For someone who doesn’t drink alcohol, I still spend a surprising amount of time at bars. However often I change things up and try and meet up with friends to go running, jet-skiing, trapezing, dancing, or myriad other exciting adventures, bars are still the staple go-to when there’s no other plans. Furthermore, however much I – and a good portion of my friends – extol the virtues of living a life without possessing a television, there are still occasionally things we want to watch: in my case, nearly exclusively sports. Again, bars provide the answer, and come the 6 Nations, Euro 2012, baseball and football postseasons and other such events, I’ll be found at one bar or another most nights shouting up at the screens.

For sports then, bars are perfect, but when I’m out with friends or on a date I will occasionally try and steer the encounter towards a similar locale with a quintisentally British twist. Tea parlours (or ‘tea houses’) – my favourite is Bosie’s in the West Village – offer nearly exactly the same merits as a bar but with three distinct advantages. Firstly, there’s tea. If you choose well, there’s brilliant tea, but anything is better than the cup of hot water with a Lipton tea-bag on the side you get outside of tea parlours. Tea being the most satisfying of all drinks, this shouldn’t need any further pushing, but one could also note the health benefits of a pot of tea over say, three beers. Secondly, there’s the atmosphere; you’re much more likely to have somewhere comfortable and classy to chat, without needing to shout over music or general clamour, and you’ll avoid the piquant fragrance of beer and sweat that the smoking ban has left us with. Finally, it can be a whole lot cheaper.

Except, I’ve discovered that last point isn’t quite true. You see, more often than not recently, when a bill (the cheque) has come at the end of an evening, or when I give a wave to the bartender that I’m ready to settle up, I’ll find that my non-alcoholic drinks are on the house. “Oh I’m not going to charge you for that, you weren’t even drinking right?”, “Don’t worry about it, you’re the designated driver” and so on — meaning that, a generous tip aside, I end up drinking for free.

The designated driver comment came just this week after a baseball game and, whilst it was meant in jest this time (we were discussing my subway route home), it reminded me of various offers I’ve seen elsewhere. I’ve certainly been to curry houses back in the UK that offered free soft drinks for a nominated designated driver and the occasional bar too. I came across an article in Freakonomics claiming that Argentinian government will refund nightclub entry fees to groups with a sober designated driver at the end of a night. The idea here is that the savings to be had from keeping drunk drivers off the road will more than offset the cost of funding clubbers’ nights out. That said, I’ve been hard-pressed to find verification for this story, but it’s a lovely concept.

But when you leave, the group walks up to the cashier and presents the designated driver, sober and fit for driving. Everyone in the group gets their entry fee back at that point! The club then gets the lost money back from the government…

Whatever the reasons, if I can drink and watch sports for free I’m happy. But that won’t stop me from petitioning the tea houses to get some screens up and start showing baseball games.

Xx

The New York Times called Evan Shinners a pianist that “plays with a bravura that might have pleased Lizst”. HuffPo called his debut album “One of the brattiest Bach recordings to come along since Glenn Gould himself”. Some guy who’d just missed his pool shot when Evan began shouting into his red megaphone whilst playing Bach’s Sixth English Suite last night called him “Asshole”.

“It has nothing to do with putting on a tuxedo and going to a concert hall and making sure you’re sitting in the right row and aren’t coughing, and your cellphone is turned off. No. Have a damn whiskey and listen to some damn good music. This is Bach man, it’s not a damn funeral, we don’t have to wear black”

~Evan Shinners

I listen to a lot of Bach. I’ve already mentioned the majestic performances at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and I’ve also been going along weekly to Bach at One at St. Paul’s Chapel by my office, where the Trinity Baroque Choir perform Bach’s cantatas in an intimate space. My iPod is never without Keith Jarrett’s recordings of The Well-Tempered Clavier and Jacques Loussier’s Play Bach albums from the late 50′s and early 60′s where he and his trio play jazz improvisations over Bach.

None of that, however, really compares to the 20-something Juilliard grad I saw last night at Fat Cat — one of my favourite dives in the city, with live jazz, drunk NYU kids and all the foosball/pool/ping-pong and other games one could want every night of the week.

He arrived, like every good musician, about an hour after he was scheduled. Unlike most classical musicians, he’d brought along his own piano stool, a red megaphone and a MacBook. He interspersed virtuoso performances of difficult Bach pieces with poetry, stories, ranting into a megaphone, and his own synthesised backing track for the Italian Concerto. The video below gives a taste of the show, but makes him look far more sober-minded than the performance I saw last night.

I first stumbled across him when I overheard someone talking about an exhibition where someone standing inside a grand piano was playing Beethoven’s 9^th Symphony upside-down and backwards whilst walking about MoMA. A quick glance at his YouTube recordings later, including the one below giving an insight into his synaesthesia (best super-power ever), and I knew I had to see this guy live.

It was amazing. Find his tour schedule and duck into a dive bar to see what I’m talking about. I’ll leave you with a quote from Evan Shinner’s website.

many of my concerts are given in venues not designed for classical music. i improvise and change notes, something most classical musicians are opposed to. i never think of what is considered correct, only of what is relevant. i practice bach playing along to rye rye or mia rapping. my ideal audience is a group of riotous people in the bronx or brooklyn begging for a memorable experience. and still, the music i prefer to play is bach. when you hear me play bach today in new york city, you should hear the taxis honking, the subways screeching, the brooklyn bridge looking elegant, the hudson river crashing, washington heights coming alive on a friday night, and washington square sounding ominously still. bach’s music is timeless — yet this does not mean we have to separate him from our current time.

And that’s why I love Bach.

Xx

I’ve mostly cut alcohol out of my life since the start of this year, other than the occasional spree when a friend’s having a party and something tasty and refreshing is on offer. I’m past the point where I feel a need to drink to fit in, or have a good time – goodbye University! – and I’m 95% of the way to being able to go to a bar and order a diet Coke without an overwhelming feeling of shame and emasculation.

It’s partly a health thing, and partly related to the fact that I just wasn’t happy meeting someone for the fourth time and having no recollection of them, or having no memory of the night between 2am and waking up the next morning. The final reason is that, with three hours of Capoeira on Saturday and Sunday, together with a two-hour session once or twice during the week, I simply can’t afford to be hungover and dehydrated. My latest novelty is Bikram Yoga (90 minutes in a room heated to ~105°F/40°C with a humidity of 40%), which I’m aiming to do for 30 days straight – 3 down so far – and less frequently thereafter, and I think I’d pass out if I tried that after a night out.

There are two downsides I’ve found so far to sobriety. The first is that I’m essentially (self-)excluded from certain events: such as those with a high entry-fee and ‘free drinks’, or day-drinking events (such as St. Patrick’s Day in NY) when I’d quickly realise the drunk guy hugging me and telling me he loves me isn’t The Best Guy Ever but just some idiot with a hip-flask. The second, much worse downside, has been that I’m now acutely aware of exactly how long it takes to get home at the end of a night, rather than nodding off happily drunk on the subway or in a cab.

On the plus side, physically, I feel great; mentally I feel a lot more alert and active; and socially I feel exactly as awkward as I did before, but with the advantage that no-one now knows me as ‘the guy who…’ from some ill-advised drunken escapade. Also, Mint.com – previously the bane of my life with its 7am “You have exceeded your budget for alcohol & bars” message the worst complement to a hangover – tells me I’m saving a surprisingly large amount of money per month, which is always fun.

I’m by no means converted to the hippy ‘your body is a temple’ mentality (I love bacon too much, for starters), but I am completely sold on the benefits of drinking rarely, eating healthy and exercising a lot.

Xx

I’m not religious (sorry mam.) I do, however, have a lot of respect for a number of religions. I grew up as a Roman Catholic and whilst at University, for a while I would visit both Temple, and Prayers at the local Mosque. Both Judaism and Islam were supremely welcoming, willing to offer advice and answer questions and take time out so that I could understand and join with the celebrations, prayers and services. If you’re curious and have some spare time, I heartily recommend contacting a local priest, imam, or rabbi and trying this out for yourself. But, please, remember to be respectful and follow their lead entirely.

In all these religions, the local small congregations offer a wonderful community, and help many people to set moral guidelines and evaluate their situations and choices. However, when I visit anywhere new, I always seem drawn to the monolithic religious buildings, beautiful and imposing as they are. In New York, the Cathedrals are dominated by the nearby skyscrapers, but their strikingly different architectural style still manages to draw the eye, once one is near enough.

My favourite of these is St. Patrick’s Cathedral. The building itself is beautiful, the reflections in the glass skyscraper that runs up and above the side of the Cathedral are truly impressive and the interior is a testament to the glory days of religious hedonism and wealth. St. Patrick’s, rather awesomely, holds more than 2,400 Masses a year, and attracts 5.5 million visitors in the same period. This means the the services are, predictably, rather impersonal, but still more inviting than some I’ve been to in continental Europe. The ministers understand and cater to the international crowd, and tourism is effectively prohibited whilst services are being celebrated.

Architecture, décor and sanctity aside, however, there’s one reason any New Yorker or tourist should make time to visit St. Patrick’s at least once. At scattered times throughout the week, and always following Sunday morning Mass, organist Donald Dumler will play a postlude, and he is a big fan of J.S. Bach. Hearing Prelude in G Minor or Toccata & Fugue in D Minor played in the environment they were written for is an experience that can’t be recreated and never fails to overwhelm me. If you don’t wish to attend the service, you can simply arrive around 11.30am and wait at the back until the end of Mass.

This visual, spiritual and aural treat, however, isn’t all that St. Patrick gave to New York. Whilst St. David’s Day, feast of the Patron Saint of Wales, went nearly unnoticed here, New Yorkers have an amazing affinity towards St. Patrick. Or, more precisely, towards drinking and reinforcing Irish stereotypes on his feast day.

Hoboken – just over the river into New Jersey – cancelled its annual St. Patrick’s Day parade (held two weeks before the actual day) this year to try and avoid the hellish mess than ensues, but was still the host/victim of an impromptu pub crawl by those that weren’t deterred by the decision. Only 53 people needed ambulance attention this year, which is apparently a statistic meant to inspire praise. Already bars are decorating themselves with shamrocks and tempting punters with offers of ‘green beer’.

As yet there’s no information as to whether the Cathedral will be offering sanctuary to those severely hungover on March 18^th. I’ll keep checking.

Xx

American beer is great.

The general perception in, as far as I’m aware, the rest of the world, is that Americans know nothing about beer. The most common description is, charmingly, ‘pisswater’ and when I moved here, that’s pretty much what I was expecting. At best I hoped I could get a low-quality pint of Guinness or a relatively inoffensive bottle of Budweiser. I was pleasantly, and completely, surprised by what I found when I got here.

It’s true, there are some terrible American beers. Not terrible in the way that Carling, Fosters and Heineken (more on that one later) are, but terrible in fact that, whilst the taste isn’t awful, they have pretty much no positive factors in their favour. Miller Lite, Miller, Bud Lite, Coors Lite, Coors…all these and many more are so weak I genuinely wonder if it’s possible to become drunk on them before inducing hyponatraemia (from water intoxication). The texture isn’t satisfying, the taste is barely noticeable and the drink itself isn’t refreshing. These are terrible beers. Unfortunately, they’re also the beers that America most prolifically exports, and the beers that have the biggest marketing budgets.

However, take a trip over here, and you’ll be inundated with the choice offered by a plethora of local breweries, some small and niche (Magic Hat or Blue Point), and others with a respectably large operation, (Sam Adams) all of which offer good quality American beers. American beer is not to be confused with an ale, and is rarely going to be served uncarbonated and lukewarm as with so many wonderful British beers, but it still seems unfair to describe these as lagers. They have body, warmth, taste and texture and can attain a fairly potent alcoholic content without becoming offensive.

Beerwise, I’m particularly lucky to live in Astoria in Queens, a fact that every New Yorker responds to by asking “Oh, have you been to the Beer Garden?” – I have, and it’s fun, but it can’t hold a candle to my local bar, Sunswick 35/35, which is regularly visited by beer aficionados from around the city. Sunswick has a list of around 30 draft beers at any time, which seems to change every week, and consists mostly of offerings from local breweries. They regularly hold speciality beer events and brewery nights. There’s really no shortage of good beers if you’re willing to look.

Coming back to Heineken, however, on my trip to Amsterdam I took a detour into The Heineken Brewery Experience, which was supremely informative as to the four ingredients of Heineken and the end result.

I tasted the barley water which is made into mush at the first stage of brewing. It was foul. I then smelled and ate a thimbleful of the hops that are next added to give the distinctive bitterness. They were foul. And, after they were exposed to fungi (a secret yeast) for a while, I ventured to the tasting room where an experienced brewer taught me exactly how to fully appreciate the taste of Heineken.

It was foul.

Xx

“There are too many single women at the bar tonight. Are there any single men who would like to date them?”

…really, that happened. It gets better.

I was already sitting at the bar with a girl; we arrived together, on a date. I hadn’t realised that the bar she’d picked was having a speed-dating evening, until I arrived, but we’d been there a good 30 minutes before the speed-dating started so I felt it would be a bit rude if I said goodbye and moved onto the surfeit of single women with name tags on.

“Hi, would you sign up for the speed-dating? We really need one more guy. There’s a free beer in it for you if you say yes”

Well, what was I to do? The girl I was slow-dating actively encouraged me – she got free drinks and a new friend to talk to whilst I was away – and I got a beer and a name tag and sat down at a table where a slew of women came to join me for a brief chat before they moved on.

“So how was it” you ask. I tried to do it properly. I didn’t make up ridiculous stories or ask horrific questions. I did nothing that would make it onto A Bad Case Of The Dates. I made eye contact, leaned towards the girl I was speed-dating and found time for at least one compliment and one personal question each date. I met a fire-eater (or someone who claimed she did that), I met someone so forgettable – sorry Janice (#5) – that I have no fact about her that wasn’t on her name tag, and I wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable the whole time. However, the conversations were brief and vapid and far too short for me to decide if I wanted to see someone again, other than via the shallow appraisal of looks, and there was a quiet look of desperation in the eyes of the girls that was quite unnerving after a while.

The assumption may be that, with Valentine’s Day coming up, these girls are looking for someone to be with on the most sickly-sweet of holidays, or that they’re simply taking the unending heart-shaped everythings in shops as their cue to get out of a rut and start dating, but I’m not convinced that this has anything to do with it. According to the organisers of the speed dating night, this wasn’t an uncommon circumstance, and there’s even some real data to back things up.

In 2007 National Geographic published this map which provides quite a compelling argument for guys to move to the East Coast, girls to move to the West Coast and for everyone to avoid Montana and Wyoming and the other states that apparently only have about six single people in them. It’s based off the US census data and therefore heteronormative and only as accurate as openly-submitted information can be, but otherwise seems pretty solid.

Finally, I was a little upset at the lack of mathematics involved in the speed-dating setup. With some creative algorithms, I’m fairly sure I could have catered for bisexual and homosexual participants, and apparently some groups already do so. These appear to be greedy heuristics, however, and a general solution is probably NP-Hard. The only research I can find in the area is artifically intelligent matching of pairs for large speed-dating groups, which is a lot closer to my main branch of research but far less interesting than the other problem.

Further, the exchanging of email addresses in sealed envelopes seemed a little trite too, and bad for business. The bar would surely do much better if they formed pairs on the night, and then offered some drinks specials to keep their establishment full all evening, instead of everyone slowly slipping away into the night as alone as they arrived. The algorithm for the Stable Marriage Problem (see the link for a fun & non-technical overview) would have done very well in forming pairs at the end of the evening.

At the end of all this, I can’t recommend speed-dating. But I’ve found another area of research to occupy my mind, and I got free beer, so all is well with the world.

Xx