I like to think that I know a thing or two about what makes a dive bar, a dive bar. I’ve often written about neighborhood dives, featured several examples in my book and have, for years, been curating a series in my newsletter that invites a cast of cool characters to share stories about their favorite dives and jukebox songs.
I even spent two years—and a lot of late nights—working on a book on the subject. That is, until I spiraled into the realization that most dives didn’t give a damn about being featured in a book. It was impossible to even set up an interview or a photo shoot at some of these establishments. Despite consistently being listed in annual “Best NYC Dives” roundups, one Brooklyn bar owner took particular offense at my use of the word “dive.” When I asked if I might be able to interview some customers and take pictures, he snapped, “No photos. I’ve got people having affairs in here,” before ending the conversation by turning his back to me and walking off.
He had a point. The sense of anonymity that can often cloak a dive bar is just one of the many factors that makes them so special. These often quirky neighborhood bars welcome and serve longtime regulars, locals and strangers alike, and act as unsanctioned community hubs where people can disappear for an hour or two and feel the connection of being alone in a crowd in a room seemingly lost in time.
As more and more businesses shutter their doors due to rising rents, skyrocketing expenses, labor costs and post-pandemic shifts in consumer habits, every day seems more dire for bars, especially where I live in New York. We always think our favorites will be around forever, until they’re gone, and become, like so many things in New York, just another ghost.
Fans of Montero Bar & Grill, the beloved, nearly 90-year-old Brooklyn Heights dive, thought that might be the case for their favorite haunt earlier this year. In January, news about a planned acquisition from Crew—a hospitality group owned by brothers Alex and Miles Pincus, who oversee an ever-expanding fleet of nautical-themed concepts in New York City and New Orleans—was set to take over.