I first went to The River the week it opened to visit a friend tending the bar; usually I would have had to go all the way to Flushing Ave (a street in Bushwick) to see him. It was opening week so I reserved any judgments since it was clearly not yet up to speed (that friend quit a week later). This same friend, who I feel like I should give a name to now that I’m talking about him so much so let’s call him Tex, went in recently to use the restroom on his way to meet me at Clandestino. He used the urinal, which is behind a semi see-through swing style saloon door made of a flap of skinny tree limbs. Ten minutes later he sat down next to me and I asked if it smelled of urine. “Surprisingly no but the night is still young.” I had wondered whether it wise to allow prying eyes in at the expense of odors sneaking out, and posited “did they do that to prevent people from doing drugs in there?” “Oh people still do drugs in there,” Tex reassured me.
The bar itself is rather dimly lit and has no windows. The decor is sort of western? Or maybe this is a ski lodge? A woodsy cabin perhaps as the columns could be described as arboreal. Whichever it is doesn’t immediately explain its name. We aren’t particularly close to either the Hudson or East Rivers, but are a stone’s throw from the jail. Could it be a reference to being ‘sent up the river’ aka shipped off to jail? I could see the lack of windows being useful for illicit engagements. If you could smoke inside there wouldn’t be the throng standing in front and you might never realize it to be a bar at all. The bar really doesn’t give off the vibe of being more cigarette themed than say an AirBar. Its windowless facade invites you to imagine who or what may lurk behind its door and coat room and second saloon style door. What turn of luck might the interior reveal? Perhaps “The River” is in reference to the name of the final flipped card in Texas Hold Em. One gamble you are presented with is whether to hang your jacket in the entryway not visible from inside the bar; I opt not to.
Inside it’s not as dramatic as all that. Mostly similar crowd to any other downtown pop spot like its partner next door Dr. Clark’s (I have wondered what Clark could be a Doctor of but that’s for another review), but a bit higher emphasis on having guarantors of credit and lower in age. I talk to a 21 year old NYU student who goes to the gym twice a day and can’t drink well alcohol. I talk to a man who has recently made a lot of money off crypto and bought a place by Tompkins and isn’t sure what to do now. I don’t mind being reminded of how old I am, or beholden to the management company of my rental, or how long it has been since I was 24, but if I know a particular locale is going to bring it to the fore I feel obligated to consider this when deciding whether to attend. Feels like a good place to go if you want to wind up at the TriBeCa/SoHo apartment of a new acquaintance’s parents, which to be fair, 8 years ago I very much did. I still do now but preferably as a guest of their benefactors.
Feels like the kind of bar that would be cool in 50 years, if it is to make it that long, and reminds me of so many of the best bars, nearly themed, in San Francisco that feel like they first opened in the 60s or 70s and still seem to be frequented by their original clientele (EDIT: many of these have closed). Through the night the crowd does eventually get older. The young set either have school tomorrow or maybe double down and party somewhere else where beers are cheaper so the room clears up for an older set. I start to spy art consultants and gallerists I either know or recognise. A brightly smiling woman my age and I have a nice little conversation about something. I run into two or three friends I haven’t been able to accidentally intersect with in a while. One is incensed, the other is placative, while I am nonplussed. Though roomier I would bet the bar tab totals has increased substantially. It seems this bar is formatted to serve and extract from both these groups of clientele and I am briefly impressed by the flexibility of this. En vogue enough to draw the young hot to trots but prohibitive enough in pricing to require a certain amount of disposable income. It’s not a very most romantic nor alluring synopsis when put this way, and I suppose is just a description of most new things of Downtown. For example, surely the champagne list only exists 22nd birthdays and office holiday parties. The urge to buy an admittedly sensibly priced bottle of Moet passes over me like an Instagram Story filter as I try to remember why I chose to come here.
As the close of the night seems near at hand, something began to change: both I and my fellow revelers have become a bit more interested in one another, a bit less cautious, and the ‘flow’ ever so slightly more went with. I thought of my previous visits and my previous eye rolling at this new it spot. I looked at my old friends, new acquaintances, and a healthy bar tab and thought “am I not having fun?” Is not running into people and meeting new ones what a bar is for? The environment isn’t corporate really, though it does have a uniform which I’ve repeatedly overheard being talked about by patrons on every single of my visits to The River, and a design team of some recognition did the interior. Neither is really of my concern but ringing in my head are the immortal words of Maximus Decimus Meridius, from Gladiator which I just rewatched on Netflix, “are you not entertained?” Perhaps another, non fictionalized, old adage is still true today “one cannot step into the same river twice,” - said someone old and affectual and dead. Before you blame me for being too fickle I also met a young woman who informed me this was her bar. She was young and lovely and very nice to me even after I told her I had intended to write a negative review. She asked to exchange numbers so I could send it to her when finished. I haven’t decided yet whether I will, but for the future it’s probably best not to fraternize with the ownership if it can be avoided. I walk home down a familiar perplexingly titled avenue a block up: Canal Street. A canal is sort of a river no?