Starting at about five in the afternoon every weekday, the wage slaves of Midtown turn out of their offices in droves, flooding a secret network of watering holes, dive bars and fancy pants joints that are all but impermeable to the species Tourist outoftownus.
The tourist, after all, did not come to Midtown to actually experience the life of an office drone. She came, fanny pack and all, to experience the fantastical simulacra of life in New York that the office drone must wriggle through twice a day to get to her desk. And millions of times each day, they bump and jostle and get in each other’s way, pissing each other off.
Which is exactly why we all need a drink. And sometimes, we need a damn good one. So we avoid those bars and grills that are also found in those “town center” developments that pimple the suburbs. You know, the places with big neon façades depicting, say, a blinking red lobster or apple. We look instead for places of character. Places like The Campbell Apartment.
Tucked into a corner of Grand Central Station and only accessible from an exterior door, the apartment was actually the office of a Scrooge McDuck-type tycoon who, as far I know or care, used the place to count his money or go swimming in a pile of gold doubloons. Long vacant, it has been a bar for almost 10 years now, and recently underwent a renovation to rid itself of some of the frayed edges and worn fixtures accumulated over the years. When you go, it may be crowded, but if you skip out of work early, or stop in for a nightcap, you’ll land a choice club seat inside the main room. There’s a spillover area in the hallway outside the bar’s main door, to be avoided unless you like food courts.
A waitress will present you with a list of expensive, but not really expensive for Midtown, drinks. Each one is humongous and perfectly skirts the fine line between a serious drink and one that tastes too much like candy. Try Prohibition Punch ($15), a rum-based fist to the head, or one of their gin-based cocktails like the Tuxedo ($13)—gin, sherry and orange bitters—of which even my mixed-drink hating girlfriend heartily approved.
Yes, a man in a white coat will follow your waitress to your table from the bar, and she will take the shakers he carries off of his platter and pour them delicately right in front of you and your friends. You will take a long sip from the glass and grab a cashew from the dish of cocktail snacks she has placed in front of you. You will sink back into your chair and stare up at the wooden ceiling, wondering where the hell you are, for a split second. And here’s where: You’re in Manhattan, you’ve got a cold drink in front of you, and for the next half hour, you’re escaping tourists, your desk, neon, your roommates, your apartment—you’re escaping it all.
The Campbell Apartment
15 Vanderbilt Ave. (betw. 42nd & 43rd Sts.)
212-953-0409
