Freddy’s Bar
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
To fudge O’Connor’s meaning just a smidge, a good dive is hard to find. More so in the gentrifying chic-parade of Prospect Heights, Fort Green, and Flatbush/Park Slope. It’s with pure relish then that one happens upon Freddy’s, a real saloon near the intersection of these trois-frontiers-de-whitey. The beer selection, smell, and lighting are nothing to be enamored of, but there is a certain ambiance. Upon entering one will notice a gentle heaving sound coming from somewhere close by. What is it? Could it be it’s you? Breathing? Whence the pretentious, voyeuristic fog of all hipster-dives? People here don’t have condor-eyes, and if you talk to them, they tend not to be name droppers. The owner is a vanguard in the fight against the Atlantic Yards project. Unlike me, it’s an authentic Brooklyn institution. I brought my buddy there last week after much praise and hoopla. We ordered two Stellas with whisky shots. He was expressing chagrin at my enthusiasm, clutching a series of bills as the drinks were poured. The bar tender told him the amount, and as he returned half the money to his wallet he said: “well, this is my new favorite bar.”
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Photo:
Asher Ross
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