Popination Location

a series of unhinged personal essays disguised as pub reviews. Today: Hudson Hill

Here I am, going to more aprés-church Popinations, to even more devastatingly hip places around the cathedral’s rough environment. I’ve been finding these little cut gems in settings of tarnished brass that is that neighborhood every time I do, and it’s been delightful. Plus, I had someone tell me that it’s a venerable old Irish tradition: going to the pub after church, and who am I to argue with native traditions from my motherland? One of my several motherlands, that is…

I haven’t been to church in a while, after going very frequently for a couple years and now we’re going regularly again. The hiatus was about a year, I think? Anyway. Why’d I stop going? Not telling you why–it’s personal. (And to be fair: I’m not sure I could actually articulate it for myself. Something about being called, or not called, or yadda yadda whatever I don’t know)… But churchgoing and martial arts are both very personal things, and I was thinking about this a lot recently, as I attempt to explain to fellow congregants and clergy why I’m back, or was away, or. Apart from just being rude and saying ‘none of your business’ I started remembering what I’d say to curious movement students of mine who’d ask me for martial arts advice. They used to ask me all the time what martial arts they ought to study and I couldn’t answer that question. That’s such a personal choice and the journey is personal too. I could never tell you which art to study. It’s a lot like choosing a religion, which I was Musing about at church the other day. And contemplated as I Popinated after.

I mean, there are parameters of what to look for for yourself when shopping for a martial art. Things like: how the movements feel on your body and body type; who the instructors are and how direct their lineage is to the original schools; training and credentials of the instructors (and any scandals or shady behavior); what your own goals are when it comes to why you’re doing it (fitness, or ring fight training, or self defense, or); and budget. All this can be very different across different martial arts and even within different schools, and all are very personal choices. If you’ve read Chapter 7 of Saturday Morning Serial, you can see that it can get very personal indeed, and it’s not for me to tell you how to choose that. But. 

Please note the vinyl and phonograph under the bar shelves. Hipster central.

King of the (Hudson) Hill

It was a short walk to get to Hudson Hill from the cathedral (actually walking was easier than driving, that’s how close it was), and it ended up being a beautiful little corner place in the middle of a very shady alley. Apparently this area has always been a combination of iffy and tragic hipster (or whatever we used to call hipsters back in the ‘90s)(did we call them hipsters back then too?)—my partner and others I know who came of age in this neighborhood recall this combo being true for a long time, even way back when they were themselves one of those ragged punks. I’ve noticed nearly all of my post-church Popinations around the cathedral are just like this: diamonds in the rough. Or dives in the rough. That are diamonds.

As grungy as the corner alleyway was and as muted as the painted cement front door, inside it was sleek and light and had many strategically placed stools with charging stations near each. Croissants adorned the  foreground of the full bar behind, showing clearly how it’s known for coffee during the day and cocktails at night. Though I was there at noon and the cocktail plus cheese board thing is now a new favorite breakfast of mine, not gonna lie. As I sat at the bar, the very young earth-mothery server smiling softly at me (with maybe a touch of pity for the old lady under her nose-ringed gaze?), more customers started to drift in, all of them very young pierced and tatted fae that were obviously regulars, getting pastel colored sour craft beer and hard seltzer in white wine glasses and chatting archly about their nights.

I decided to indulge in Hudson Hill’s amazing looking list of craft cocktails and I’m glad I did—this one pictured had some funky rum, lime, amaro I think? It was bitter and sour and very well balanced. Their Irish coffee was pretty good too, even though it was a bit too sweet for my taste. At least they didn’t put Bailey’s in it. They do know what they’re doing around a craft cocktail–it’s not just hype. The cheese and bread plate had beautifully sliced baguette and funky camembert splayed with fanned fresh apple slices and a smear of almost winey blackberry jam. That morning, much of what was read and said in church was about bread and wine. I guess during that particular time of the liturgical calendar, everything’s very much about bread and abundance and what is enough and ‘give us this day’ and of course the eucharist. Bread and wine, and then bread and wine.

Devastating. Hip. Delicious.

This area of town and nostalgia go together, even though the young’ uns are still keeping it active in similar ways that it was in those far-off times. It’s what makes that neighborhood, that location, so rich and interesting, even as more and more businesses close and more and more people put up tents on the medians. It’s a two-sided coin, or double-bladed sword, I suppose. I’ll let you know what else I discover next time I Popinate around church.