I live in Federal Hill. People who live in Federal Hill don’t often venture any where else--maybe the occasional Canton, or if we get crazy, Mt. Vernon. But in all honesty we are happier in the 21230. In fact, last week I was told, “You Federal Hill kids drop anchor and it takes a tornado to get you to move, except if you're in Canton. Then a mouse passing gas is enough to send you back to The Hill.”
I had to prove him wrong. So, this past Saturday a group of my friends and I went to NYC for a night out. I was determined to do something different. We started with cocktails and appetizers at this really great bar called Bar Martignetti in SoHo. I have to admit, I picked it because it was supposed to be a great post-collegiate preppy scene. Considering that describes most of Federal Hill, I wasn’t really getting too far out of my comfort zone. However, there wasn’t one popped collar or polo shirt to be seen. These people took prep to a whole new level, and I would be lying if I didn’t say, we couldn’t hang.
A friend of mine told me about this really great underground bar that we should check out. Her directions were explicit.
Walk into the diner (it looked a lot like Sip n’ Bite)
Go to the Employees Only Door
Don’t say anything to the man at the door
Wait to be admitted
The bouncer looked at us suspiciously and after deeming to let us in, we went down to the kitchen, through this long corridor and came out into this antique cave of sorts. It was like stepping into a scene from Dead Poets Society.
When I asked the bartender for some Coronas and Miller Lights he looked at us like we had asked to lick the floor. Next we tried to order some red bull and vodka, but were informed, “We don’t carry red bull.” We hung at this place all night, but it is safe to say they probably couldn’t wait until we left.
I got back to Baltimore on Sunday afternoon just in time to hit up Little Havana’s and the Federal Hill Festival. I got a Miller Light as big as my face, ran into about 100 people that I know, and danced liked a crazy person. It's time like these that I am reminded how much I love this city, and I will be pretty content until a tsunami comes to town.
I had to prove him wrong. So, this past Saturday a group of my friends and I went to NYC for a night out. I was determined to do something different. We started with cocktails and appetizers at this really great bar called Bar Martignetti in SoHo. I have to admit, I picked it because it was supposed to be a great post-collegiate preppy scene. Considering that describes most of Federal Hill, I wasn’t really getting too far out of my comfort zone. However, there wasn’t one popped collar or polo shirt to be seen. These people took prep to a whole new level, and I would be lying if I didn’t say, we couldn’t hang.
A friend of mine told me about this really great underground bar that we should check out. Her directions were explicit.
Walk into the diner (it looked a lot like Sip n’ Bite)
Go to the Employees Only Door
Don’t say anything to the man at the door
Wait to be admitted
The bouncer looked at us suspiciously and after deeming to let us in, we went down to the kitchen, through this long corridor and came out into this antique cave of sorts. It was like stepping into a scene from Dead Poets Society.
When I asked the bartender for some Coronas and Miller Lights he looked at us like we had asked to lick the floor. Next we tried to order some red bull and vodka, but were informed, “We don’t carry red bull.” We hung at this place all night, but it is safe to say they probably couldn’t wait until we left.
I got back to Baltimore on Sunday afternoon just in time to hit up Little Havana’s and the Federal Hill Festival. I got a Miller Light as big as my face, ran into about 100 people that I know, and danced liked a crazy person. It's time like these that I am reminded how much I love this city, and I will be pretty content until a tsunami comes to town.
--faith
