A Plague Of Flat-Screens And Decibels
By Rob Christopher in Food on Aug 2, 2012 3:30PM
Once upon a time there was an establishment known as the corner tavern. Upon entering you'd see a long wooden bar with stools on one side of the room, and some tables and chairs (or, if the place was a notch above average, booths) on the other. Almost inevitably, above the bar you'd notice a single television, turned to a sporting event or perhaps the news. And elsewhere in the tavern you'd find a jukebox.
The purpose of a visit to the corner tavern was to have a drink, or perhaps several, in the company of friends. You might know the bartender, or you might not; but more than likely you'd know some of your fellow stool-sitters. So you'd have a beer or two and talk with your pals about your day. Or about the headlines. Or about so-and-so from around the corner who wasn't there at the moment.
If that television above the bar was showing a ball game, sure, you and the others might pay attention to it. And if things at the bar got a bit sleepy, you might just walk over to the jukebox, pop a few coins in the slot, and play some tunes. But mostly you'd be at the corner tavern to have a few drinks with your friends and talk.
That was once upon a time. But the corner tavern is an endangered species, nearly extinct thanks to that Asian Carp of drinking establishments known as the "sports bar." Now, there's a time and place for sports bars--namely, when you want to watch sports. But unfortunately, the sports bar effect (flat-screens on every available surface, viewable from every seat) has metastasized far beyond actual sports bars. Now every bar, whether old or new, feels the need to boast about the quantity and size of its flat-screens. "7 flat screens for your viewing pleasure," cries one, "this upscale bar boasts nearly 40 flat-screen TVs," counters another; and "numerous TVs, including two 70" flat screens" shouts another. The escalation is endless.
Heaven forbid that any of us have the desire to just go to a bar and, you know, socialize. And in point of fact, the hypnotizing effect of multiple flat-screens is to neutralize socialization. We're all hanging out together, alone. Because when there's a TV no matter where you look, it's a guarantee that someone at the table will forever be glancing at ESPN out of the corner of their eye--that is, unless the whole group gives up on conversation altogether and just stares in open-mouthed oblivion at the forest of boob tubes.
Nevertheless, with effort, even the omnipresent flat-screen can be tuned out, much like advertising. But not so easy to ignore is the obnoxiously noisy atmosphere of today's bars--and, increasingly, restaurants. We read a recent New York Times article about obnoxious noise levels and could only nod in agreement. "Loud noise has become a fact of life in the very places where people have traditionally sought respite from urban stress," writes Cara Buckley. "The New York Times measured noise levels at 37 restaurants, bars, stores and gyms across the city and found levels that experts said bordered on dangerous at one-third of them."
We wonder what a similar survey would reveal in Chicago. Who hasn't tried to enjoy dinner at Nightwood, or the Purple Pig, or The Gage, only to give up on making conversation because of the din? Some of this is undoubtedly due to poor interior design. Pressed tin ceilings, tiled floors, tables jammed so close together that everyone sits cheek by jowl, and a complete lack of fabric or any other noise-absorbent material. Yet it could very well be intentional. A bar or restaurant never plays music too loud by accident. As the Times article points out, some studies have shown that loud music makes people drink faster, and music with a fast beat makes people chew food more quickly. A rapid turnover leads to more covers each night. A noisy environment encourages you to wolf down your food, chug your drink, and get the hell out of there.
People sometimes turn up their noses at us for our preference of The Violet Hour over a "less pretentious" place to drink. But in addition to the amazing cocktails, the thing The Violet Hour does exceptionally well is crowd control. When the place is full, it's full. Latecomers have to wait outside until someone leaves. The result, of course, is that an intimate, hushed, leisurely environment is preserved. You can have a conversation in an unhurried manner; you end up talking in paragraphs instead of Tweet-length soundbites. It's true that the drinks at The Violet Hour are more expensive than elsewhere. But we've found that each drink lasts longer--we sip then more slowly, enjoying them.
Whereas going somewhere noisy can be irritating and jangling, an excursion to a quiet bar or restaurant, a space that fosters genuine socialization, leaves us invigorated--an illustration of Brian Eno's "Quiet Club" concept. It's the kind of space we need more of. And it used to be called the corner tavern.