Floyd, NY — A Girl's Guide to Drinking Alone

131 Atlantic Ave btw Henry and Clinton Sts, Brooklyn Heights

The Place: A casual and fun neighborhood games bar (note I said “games,” not “sports”) in Brooklyn Heights. Though I can’t help but wonder: why is it called Floyd, NY and not just Floyd? Isn’t it obviously in New York?

The Time: Wednesday April 13, 7pm. Listen. It’s been 2 years since I was reviewing bars regularly and a lot has changed. I’m a basketball fan now. Like, I’m a I-will-choose-to-watch-basketball-and-I-own-a-jersey-from-my-favorite-team-because-I-won-a-bet kind of basketball fan. It’s the NBA Play-In tournament (before the playoffs start this weekend) and I just finished a nasty bout of food poisoning, so since I finally feel like a human again, I decided to go and watch some basketball OUT at a BAR like a MAN. (It’s Charlotte Hornets v. Atlanta Hawks, which is not a game I care about particularly except that it decides who’s playing the Cavs for 8th seed in the East. See? True fan.) So I googled good bars to watch sports and Floyd is the closest to my apartment that doesn’t seem douchey.

The Vibe: Super chill, slightly divey, very cozy. I call it a games bar and not a sports bar because the main feature of the space is a big indoor Bocce ball court toward the back. There are also board games and several screens to watch the various sports games happening. Hence GAMES bar. There’s a long wooden bar to the left and plenty of seating to the right, including a lot of couches, which I love. I immediately see the screen with the basketball; it’s a projection on the back wall and I make a beeline to the last bar stool because I’ll have a clear view of the game. This seats me right next to a solo guy and now I know exactly how my night is gonna go. It’s pretty empty, and fairly male, with all their eyes glued to the baseball, except for two Charlotte fans who have parked themselves on the couches directly in front of the basketball. (How do I know they’re Charlotte fans? They’re wearing jerseys over hoodies like idiots.) There’s not a whole lot to note about the space itself; it kind of just feels like a regular dive, except for the portraits of random men littered about. Is one of them Floyd, NY himself?

The Bartender: Mike, who has been “tending bar a long time” and immediately comes over to me and asks if I’m thirsty. He also notes that I walked “with purpose” toward this seat and asked if I wanted to watch the baseball, which is on the screen right behind the bar. I told him no, I’m here for the basketball. Mike then asks me who I’m rooting for and instead of lying and choosing a side, I tell him that I don’t have a horse in this race and I just hope both teams have fun. (I actually said that.) Mike has on a playlist of all cover songs and we end up taking a bar-wide (re: 5 person) poll of which cover of “500 Miles” is better. It’s 3 to 2, Mike and I on the same side against everyone else. So obviously we are now best friends.

The Drank: A gin and soda, because that’s my go-to at places like this. Tanqueray, if you care about details. My one complaint is the ice: it’s so small and splintered that it’s hard to drink without getting tiny ice shards with every sip. A gin and soda is also the closest I can get to just drinking a soda and bitters, which is what I actually want because I’m still on the mend and have consumed only simple carbs for the last 2 days. But I can’t in good faith just sit here for an hour and only order a soda and bitters. The bartender in me won’t allow it.

Was I Hit On?: Yeah, so as a woman going to a bar by herself with the intention of watching sports, I knew I wasn’t gonna be left alone. Remember the guy I’m sitting next to? His name is Steve. He’s very nice and we chat for nearly the entire time I’m here and honestly, I’m enjoying talking to a stranger at a bar again, it’s been a while since I’ve done this. He’s a baseball guy so we can’t really talk shop but he rightfully has some questions about who I am and what I’m doing here. Steve stopped in for a drink and to watch some baseball after work before his long commute home, and we toast to the fact that he’s moving out of Jersey next month. I know he’s hitting on me because any time there’s a lull in the conversation or I turn my back to him (literally, because of the orientation of the bar) to watch some basketball, I can feel him try to come up with something else to say or another question to ask. But as I’m closing out, a man also here to watch baseball sits next to him and Steve now has another buddy to talk to. Ah, the power of sports. Steve and I say our goodbyes peacefully and Mike calls after me, “see you for the playoffs!” so I guess I’ll be back soon.

Should You Drink Here Alone?: I had a great time at Floyd, and I’ll come back to watch the playoffs, Mike, don’t worry. But if I hadn’t been here with a distinct purpose and just wandered in for a drink, I probably would’ve felt weird and out of place. This seems to be a bar with many identities; a chameleon spot that becomes what you’re looking for. So come by to catch a game, or bring friends for Bocce, or give Mike a weird cover song request. Floyd, NY is what you make it.