Hells kitchen new york gay

The Gay Capital of the World has a way of re-energizing the mind like nowhere else on earth – and I had clearly forgotten what I [heart] about New York…

By Doug Wallace

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

Honestly, my first evening in Novel York does launch off with a friend, 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 consider 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 act the Toronto thing and ignore her completely. 

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

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