Want to Drink Great Whiskey for Cheap? Check Out These Bars
If high-end, award-winning whiskey bars are the exception, then what's the rule? The best day-in, day-out place to enjoy whiskey is a dive bar. It’s not because I don’t respect the handful of spots with leather-bound spirits menus listing hundreds of bottles. They're just not readily accessible when you want to sit down for a no-reservation drink with a buddy.
Whiskey and dives are kindred spirits. They’re an aesthetic match, as dark bar tops and dim lights complement the gleam of brown bottles while whatever game that's on the TV splashes color across the glass. And excellence for both bourbon and bars is a product of time. Aging a barrel of bourbon is a long and dirty process, much like establishing the lived-in feel of a comfortable dive.
“It just feels right to drink whiskey at a dive bar,” Tim Heuisler, global ambassador for James B. Beam Distilling, told me. When I reached him, he’d been working on his laptop from the Philadelphia-themed dive Olde City in Manhattan. Heuisler represents, has ready access to, and appreciates Beam’s most premium, allocated liquids in addition to those that decorate the backbars of dives.
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“Sometimes, I just want 100 proof whiskey over some ice cubes that I don't need to think about,” he said. “There’s nothing wrong with a two-by-two clear ice cube with a stamp on it, but sometimes I really just want hotel ice.”
Yes, standard dives are typically limited to bottom- and mid-shelf whiskey—but those are still great bottles.
“The standards of production for American whiskey are so high that even the cheap stuff is still pretty nice,” said Katsumi Manabe, dive enthusiast and bartender at the upscale Scotch Lodge in Portland, OR.
Katsumi's dive bar pour of choice is a bit controversial. “I take a lot of heat for this, but I've always been a fan of Jack Daniel’s Old No. 7," he said. "Internationally, a bottle of Jack Daniels can be $50. It’s kind of a treat for other people.”
There’s no question dives lack the well-trained, whiskey-fluent staff of a dedicated bar like Mike Vacheresse’s Travel Bar in Brooklyn, where any of its 400 bottles are served by the ounce. He was quick to point this out when I asked his thoughts on my dive bar rule.
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“[Dives] are not a good place to taste whiskey. Yeah, it's a good place to experience whiskey, but not to taste it,” Vacheresse said. “If you're tasting to taste, that’s one thing. If you're tasting just to socialize, that's another.”
Lest I judge Vacheresse as a spoil sport, he added that he enjoyed his 50th birthday in a dive where his Maker’s Mark was poured from 1.75L handles, and the price of every whiskey was written on the bottle in Sharpie.
I disagree that I can’t enjoy the taste of whiskey in a dive, but he’s right on the service. Dives, however, offer a different kind of hospitality. Though the friendly bartenders at my local spot, Richie’s Pelham Pub, aren’t spirits connoisseurs—they're occasionally surprised by what they find on their back bar—their pours are generous and they abide by the culture of buy backs.
In my opinion, that lack of deep knowledge in a dive is part of the fun. You never know when you’re going to get the best deal of your life. Ordering is a minor gamble. You either win with an affordable whiskey or win big when a dive prices rare bottles like everything else.
Manabe recalled a memorable convergence of dive bar magic. His regular after-work spot got in a bottle of Weller Full Proof, one of his absolute favorites, and was charging $14 a pour. That doesn’t sound like an astounding deal, but using his professional bartender's eye, he estimated his first pour at a whopping 3.5 ounces.
At Richie’s, the dive pricing gambit is straightforward. There's only one price for whiskey: $10. That’s all I’ve been charged no matter what I ordered. On my last visit, I enjoyed a healthy splash of Redbreast 12. Next time, I’ve got my eye on a couple dusty Balvenie bottles in the back that look lonely.
To be clear: Great whiskey bars, like Travel Bar and Scotch Lodge, aren't the enemy of dive bars. In my universe, Travel Bar is the yin to Richie’s yang.
Related: How to Drink Scotch Whisky: Experts Share Their Best Tips
The enemy of whiskey would be middle tier restaurants and sports bars. Maybe it’s just endemic in my neck of the woods, but these spots combine the worst of both worlds: poor service and painful prices.
A few weeks ago, I walked into an otherwise reasonably priced barbecue joint for a whiskey and spotted a couple bottles of Old Rip Van Winkle 10 Year Bourbon behind the bar. When I asked the price, the friendly but under-trained bartender took five minutes to tell me it was $55. I settled for a $20 ounce of Old Forester 1920 and tabbed out.
Down the street from me is a nice Italian spot where I will occasionally order a $20 Blanton’s at a cramped bar alongside empty nesters enjoying one more espresso martini while waiting for their table. Old Rip sits atop that back bar, too. The upgrade in ambiance makes it a $100 pour.
The most egregious crime against whiskey I’ve seen is a number of restaurants in New York City with “whiskey” in their names. To their credit, they do offer a whiskey menu, but it's an offense to the senses. Take American Whiskey in midtown Manhattan. For $20, you enjoy the privilege of sipping a single ounce of Woodford Reserve—though Buffalo Trace, a more coveted bourbon, is $18.
If you think that I’m just picking on a Manhattan bar for having Manhattan prices, I have proof that there’s no need for to gouge. Less than a mile away, just outside the no less bustling Times Square, sits Rudy’s Bar and Grill.
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On my last visit, I saw a large sign behind the bar advertising $15 Blanton's. Through the din of the ongoing happy hour, I ordered pour from the bartender. Nonplussed, he stared back from behind his rimless glasses for a moment, then grabbed the horse-topped bottle, and charged me $10. Dive magic in action. Though the whiskey came with the option of a free hot dog—a famous and endearing feature at Rudy’s—I opted to wait until my next round.
As Manabe pointed out to me, spots like American Whiskey—and many hotel bars—run up prices simply because they have captive audiences and don’t have to convince people to come in. You’re already packed into that corner of Manhattan or stuck in a hotel with no better option.
However, I’m the last dive bar lover to claim the institution is flawless. By and large, dive establishments are lousy places to enjoy great beer. Though I appreciate the scientific precision that goes into making every Miller Lite taste the exact same, dive bar beer selections are at best on par with the equivalent of choosing between Canadian Mist and Seagram's 7.
I might be wrong, though. The more I talked with Vacheresse, the more I wished his Travel Bar was down the street from me, not an 80-minute train ride away. If I truly sought cheap whiskey, he pointed out, his menu has a $8, 2-ounce pour of Benchmark Bourbon.
What else, I asked, can he offer that dives don’t?
“Chairs with backs,” he replied. Point taken.
By the end of our chat, however, Vacheresse seemed to reinforce my point. He has arguably the most comfortable, approachable spot to enjoy a dram in all of Brooklyn, if not New York City. But in its singular perfection, it embodies the exception to prove the rule.