The hordes of freshly minted bankers, stock traders and lawyers who shoehorn their way into PJ Clarke’s every night may, at first, obscure the 125 years of history that the unassuming watering hole has weathered. But wait for the place to quiet down a bit, and the ghosts will come out. Stand at the spot at the long, sturdy bar where Johnny Mercer wrote “One For My Baby.” Wander into the back room and sit at the corner table inside the little nook – that’s Table 20, Sinatra’s regular spot. Have a cocktail and feel the spirits of Nat King Cole, Jacqueline Onassis, Buddy Holly and so many others who’ve made the place a destination spot for so long.
Clarke’s opened in 1884 at the corner of 55th St. and 3rd Ave., and for its first seven decades resided in the shadows of the Third Avenue El, the elevated railway tracks that kept property values low on the avenue until they were torn down in the ‘50s. Today, the squat two-story building inhabited by Clarke’s (and its more upscale upstairs neighbor, Sidecar) is surrounded by massive skyscrapers of glass and steel. But despite a massive renovation a few years ago, it still looks and feels remarkably the same as it did in 1945, when it was seen in the great Ray Milland film The Lost Weekend.
You won’t find craft bartenders with bushy beards who infuse their own vodkas using artisanal ingredients. But you’ll find a thoroughly professional staff, all of whom know how to take care of a large group of people in a small and noisy space, and don’t cut corners when it comes to making a good cocktail. I’ve turned on more than a few bourbon novices to PJ’s excellent Manhattans (I prefer mine with Knob Creek). It’s the perfect ratio of whiskey to vermouth to bitters, delicious on its own or with a Cadillac burger—which consistently places at or near the top of the many “best burgers in NYC” surveys—and their signature home fries.
PJ’s is mobbed virtually every night, with a clientele ranging from 20-something investment bankers to the likes of Jake LaMotta and Christopher Hitchens. The best time to go is late – preferably after midnight on a cold, rainy evening – when you can get some elbow room at the bar or get seated at Sinatra’s Table 20, and commune with the ghosts. Put a couple of bucks into the jukebox and select a few Billie Holiday tunes, and you’ll feel the vibe even more deeply. The kitchen is open until 3:30 and the bar keeps serving for a little while after that, so take your time and drink in a piece of Manhattan’s history while you’re drinking your cocktail.
(FYI, Clarke’s has expanded in recent years, opening two other locations in Manhattan and one in Chicago, but they’re pale imitations of the original at 55th St.)