Fired PJ Clarke's Bartender Opens Up His Revenge Bar
60-to-1 male to female ratio, eh?
NY Post – Doug Quinn, the beloved bartender who helmed P.J. Clarke’s for nearly a decade, is gearing up for war. “I want to create an army of Doug Quinns,” says Quinn, who was fired from Clarke’s in June 2012. Rather than retreat after an unceremonious ouster, the tapster has gone on the offensive. Last month, he opened his own Midtown East saloon, Hudson Malone, in a two-story space at 218 E. 53rd St. It sits — conveniently, depending on whom you ask — a mere two blocks south of the original Clarke’s at 915 Third Ave. “Darling, if I could’ve been next door to P.J. Clarke’s, I would have, to be perfectly honest with you,” says Quinn, gussied up on a recent Thursday night in one of his signature Turnbull & Asser bow ties. “You walk into P.J. Clarke’s and the New Yorkers aren’t really there. You know?” says the fast-talking, 46-year-old Quinn, who rises from his seat to scan the crowd at regular 30-second intervals. “This place will be a ‘New York joint.’ I don’t think they really exist so much anymore,” Quinn says. He suddenly jumps up like a soldier springing into action. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to say hello to this person,” he interrupts — for the fourth time that night — sprinting to a suited man he hasn’t seen in months. “Give me a hug, sweet peach,” Quinn says, patting the 50-something gentleman on the back and hopping behind the bar in one fluid movement. Within seconds, as if by magic, “Sweet Peach” has a martini in hand, glistening with shards of ice that Quinn says “you can skate on.” Sweet Peach is just one of the many fans and admirers who have followed Quinn to Hudson Malone.
“I mean, listen, some people say I’m gifted,” says Quinn. “You know, I’m blessed and I’m gifted with certain things. Yeah. But I also work hard, too.” “I’m just a facilitator,” says Quinn. “I create magic, that’s what I do.”
Jesus fucking Christ this guy is my least favorite person in all of New York City. I’ve written about him before when he got the boot from PJ Clarke’s. All the finance bros wearing winter vests who like to pretend they’re Don fucking Draper that spent every minute of free time in PJ Clarkes used to rave about him. I had one buddy who legit called him “Dougie” and would talk about him like they were family or some shit. Dougie said this, Dougie said that. He’d leave him like a 100% tip every time he went there because he thought he was just such a great bartender. Every time I told him to just shut the fuck up because nobody cares about some random bartender at the PJ Clarkes chain.
Because make no mistake – thats what this guy is. Just a fucking bartender. I’m sure hes a great bartender. Probably has a real good memory and when he talks to you he makes you feel like he’s actually interested in what you’re saying. In reality he’s like a slick talking car salesmen thats working you for your business. You’re not creating magic, bro. You’re not blessed with certain gifts. You give people booze at the bar. I mean I guess I gotta tip my cap – snake it til you make it. This guy has opened his own place and already has the publicity and buzz on his new spot. But if you can’t see through a dude who sports bow ties and talks in the third person about creating an army of himself because he works magic, then you’re just an idiot.
PS – How about that male-to-female ratio in that picture caption? A nice, solid, round 60 to 1. I’m not one of these tough guys thats gonna complain about not enough chicks in the bar. “Fucking sausage party, bro!” Literally almost every bar in the world is gonna be majority guys. But 60 to 1, goodness gracious. Its like grabbing a drink after work in a mens locker room.