End of an Era

So very sad.

I spent at least part of 4 birthdays at the Blind Tiger. I have a t-shirt. Maybe I'll put it on E-bay now that it is a collector's item.

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LAST CALL

By PETER THOMAS FORNATALE

Published: January 1, 2006

FOR the last nine years, the Blind Tiger Ale House on Hudson Street in the West Village was one of the best places for New York's beer lovers to be on New Year's Eve. But last night, its doors were locked. The wee hours of Dec. 29 marked the end of an era - the last pint was poured at the Tiger. No one knows yet what will take its place, but if the neighborhood trend continues, it will be a high-end retail store, perhaps another Ralph Lauren boutique.

The place had been around for only a decade, but in that time it became practically world famous for its beer selection. American microbrews, classic Belgians and a selection of others handpicked from around the globe were poured from 24 taps, two handpulls and endless bottles.
But the Tiger was more than just a place where you could count on drinking a Sierra Nevada Harvest Ale in the fall and Southampton Double Espresso Stout in the winter. It was a cornerstone of the West Village, a place where people from the neighborhood and beyond came to enjoy good company and great beer.

It didn't seem special at first glance. It was dark and a little dingy, just one small room with a few wooden tables. The graffiti in the downstairs men's room elevated profanity to an art form, and not all the barstools had their legs intact. The bar itself was elegant - a deep brown wood with zebra-like stripes in the grain. There were two televisions, but the Tiger was no sports bar. (Though I did discover it while looking for a place to watch football on Sundays with my friend and his 6-month-old daughter. Baby-friendly bars in Manhattan are few.)

I soon became one of the regulars. So regular that on Friday afternoons, the Tiger became my office. I sat at the corner of the bar with my laptop and cellphone, drinking seltzer, chatting with Louise the bartender and trying to make sure the bar cats (Sierra and Liberty) didn't pounce on my keyboard.

And though the Tiger was a good place to work, it was an even better place to socialize. I met two of my closest friends, Phil and Ray, there. Three of the bartenders were at my wedding. Louise even catered the affair.

But now, the bar is closed. Apparently, what has happened one block over on Bleecker Street is now happening on Hudson. The small, independently owned businesses are giving way to the fancy chain stores. As the rents go up, the antiques stores and neighborhood bars, the bakeries and card shops, the hardware stores and funky clothing shops are vanishing and being replaced by stores selling $1,500 handbags.

In the Tiger's case, the building on the corner of Hudson and 10th is being remodeled, and the rent will more than double when the job is complete. Even a cash cow like the Blind Tiger can't make the numbers work. How do the fancy chain stores make money? They don't necessarily have to.

When you're a high-end retail brand, your profit isn't made in a West Village storefront. A downtown boutique can simply be a branding statement. In other words, if you have a shop in the "right" neighborhood in Manhattan, your brand has the perceived cachet to sell like hotcakes in low-rent malls across suburbia.

While I understand the economics of the situation, it is still galling, even wrong. I have so many memories associated with the Tiger. Of sharing good times, birthdays, engagements. Of rallying behind a friend in need: the benefit party we had for Phil to help him cover his costs when he got colon cancer. And I'll never forget that night in September when regulars and a soot-covered news crew gathered at the bar as Humvees barreled up Hudson Street, away from the smoldering ruins of the twin towers.

There's talk that the Tiger will return, a few blocks away, and I would be the first in line for a pint. In a city of strangers, we find our families in funny places - coffee shops, office cubicles and, sometimes, the corner bar. I haven't yet heard of that happening in a Ralph Lauren boutique.

Peter Thomas Fornatale is the author of "The Poker Aficionado."