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  • At Chin Up Bar, Gin Is the Star of the Show

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    Chin Up Bar is a new gin-focused cocktail spot on the Lower East Side. Photo Memory NYC

    Specialization is hot in New York’s crowded bar scene. Want an Italian aperitivo? Or Japanese-style cocktails? You’ve got options in spades. Spirits themselves, too, prove rich enough to warrant entire bars dedicated to their varying expressions, especially whiskey and agave spirits like tequila and mezcal. There’s one spirit, however, that two bar industry veterans believe deserves another devoted destination, especially now: gin. 

    Brian Gummert and Blake Walker have joined forces to open the gin-focused Chin Up Bar at 171 Chrystie Street in New York City’s Lower East Side. The partnership makes sense: Gummert owns Lower East Side cocktail bar Subject; Walker bartended there, as well as at Nitecap and Amor y Amargo, the latter of which is one of New York’s prized specialty spots concentrating on amaro. 

    “Brian and I both love gin, and there’s been an explosion of exciting gins in the past 10 to 15 years,” Walker tells Observer. Classic London dry styles from well-established distilleries have long been popular in Europe and back bar staples in the United States. But more recently, American craft distilleries, like Tenmile Distillery in upstate New York, have been leaning more into the spirit. Gins are also popping up in regions not previously associated with the spirit, where endemic fruits and botanicals give it a fresh spin—South Africa’s Bayab Gin with local pineapple and palm sap, for example, or Vietnam’s Sông Cái Distillery with heirloom pomelo, jungle pepper, black cardamom and green turmeric.

    The thrill of discovery fueled the proliferation of whiskey and agave bars over the last two decades, Walker adds. Craft whiskey options exploded in New York, followed by an increased availability of quality tequila and mezcal, and suddenly bar-goers had entire categories to explore at dedicated destinations. Now, he says, gin “is ripe for that.” 

    Gin’s own craft boom has resulted in myriad different flavor profiles for such exploration. Walker and Gummert curated a back bar just shy of 100 gin bottles ahead of the December 2025 opening, which Walker says could likely double in the next few months and continue to grow from there. In addition to heavy hitters in the London dry vein, Chin Up Bar’s shelves represent the aforementioned options from upstate New York, Vietnam and South Africa, as well as those from Japan, India, Kenya, Mexico, Australia and more. 

    Bolstered by this kind of selection, Chin Up Bar speaks to gin lovers above all else. But Walker and Gummert are willing to bet that even those who believe they don’t like gin just haven’t found the gin for them yet. 

    “A lot of people avoid gin due to unfortunate experiences early in their drinking careers,” Walker says. “They had bad gin, or they still have the perception it’s old-fashioned or stodgy. I think that’s diminishing and a lot of those attitudes have really sloughed off, but there’s still a little bit of persistence there.” For Walker and Gummert, the perception that gin is all pine tree and booze burn may be what has prevented the spirit from having its own dedicated menus in the past.

    A Gibson. Photo Memory NYC

    To showcase gin’s versatility and vast breadth of regional expressions, Walker and Gummert have shaped a menu balancing classic gin cocktails with more novel creations.

    The classics help demonstrate the impact different gins can have on familiar, popular flavor profiles—Martin Miller’s Westbourne Strength gin is perfect in a martini with a refined balance of juniper, citrus, spice and clean smoothness. Roku Japanese gin has peppery spice and herbaceous green tea notes that sing in a dirty martini, and Neversink New York gin possesses a hint of sweetness that brings out the same in the Gibson’s leek vermouth and sherry vinegar while tempering the drink’s acidity and brine. Then, there are the more adventurous Chin Up Bar originals.

    Rendezvous in Chennai. Photo Memory NYC

    Floral, citrusy and spicy, Dorothy Parker New York gin pulls together the Rendezvous in Chennai. With Madras curry, coconut, apricot, ginger and lime, the slightly creamy, velvety cocktail explodes with bright, tropical flavors before the savory curry, with its subtle heat, blossoms and lingers in the drink’s finish. Elsewhere on the menu, the Australian Four Pillars yuzu gin plays with guava and sunflower seed orgeat, while the Mexican Condesa prickly pear gin anchors thyme, kiwi, honey and sparkling wine.

    Walker and Gummert aren’t afraid to venture beyond traditional gin cocktails and inventions crafted specifically around gin. Aquavit, essentially a Scandinavian gin riff featuring caraway instead of juniper, punches up the traditionally more rounded, sweeter old-fashioned with spice, while apple brandy, Granny Smith apples, wasabi and red shiso broaden its flavor horizons with a bright crispness, earthiness and heat. Gin even found its way into a coquito Walker was pouring before Christmas. The rich, coconutty Puerto Rican holiday punch is made with rum, but Walker splits its base with gin. The result is a more complex coquito with punchier spices and subtle botanicals keeping the drink safely distant from cloying territory. 

    The aquavit old-fashioned. Photo Memory NYC

    There’s plenty to learn about gin at Chin Up Bar, but it’s up to guests how much information they want served up with their drinks. Walker and Gummert prioritize staff education, so information on various gins comes across more naturally in dialogues with guests rather than requiring rehearsed spiels. They also plan to have classic gin botanicals on hand for people to smell on their own, and they allow guests to liberally sample with one-ounce pours of anything on the back bar.

    “It’s important for us to leave the doors wide open to educational experiences and talk about things in a knowledgeable way without forcing it on anyone,” Walker explains. “They can just come in and have a delicious drink without that if they want.”

    Chin Up Bar’s seafood-forward menu has been intentionally developed to pair well with gin. Even in the minuscule world of gin-focused bars, this level of detail is rare; gin isn’t framed in a pairing context the same way as wine, beer, or even whiskey. 

    The seafood-forward menu, with dishes like smoked mussels escabeche, was designed to pair well with gin. Photo Memory NYC

    There’s the option to simply feast on shrimp cocktail with your martini, but you can also order dishes recommended based on your specific drink. For example, Walker suggested smoked mussels escabeche and a tuna dish with red shiso leaf and dehydrated beets to pair with the Rendezvous in Chennai and aquavit old-fashioned. The red shiso leaf in both the tuna and the old-fashioned matched well, and the mussels’ smoky character highlighted the Rendezvous’s savory curry note. (It’s worth mentioning that the satisfyingly toothsome, densely flavor-packed beets on that tuna dish deserve their own award.) A selection of oysters may not be as carefully curated to cocktails’ flavors, but similarly to the shrimp cocktail, they feel like a low-stakes, classic nosh for a cocktail bar.

    It’s a unique space. Photo Memory NYC

    All of this gin celebration takes place in a refreshingly singular space. You won’t find Art Deco “bathtub gin” nods here, nor the de rigueur martini bar plush red banquettes. The space itself feels sculptural, with cave-like white stucco walls inspired by the Gilder Center at the American Museum of Natural History. High vaulted ceilings with sky murals by Ori Carino wink at the ceilings of Grand Central Station, while touches of greenery pay homage to Sara D. Roosevelt Park near the bar. All together, the interior looks other-worldly—it’s giving a chicer, more restrained Mos Eisley Cantina—but every element weaves in some New York reference.

    Envisioning Chin Up Bar’s space, Gummert recalls serving drinks elsewhere during the pandemic and thinking how excited people would be to be in a new space. 

    Every element of the interior weaves in a piece of New York. Photo Memory NYC

    “People were stuck in nostalgia for a while, but now seem to be wanting something fresh,” he says. The bar is in a new building, so he and Walker got to design the layout from scratch. “Patterns emerged little by little, inspired by New York public spaces, cathedrals, subway stations…it was time to see something new and interesting in New York.”

    Walker and Gummert would love Chin Up to become a destination cocktail bar, but Walker notes that “it’s locals, it’s regulars that keep you open and sustained for a long time. Our focus has been creating an experience to make people want to come back over and over.” Gin enthusiasts will already be locked in to a concept like this, but between the reliably well-made classics, interesting originals, and strong food menu, there’s more than enough for every other kind of imbiber to appreciate.

    At Chin Up Bar, Gin Is the Star of the Show

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    Courtney Iseman

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  • Was my favorite teacher gay? Maybe a belly dancer could find out

    Was my favorite teacher gay? Maybe a belly dancer could find out

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    Dear Mr. H:

    Raphael Simon here — Rafi, as you may remember me.

    We last saw each other in 1982 at a magnet school in Los Angeles, where I was your student.

    You were a terrific teacher, Mr. H — smart, witty, occasionally tough, with a genuine enthusiasm for the subjects you taught. But I am not writing to thank you for what I learned in your class; this isn’t one of those letters. Nor am I writing to accuse you of anything; this isn’t one of those letters either.

    I am writing to apologize.

    Like most apologies, this one is purely performative. It changes nothing. Nonetheless, I feel compelled to confess.

    The belly dancer? My bad.

    I found her. I hired her. I was responsible for the whole thing, except the belly dancing itself.

    You do remember the belly dancer, don’t you? Let me back up.

    When I was in ninth grade, I took your hybrid history and English class called Research Writing, in which we learned such things as how to use card catalogs, document sources and format footnotes — once-vital skills now lost to time and ChatGPT.

    For my first paper, I chose to write about the Black Hole of Calcutta, only to discover that the name had nothing to do with astronomical black holes, much less the all-nude musical “Oh! Calcutta!” For my historical fiction project, I wrote a mystery story about Napoleon’s exile on Elba — a subject I picked mainly because Napoleons were a type of pastry I loved.

    To state the obvious, nothing we covered in your class justified having a half-naked woman dance around our desks.

    You were in your 30s. Slim, fair-skinned, wavy brown hair. Casually preppy.

    I was 14, pimply, bookish. A typical if slightly effeminate adolescent Jewish boy, California version. I was also, at the time, just beginning to suspect something about myself, or just beginning to begin to suspect.

    In any case, I liked you. All your students liked you. Research Writing was an honors class. We sat in a circle rather than in rows. Naturally, we wanted to celebrate your birthday. A birthday surprise — that was the pretext I sold my classmates on.

    Why a belly dancer and not, say, a birthday cake?

    For one thing, belly dancing played a larger role in my imagination than you might expect. This was mostly due to my grandmother Esther, who had an enduring fascination with belly dancers. She would describe the way they moved their tummies as if by magic with muscles unknown to the rest of us. A powerful female force, sexy and not subservient.

    I first saw live belly dancers at my favorite restaurant, Moun of Tunis, on Sunset, where diners sat on low banquettes and ate off brass tables. At hourly intervals, music would start to play and women in their sequins and silks would emerge from behind a curtain to shimmy and shake their way across the room — heaven.

    It was from Moun of Tunis that I got the name of your dancer. Funny to think what a difficult task that must have been. I would have had to consult the Yellow Pages, or more likely, call Information — something my parents frowned upon because of the toll. When I phoned the restaurant, I would have had to speak to a live human and explain what I wanted. All this before cold-calling a belly dancer.

    On your birthday, I remember being nervous, uncertain that she would come. I jumped up when I heard the knock on the door.

    Our classroom was in a bungalow, and she was standing on the stoop, dyed black hair, bright red lipstick, a trench coat covering her costume and a boombox under her arm.

    I’d been so excited; now, too late, I was overcome by doubt. I ushered her into the room. My classmates giggled. I pointed to you. “There’s the birthday boy.”

    Without a word, she put on her music, unbuttoned her coat and began to whirl.

    The dance is hazy in my mind, a blur of translucent black veils and long silvery scarves.

    She circled the room, then circled you, then the room again — sexy but never too sexy.

    While the rest of the class hooted and hollered, I watched your expressions. Your face paled, then reddened, then paled again. It showed a flash, but no more than a flash, of anger, and intense embarrassment, and eventually, polite patience and forced good humor.

    Of course, it was precisely to read your reactions that I’d arranged the surprise. And that’s the real reason for this apology.

    Your possible gayness had been a subject of debate among your students, not in a malicious way, more in a fun if gossipy way. Then a month or two before your birthday, you came close to speaking our speculations aloud.

    I don’t remember the context. Perhaps we were talking about Anita Bryant or some other anti-gay crusader. Or, closer to home, the Briggs Initiative, which had almost succeeded in banning gays and lesbians from teaching in California a few years earlier.

    I only remember the phrase you used at one point: “my gay friends and my straight friends.” As though they were equal categories. As though friends — anyone — might as easily be gay as straight.

    As though you, our teacher, might be.

    In 1982, the idea of an openly gay teacher was controversial in a way that is hard to fathom in California today — or in parts of California today. (The attempt to ban LGBTQ+ books and squelch LGBTQ+ speech has recently spread to such nearby locales as Glendale and Huntington Beach.) For you to suggest you might be gay, however ambiguously, must have taken tremendous courage.

    And I rewarded your courage by bullying you, with a belly dancer.

    A test, I’d called it, when I pitched the idea to my classmates. What was I expecting? Were you supposed to pant like a horny cartoon character if you were straight? And if you were gay, what then? Turn green?

    Whether or not the word “test” entered your mind, judging from your reactions, you sensed that your sexuality was being challenged. I am so sorry. The premise of the stunt was as offensive as it was absurd.

    I wasn’t brave enough to claim credit, but I suspect that you suspected. In my memory, a knowing look or two passed between us. Perhaps you understood what I did not: that in testing you for signs of homosexuality, I was trying to inoculate myself against the same condition.

    When the belly dancer finished dancing, you applauded, very much as if you’d enjoyed yourself. You thanked us for your birthday surprise, even though we all knew it had been more birthday prank than birthday present.

    So I guess this is a thank-you letter, after all. Thank you for being more forgiving than furious. Thank you for not interrogating too closely who hired the belly dancer, or why.

    And most of all, thank you for instilling in your students the idea that gay might be OK, even if it would take this gay student several more years to absorb that simple lesson.

    Sincerely, Rafi

    Raphael Simon is better known as children’s author Pseudonymous Bosch. He and his husband live in Pasadena with their two daughters. Mr. H, as it turns out, does remember the belly dancer. He and his husband just celebrated 30 years together.

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    Raphael Simon

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  • Column: What kind of terrible parent pays their child to get an A? (Well, me)

    Column: What kind of terrible parent pays their child to get an A? (Well, me)

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    Is it OK to pay a child to do well in school?

    I’m currently grappling with this question. Five years ago, my then-8-year-old niece moved in with me. Overnight, I became a single “mom” to a wonderful, if emotionally fragile, third-grader.

    She had been through a lot — four schools in two years — and so I wasn’t sure what to expect from her academically. But she thrived in our local elementary school. And now she’s finding her passions as an eighth-grade middle schooler in mostly honors classes. With the exception of math. A struggle I understand.

    Opinion Columnist

    Robin Abcarian

    In elementary and middle school, I did well enough in other classes, but I was a solid C math student. In 10th grade, however, something just clicked. At Cleveland High School, in Reseda, I had a fabulous geometry teacher. His name was Mr. Maung. I have no idea what became of him, but he was one of the best teachers I ever had. I earned an A in his class, and I never took another math course.

    When my niece was in sixth grade and began struggling with numbers, we signed up for one of those costly math tutoring programs. She went for an hour after school a couple of times a week. After nearly a year with no change in her grades, I discovered that the place wasn’t really working with her on her school curriculum, which I’d assumed was the whole point. They had their own methodology for teaching the subject, and if they had time at the end of her session, they might help her with her homework. Ugh.

    The next year, in seventh grade, she again struggled with low grades in math. I conferred frequently with her teacher. She did after-school “interventions” in the library. Things didn’t improve. Well, I thought, she has lots of other skills and talents.

    This year, however, when she floundered on her first few math tests, I became alarmed. High school is just around the corner, and I suspected she was capable of doing well in math class but just wasn’t that interested. And maybe she was even a little invested in acting like she didn’t care.

    Two weeks ago, I had a brainstorm: money. Couldn’t hurt, right? So I texted her: “I will give you 20 bucks if you get a B. [Smiley face emoji]”

    “OMG,” she replied. “40 for an A!”

    “Done!”

    I admit: As a parent, this was not my finest hour.

    Also, I was pretty sure she’d never get an A.

    Amy McCready, a parenting coach who founded the online education site Positive Parenting Solutions, did not judge me when I told her about my deal with my niece. She disapproved but in the nicest possible way.

    “Parents will say, ‘I get paid to work,’ and my kid’s job is school, so why not pay them?’ But there are some unintended consequences to that,” said the Raleigh, N.C.-based McCready, who wrote the 2015 book “The Me, Me, Me Epidemic: A Step-by-Step Guide to Raising Capable, Grateful Kids in an Over-Entitled World.”

    The first problem, supported by lots of research, is that external rewards tend to decrease intrinsic motivation — you know, the feeling that good grades and mastery of a subject are their own reward.

    Something more concrete, said McCready, “can provide a quick hit, but we need to think about the long-term goal — the love of learning, intellectual curiosity, an interest in math.”

    She pointed me to the book “Punished by Rewards: The Trouble With Gold Stars, Incentive Plans, A’s, Praise, and Other Bribes” by the prolific education writer Alfie Kohn, first published in 1993, now revised for its 25th anniversary. Kohn addresses the failures of “behaviorism” — as propounded by the psychologist B.F. Skinner — to manipulate people into changing their behavior by rewarding them, which he calls “do this and you’ll get that.”

    “To take what people want or need and offer it on a contingent basis in order to control how they act,” he writes, “this is where the trouble lies.”

    As McCready told me, paying for grades is ultimately not sustainable. “The reward loses its luster,” she said. “The problem is you have to keep upping the ante.”

    The practice can also discourage children who really are struggling. “What if they are working their hardest and are not getting the A or B,” she said. “They should be rewarded for working their tail off.” (And by “rewarded,” she means they should be celebrated. “I distinguish between rewards and celebrations. A reward is contingent, versus, ‘Wow, you have been putting so much time into your math, let’s go celebrate that.’”)

    But that’s my issue with my niece. I don’t think she has been working her hardest, and I believe she is capable of doing better.

    I just needed to figure out how to motivate her. Hence, the bribe, which coincided with her recent acquisition of an iPhone. (We’d had a pact: She would wait until eighth grade for a phone with apps and internet access.) Once she discovered Apple Pay, the app that lets anyone transfer money to your account, she became transfixed by the balance in her account.

    “Wow,” she said when she had accumulated $52. “I’m getting rich!”

    At this point, you are probably wondering how she did on that math test. I am thrilled — more or less — to report that she got her first A. I dutifully added $40 to her Apple Pay coffers.

    And now I am in the difficult position of having to decide whether to continue to this race to the behaviorism bottom or to raise my standards in the service of making her a better student and all-around human being.

    I’m thinking, I’m thinking.

    @robinkabcarian

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    Robin Abcarian

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