Just a Jew. Named Mitch. Writing about his feelings.

The Dead Poet

Posted by JewMitch on May 10, 2010

One of my favorite bars in NYC is the Dead Poet (located on 81st and Amsterdam), and this is mainly because they serve free popcorn all the time, and they have created a wonderful concoction named “The Dead Poet.” It’s similar to a long island iced tea, in the sense that it’s made with 7 different types of liquor, but it tastes more like grape soda and comes in its own glass that’s yours to keep (one friend’s glassware collection is made up almost entirely of these). The bar claims to limit patrons to only 2 Dead Poets per night; although all of my friends have all had at least one 3 Dead Poet night before, and every once in a while, someone manages to drink 4 before vomiting.

The drink is also only $10, and since two will get you pretty toasted, this is a bargain in NYC. Over the years, this quiet UWS bar has become so ingrained in our drinking lives that two of my friends have been named “Customer of Month” and whenever we’re in the neighborhood, it seems necessary to stop in for at least one Dead Poet, no matter what we’re doing afterwards or how much we’ve drank before. It’s also become common practice to always have a dead poet before going on a first date or going to the movies.

So when a friend of a friend wanted to meet on the Upper West Side on Sunday morning to discuss a project he was working on for grad school (funny enough – he wanted to talk about the modern Jewish community in America; I can’t escape this stuff), I suggested that instead of meeting for coffee, we meet at the Dead Poet to talk. Of course, I ordered a Dead Poet and a popcorn to enjoy while we discussed Jew stuff.

I answered his questions and basically tried to explain how I am an atheist and almost anti-Semitic, but simultaneously am completely defined/shaped by Judaism, and afterwards still had half a dead poet to drink. I had brought a paper with me, so I decided to sit there, finish my popcorn and Dead Poet and read the paper for a bit. It was maybe 11am. At this point, a girl I had recently met through kickball walks in, sees me casually enjoying a Dead Poet and some popcorn, with the Sunday New York Times. As if this is what I do every Sunday instead of going to Starbucks. She either thinks I’m: A) An alcoholic, B) Awesome, or C) Both. I didn’t bother to explain the situation, and just said hello and continued reading the paper. It was actually a really great way to start off a Sunday.


3 Responses to “The Dead Poet”

  1. Ollie said

    Some of us can drink 4 without emptying our innards later!

  2. […] spent about a thousand dollars a month there, he would have to comply. Then, we would all order 1-3 Dead Poets and enjoy the […]

  3. P. Graham said

    That seems pretty awesome. Guess I’m headin’ over there around the 22nd 😀

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