night of what the hell are we doing and where the hell are we!?!?

Thanks to the miracle of an angry and nerve-wracked girlfriend I know that I got home at 5:00 AM. Judging by the smell of my clothes, I made a pit stop at legendary Ditmas Park Pakistani Shandar before coming home. And, judging by the fact that I couldn’t get out of bed until 4:00 PM on Saturday, the Hell’s Kitchen dive bar tour has to be considered, well, not really a success but a reminder that Manhattan is not a monolith.

Hell’s Kitchen may be an astronomically expensive place to live these days and becoming yet another yuppie outpost in Manhattan but our adventure Friday night is a reminder that even in those swaths of Manhattan that have been overrun with the moneyed elite, that it’s still possible to find dingy corners where sordidness and lubricity rule the day. Rudy’s, Port 41, and Holland Bar are such places. Enjoy them while you can.

Guilty Parties

Happy Hour: No happy hours needed at Rudy’s, Port 41, or Holland Bar since the prices are cheaper than a blowjob was during the days of the Westies in Hell’s Kitchen and our man Al might just be around to get you coked up.

Cuento Cuesto: The combo of free hot dogs and$7 pitchers at Rudy’s is impossible to beat. Supposedly Port 41 has dogs too but I wouldn’t eat there if Alain Ducasse himself were preparing the dogs. Still, $3 16oz PBRs in that gentrification heavy nabe is a good deal. Can’t remember prices at Holland Bar but I’m sure they’re cheap.

Huckle Factor: Don’t know if that’s free dogs, the cheap booze, or the comfy, duct-taped booths but Rudy’s seems to be the go-to dive bar for cute chicks. I should know. My Buffalo homie Eric once spent his New Years Day evening fingering some hot actress chick at a booth in the back a couple years ago. The same can’t be said of Port 41 and Holland Bar.

Split Lip Factor: Surprisingly low. I’ve never seen a fight at Rudy’s or Holland Bar and despite the blaring death metal and general skeeviness at Port 41, folks seemed too happy to throw fists. Get sauced without impunity, my friends.

If Rudy’s Were A Celebrity: Iggy Pop.

If Bull Moose Were A Celebrity: Pick an extra. Any extra.

If Port 41 Were A Celebrity: Ron Jeremy.

The Rhino’s Head at Port 41

If Holland Bar Were A Celebirty: Abe Vigoda or Sam Waterston.

Who Would Like These Bars: Charles Bukowski, Cokeheads, former death metal roadies, tweakers, transients, and dudes who like doing push-ups.

Pushups at Port 41