A Light in September

So humor me here. Imagine that walking is your favorite thing. And imagine how frustrated you’d be if you hurt your #$^@#$ foot and couldn’t walk without feeling like it was going to break in the middle. And imagine how delighted you’d feel once your foot got a bit better and you managed to walk all the way across the Brooklyn Bridge again. And imagine that you wound up at a pretty sweet new bar for a rest at the end of your travels.

If you can imagine all that, you know what it’s like to be me this evening; and you know what it’s like to be pretty darn happy despite your appendage-related woes. Because not toooo far from the Brooklyn Bridge, you’d have found Fawkner, a nice new bar on Smith Street with an impressive happy hour–$8 house cocktails and $2 off (local, crafty) beer. While I opted for a cocktail, full of rum and vermouth, and it was perfectly fine, I think next time I’d choose one of the excellent beers–like Finback’s gingery, easy-drinking Double Sess, one of my favorites, which, if I recall correctly, costs the princely happy hour sum of $5. (At least in my (upscale, hipper-than-thou) NYC drinking experience, this is the equivalent of a unicorn sighting.)

Perhaps even more exciting than the drinks are Fawkner’s sandwiches. For an admittedly eyebrow-raising cost of $11, I got the huge fried chicken option. I was lured in by the promised corn pudding (which I only really tasted on half of my sandwich) but I am really here to tell you about the maple syrup dipping sauce. C’mon, guys, what could be better than delicious fried food dipped in maple syrup? If you know, please tell.

In addition to my food bounty, the service was super-friendly, particularly my bartender. (Don’t get me started on bad service … I’m trying to keep it positive on this blog since I wouldn’t feel right publicly denigrating restaurants and bars–I can only imagine how hard it must be to succeed in this town–but man, I hate me some rude service, and I love me some friendly bartenders and waiters who don’t judge me for wandering in solo with hobo hair. Fawkner more than delivers on this front.) After a hard day at work it’s nice to chat about booze and your job and your neighborhood in a friendly atmosphere like Fawkner’s.

In conclusion, get thee to this vaguely-literarily-titled bar (apparently it’s about falcons, not venerable southerners, but I hear what I hear). I promise you’ll find all sound, no fury. Plus a sweet dio-ram-a.

Fawkner, 191 Smith Street, Cobble Hill

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