Swig and a miss
Actor Justin Theroux’s so-called ‘dive bar’ is a bit too squeaky-clean for the likes of this town
F ROM the outside, Justin Theroux’s new “dive” bar just might pass for a real no-frills joint, with its black-painted brick exterior, an awning marked “liquorbeer” and wooden blinds obstructing the glow of the street lights.
But step inside and any hope for a beer-and-shot combo under $5 is promptly torpedoed.
Instead, the place teems with buttoned-up bros and Soho scenesters, with eye-popping prices (a shot of Evan Williams and a PBR is $12), fake-looking decor (even the Townes Van Zandt posters look brand-new) and clean, red leather bar stools (OK, they’re pretty comfortable).
To put it bluntly, Ray’s — “The Leftovers” star’s Chrystie Street joint — is a far cry from the beersoaked, tobacco-stained pubs New Yorkers know and love.
“I feel like I’m on a movie set,” says one customer, slurping a $12 gin and tonic. “It feels like it’s trying way too hard.”
A 28-year-old whiskey drinker from Brooklyn echoed the sentiment.
“This is where you come to drink PBR with your pinky up,” he says. They nailed it. Ray’s has the cringe-inducing air of a brand desperate for cool points — think Target’s re-creation of CBGB — and even sent out a press release hailing it as “the Lower East Side’s diviest new dive bar.”
And Theroux, who opened the bar July 19 with restaurateur partners Jon Neidich, Taavo Somer and Carlos Quirarte, has no qualms using his Instagram — including one post featuring his dog, Kuma, on the pool table — to publicize his pub. That’s a really bizarre move for a “dive.”
But the brazen declarations do not a dive bar make, despite the 47year-old, motorcycle-jacketed Theroux’s insistence that Ray’s is, as he puts it in the press release, “a place you can carve your initials into the table.”
In case he’s forgotten, dive bars gain their stripes through long boozy nights splattered with blood, sweat, tears and other bodily fluids. They’re dirty, dingy and edgy from wear and tear, a carousel of questionable characters and, most importantly, time.
While Ray’s gets some of the details right — the black-and-white checkered floor, pool table, jukebox, tattooed bartenders, wood paneling and lack of a menu — the authenticity is missing.
“Anyone who runs a ‘dive’ doesn’t set out to achieve such a low standard,” says Molly Fitch, the owner of International Bar, an East Village staple since the 1970s that’s often listed as one of the city’s best dives.
Then again, dive bars don’t bill themselves that way.
“I don’t think we’re a dive bar, just a neighborhood joint,” says Fitch. “We’re a bit worn in, like an old pair of comfortable sneakers.”
Ray’s was modeled after other Lower East Side and East Village gin mills, including Lucy’s, Sophie’s and Josie’s, which are all still in business.
“They’re bars that have a familiarity to it . . . one where there is a relationship between customer and bartender,” says Neidich, who’s also the CEO of Golden Age Hospitality, the umbrella company of hot spots including Acme, Tijuana Picnic, the Happiest Hour and Slowly Shirley.
That’s all well and good. But between Theroux’s unabashed p.r. and cheesy Instagram posts, Ray’s is far more deluxe than dive.