30 to Midnight

Bongo, West Village

Wednesday, 7:15pm

Bongo
West St. (W. 10th St.), Manhattan

Three different rooms and hardly anyone to fill them, though those inside are AA. We're not into the eclectic barware (don't serve a sauvignon blanc in a heavy, thick, purple, glass goblet) or the mixed drinks (don't throw all the pith and rind into the blender when an ingredient is grapefruit; don't use club soda when tonic was requested) or some of the service (don't tell us a credit card is denied if you only tried once). But the lobster salad on tiny dinner rolls are addictive and the cole slaw that accompanies the platter is fantastic. That said, the menu is hard to open (bad clasp placement) and feels dirty. Wow does this sound super negative when really we were thinking we'd like to host a party at the new Bongo, in either the front, blueish room that somewhat resembles a lobby, or the smaller, back, reddish room that's more living room-like?

pictured: chardonnay in a glass with a flipped over rim like a vase, or a collar.

Barfly, Gramercy

Thursday, 7:30pm

Barfly
244 Third Ave. (20th St.), Manhattan

Age Appropriate? Check. Almost everyone eating? Check. Games on? Check. Not your typical Third Avenue crowd (meaning what you'll find in the 30's)? Check.

Oh, that's supposed to link you to something it seems we've not yet written. Come back for it. 

Nobu 57, Midtown West

Sunday, 12:15am

Nobu 57
40 West 57th (5th Ave.), Manhattan

We were feeling pretty fancy so we decided to end a night out at the bar of Nobu 57. Since Sara is made of money, she offered to buy Marla's drink as thank you for coming along to research (even good jobs are better with perks). Sparking rose was the request, granted in the form of NV Moët.

We sipped while surveying the room: Age Appropriate, not including the large group of kiddies who descended the stairs while we were mid drink.
"Wonder whose daddy paid for that meal," said Sara moments before a nipped, tucked, and dyed AA+ became part of their crowd.
"You mean mommy," said Marla.
"I have to know how old they are," said Sara before she stood to approach the last one to the door. "Whose birthday?" she asked an attractive, preppy near-20.
"No ones," he said, half wondering if he was getting hit on. "Why?" 
Sara knew immediately that it wasn't just a birthday; it was his. "I want to give my gift," she said.
He smiled.
She waited.
"Okay," he said, slightly impatient but still attractive, "It's my birthday."
"How old?"
"Where's my gift?"
"You allowed to sit at the bar?"
"You don't have a gift," he said, slightly surprised and disappointed but still flirting.
"Happy birthday," she said, holding up her hand in stop-sign-good-bye.
He hesitated briefly before exiting.

"He had a hint of game there," said Marla.
"He's going to be dangerous," said Sara.
And the check arrived. And we thought it was not ours. We hadn't discussed it previously, but we'd both assumed the wine was some $18 per glass, maybe $20. We both grew up in and around the City, have both been to numerous bar of varying expense where we've consumed an incalculable number of drinks, yet neither one of us was prepared for $26 per glass. 

Sure a 300-percent markup is standard (you can buy a bottle from Sherry Lehmann for $49.95, which makes the wholesale price what?), and a per-glass price will not multiply to a per-bottle price, but wowzah. We're not saying we didn't enjoy our wine, or that we won't be back, but we do think we could have survived without the extra round. A wise friend in the wine biz reminded us that covering bottle cost is usual with per-glass-rates considering the possibility that only one glass is poured and consumed before the wine becomes unconsumable. Next time we'll just have to buy the whole bottle.

Nightingale, East Village

Saturday, 12:15am

Nightingale
213 Second Ave. (13th St.), Manhattan

For some reason we keep spelling Nightingale with an e: nighten. That makes no sense, and neither does the fact that we thought we might find some AAs here after Midnight. Wishful thinking (aided by alcohol) is the worst. Bartender says it's sometimes hard to find AAs here before midnight, but we have faith (have wishes). Last time we were here (pre 30 to Midnight) we were celebrating a 30th. That age, as you know, is the cusp, which is what Nightingale seems to be all about. We have to recommend avoidance, but will deem the bar AABM because 6-8pm happy hour is for all of us. 

Question: pre renovation was Nightingale an older bar, or were we just younger?

Bacaro, Chinatown

Thursday, 9:15pm

Bacaro
136 Division St. (Ludlow), Manhattan

From the chandelier to the marble-top tables and bar to the downstairs rec room, Bacaro is outstanding. Okay, the downstairs isn't really a rec room, but it's so unlike the styled ground-level room that we're compelled to differentiate in this manner. We love the AA crowd (many twosomes), the mellow vibe (whispering, apparently), and the offering of Negroni (pictured). You know we don't usually drink liquor, but who can resist well blended gin, Campari, and sweet vermouth? Um, ask us the day after. 

Acela Club, Citi Field, Queens

Thursday, 7pm

Acela Club
Citi Field, Excelsior Level, Queens

Forget a barrel, fishing for AA men in Citi-Field’s Acela Club restaurant would be akin to dropping a hook into a shot glass. Made for dwarves’ hands.

On the Club level of CitiField (aka Excelsior Level,) sits a closed-off, by- reservation-only bar and restaurant, overlooking the field. We entered the spacious, glassed-in bar area and found it teeming with men. Of all shapes and sizes. It was like a Chinatown fish market, only filled with testosterone and polyester jersey material.

There were women too, about ten of them, three of whom worked there and three others seemed to have a wavering attachment to a small but rowdy group of Wall Street freshmen, who hadn’t yet scrubbed the frat boy from them.

But most everyone seemed to be in a good mood and that made for a pretty lively pregame hang. Fortunately, the food was plentiful and after we sampled beers from the varied menu, we were ready to watch the game. (The result? Never mind.)

-Tony G.

Eastside Billiards & Bar, Upper East Side

Thursday, 11:45pm

Eastside Billiards & Bar
163 E. 86th St. (Lexington Ave.), Manhattan

As we've mentioned, we have some pool-playing friends. These friends warned us that Manhattan's pool tables are generally surrounded by AIs (in leagues, and not), but that did not stop us from checking out Eastside Billiards & Bar. Alas, late night at the pool hall is not romantically full of aged men dispensing wisdom, teaching the young'uns how to work a con. No. Late night at the pool hall is full of extreme AI. But the cheap drinks are entrapping. We stayed for more than one.

Sometimes We Go To House Parties

Saturday, 9pm

A backyard in Sunset Park

We at 30 to Midnight, like many of you, sometimes go to parties, especially in the summer when we huddle in any available outdoor space, often behind buildings, like the one pictured here where various punk bands played (and covered themselves in white face makeup and fake blood) in celebration of the recent grad school graduation and subsequent new job of one delightful, brainiac Age InAppropriate (friend of friend's friend) who approached us as such: Is your dress inspired by laundry bags?
Sara: (Looking down at her red-white-blue-striped sundress) Those plastic Chinese things?
AI: Yeah.
Sara: Don't think so
AI: (Seriously) It looks really good on you.
Sara: Thank you. So what's your new job?
They have a nerdy conversation involving the words Procurement, Government, Analyzing, and Cool. Then the AI says he stumbled upon the Subway Inn post(!). Sara, thrilled, practically blushes. AI attends to other guests.
Later...
AI: (Not exactly whispering in Sara's ear) I'm not 30, but I'd go out with you.
Sara: I don't do that, not even for smarties.
AI: But I have the 30's mindset, no frat boys. I can use your site.
Sara: (Pointing to friend of friend, not wanting to lose a reader, genuinely entertained by fast brain and ability to withstand her teasing, flattered by almost anyone who can read) Well, you know how to find me.
Smile and GoodNight.

Xicala, Lower East Side

Thursday, 11:15pm

Xicala Wine & Tapas Bar
151B Elizabeth St. (Broome St.), Manhattan

Walking east along Delancey used to be a sure thing, when drunk and looking for a bar for another drink. Veteran, darkened, “all business” watering holes lined the streets. These days, it’s a dicey affair for two over-30s, as we are, looking for a rare-r drink—strawberry sangria—as we were. Luckily we expanded our search area and happened upon Xicala. The place itself is small, with remarkably squat tables and benches ringing it, as if it were a dwarf hotspot in Ixtapa. Things got more more comfortable as we became drunker, but hours later, Advil was needed and not just for the prodigious hangover that began stretching its legs. An Age Appropriate wine bar, with a pretty impressive by-the-glass list, Xicala’s standout item was, is and always will be the strawberry sangria with fresh fruit and frozen strawberry in lieu of ice cubes. You heard me, in lieu of ice cubes. As the midnight hour approached, Xicala emptied out. Then the hangover pulled up a chair.

-Tony G.

Rockaway Ferry

Sunday, 11:45am

Rockaway Ferry
Pier 11 (Manhattan), Brooklyn Army Terminal (Sunset Park), Riis Landing (Queens)

Always looking for a new way to get out to the beach, we were excited to take the ferry from Pier 11 (just south of Wall Street) to the Rockaways. We expected the Rockaway Ferry to be something like the one that goes to Mets games (large, air conditioned, decent outdoor space). We did not expect the Rockaway Ferry to be a miserable, overcrowded, hot, slow boat to China (read that statement as both a cliche and a pun referring to Sunset Park's Chinatown, a stop on the route). Why must this trip be so difficult?

Further, the last Manhattan-returning ferry is 5pm. That makes no sense. The lifeguards work until 6pm, it's still light out, and there's no time to hit Bungalow Bar's Sunday events. That said, the ferry is so dang far from the bar it's really  impossible for us to connect the two. To be true to our mission we should tell you that the patrons of the Rockaway Ferry, not including two hipsters with a seemingly unlimited supply of street hot dogs), appear to be AA, which means old enough to have experienced and learned to hate the A-train option. Again we ask, why must this trip be so difficult?

Note: We're talking about the Weekend ferry, not the Weekday commuter trip, though we believe the boat is the same.