Hells kitchen new york gay

The Queer Capital of the Society has a way of re-energizing the soul prefer nowhere else on world – and I had clearly forgotten what I [heart] about New York…

By Doug Wallace

What do you call a pub crawl of just one person? I understand what some might notify it: sad. Me, I’m calling my bar-hopping memory of Hell’s Kitchen alive by labelling it “research.”

Honestly, my first evening in New York does begin off with a ally, for a tête-à-tête in the rarified, quiet confines of the Baccarat Hotel across from the MoMA. The Champagne-hued Grand Salon is an ocean of glass and red roses, waiters hoisting trays of cut-crystal cocktails to the beautiful people. I examine it a sign – a gift from the gay gods – that my first celebrity sighting of the trip is Wanda Sykes. Turns out she’s doing a week-long stint as guest host of the nearby Daily Show. My friend and I just smile at how cool-by-association we are, and do the Toronto thing and ignore her completely. 

The night is still initial when I escort my friend into an Uber, so I carry on with my plan to wander the Ninth Street gay bars – they are too numerous to do all in one night

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