My grandfather introduced me to Harry’s, when he visited Europe for the last time to help me celebrate my escape from business school. He didn’t walk so well anymore, at age 96, but well enough for me to drag him (him to drag me?) to some choice representatives of the awesome collection of bars that formed part of his and my grandma’s booze cruises across Europe (according to my mother, my grandmother, who was apparently an epic socialite, knew the likes of Charles Ritz and once succeeded in picking up Sofia Loren’s entourage, but that’s another story.) I won’t say that all of his haunts have turned into tourist traps, but the Hemingway Bar at the Ritz did present us with the most astronomically hilarious bill I have ever witnessed in a gin joint.
The only food you’re liable to get there is a hot dog, probably with an emphasis on the “dog” part. There is no telling what they make those with, but if you’re about to spend an evening on the sauce, make sure you get some relish with it. The sausages aren’t really fit for human consumption, but if you intend to put away a few martinis, they should nicely take care of whatever’s in them. The drinks are expensive, you probably won’t find a seat at peak hours, the bartender needs a bit of encouragement to even crack a smile (and don’t even dare ask for a glass of wine, although they make great mojitos), it’s loud, inconveniently located, and full of obnoxious American tourists. But it’s a great bar, and just feels “right”.
The way granddad described Harry’s…sank-roo-doe-noo, he even said it that way, it was a watering hole for American GIs in both World Wars, and the currency, college flags, and other paraphernalia stuck haphazardly all over the walls do it justice. It has the dramatic patina of a watering hole that’s had many beers spilled on it (and occasionally, the corresponding gentle scent as well), but alas, the Cal pennant was looking a bit ragged when we ended up there. Granddad sent me a new one, and they put it up without blinking — but only if I wrote his name on the back. It’s still there. I love that bar.
5 Rue Daunou
75002 Paris, France
+33 (0) 1 42 61 71 14