Oh show me the way to the next whisky bar/ Oh don't ask why/ Oh don't ask why
On my recent pass through L.A. a dear and longtime friend (a fellow HOBY alumnus) surprised me with a trip to a touch of elegance in downtown. No, we didn't meet the crazy celloist. Even better: Seven Grand whiskey bar. Talk about swank!
From the carpeted and wooden stairway to the walls heavily adorned with trophy heads, antique photos, and oodles of red plaid one is immediately transported back in time when style did not dabble in transgenderwear and cocktails were en vogue. At the top of the stair is the bar. Behind the bar are smart-looking barkeeps sporting collar and tie and apron (the female bartenders, am told, were plaid skirts but on this night there were only men on duty). The barkeeps were civil and professional: "What can I get for you, sir?"
when style did not dabble in transgenderwear and cocktails were en vogue
More on the decor: fat, country club leather sofas, painted wallpaper, low lighting, a billiard table, several tables and leather stools, plenty of mounted heads, and an outdoor patio lounge. The entire bar is ensconced with a rich, masculine, woodsy coziness. Or, as my friend put it, a touch of "Mad Men" permeated the place.
515 West 7th Street (and Grand)
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