One driving force to existing as a writer in New York City is where that writer lives. For me, a writer, where I live is where I spend the most time because I write from home. Other writers may write from offices or coffee shops, depending on their jobs and whether, or not, they work remotely.

For me, now, I can proudly say that I write from the West Village.

I love it here.

            I love my apartment. I love my neighborhood.  It’s beautiful, sure, but the other people who live here and those who regularly gravitate to this area regularly for work and pleasure, aren’t bad either. They all know a good thing.

So many unique and historic treasures are found on my block, and around nearby corners. 

Two speakeasy’s, Little Branch (basement treasure serving a vast menus of deluxe handcrafted cocktails) and Chumley’s (today a hidden mahogany wood trimmed fine restaurant with fireplaces and cozy and warm décor, where influential writers like Earnest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald used to spend time), and then I most recently found Café Bohemia, which has just reopened after many years of being closed. (It’s a miniscule underground jazz club that was once open for five years, and was home to musical luminaries such as Miles Davis, Charles Mingus, and John Coltrane who each made albums right from its small stage.)

Despite the existences of all these marvelous neighborhood gems, my upstairs’ neighbor, Wanda, who’s a lifelong West Village resident, admitted that this area isn’t necessarily the historical mecca today that I think it is. In spite of that reality, Wanda says…

 “It doesn’t even matter.” 

Wanda went on to say that as long as I believe that these historical figures and their histories took place here, what does it matter if they really did? 

But, to me, it actually does matter. 

And I’m not alone in thinking that way, either. To think that I’m walking on the same ground that Ernest Hemingway once did or that I’m looking at the same miniscule stage from which Miles Davis had blown his horn alongside a quintet of his own name, is important to me.

It’s supremely important. 

Otherwise these rooms, while only appearing sparingly charming and quaint today, would really hold no value to me, at all! They would just be some more outdated and rundown NYC rooms in need of refurbishment. 

Instead, because of the histories linked to these rooms they are absolutely captivating.

Having these establishments be so cherished today, endows them with an almost paranormal quality that naysayers, like Wanda, can’t take away. Believing that historically noteworthy people and events affected this area and these rooms, further inspires me and tourists the world over, to spend time in them, too.

            To relive the steps of history is a mindboggling feat. And everyone is happy to do it.

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Although the current version of Chumley’s is very different from what existed during its actual years of operation, I appreciate it for what it attempts to reclaim. Today it’s class, culture, and, of course, history. An upscale dining destination, the Chumley’s of today has the appearance of a secret fortified bunker that only a select few know of. Originally opened during Prohibition, in 1922, by the activist Lee Chumley, the bar was created to be a hidden destination for world-renowned American writers like Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Willa Cather, and Dylan Thomas. Today it exists as a desired destination to both satiate one’s appetite, as well as one’s historical curiosity. 

As a small child I remembered that I loved to “explore” and exploring has never been as fun as it is now while in these environs where I live as an adult. The rich histories and memorable stories associated with these places are features I feel so fortunate to live among. 

But like a child, I entered “Chumley’s” with my Australian friend, Jess, one early October night, 2019, just in time for our 8:30pm reservation. An unusually cold darkness it was when it had just been so balmy and comfortable outside on preceding days, proving New York weather to be very mercurial, at best. But running late for the reservation that night, as I’d just been spending too much time showing Jess the apartment into which I’d just moved, as well as my picturesque neighborhood, we hurried to the fortified entrance where I knew the restaurant was. Abruptly, we shoved open the heavy fortress door that kept an entire warm and inviting world behind it. Again, I was a small child and the fun and active life that adults seemed to be hiding from me was right there. That secret world of revelry and adventure lay before us. 

         Astounded, I was awe struck. 

            I soon learned that this was the bar that Earnest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald, as well as other American writers, poets, playwrights, journalists, and activists—some from the Lost Generation and Beat Generation movements. used to frequent during its earliest years of operation.

            The place is magic.

As a child, I, myself, had always longed to explore and find hidden passages, rooms, objects that only someone with a sharp eye and a strong willingness to investigate, would find. In adulthood, that precise fantasy world has found me—in all its spectacular grandeur.

I have never been so happy in a neighborhood as I am in this one, the West Village.

To me, this is the best neighborhood in the world.

Upon entering through the heavy fortress door of Chumley’s that night, I was immediately met with a windswept red velvet curtain, used to protect the interior from excess chill. 

And then I was in—inside a luxurious cavern home to fine dining and cocktails, as well as historical memorabilia from a former literary age.

As my upstairs neighbor repeatedly likes to remind me, “That isn’t the way Chumley’s used to be.”
            See, I know that, or, at least, I can imagine that that’s true. But I’m sure I’d like it better the way it is now than what it was then—just a seedy tavern where prolific writers could “get their drink on.” I appreciate the fine interiors and succulent meals of today. 

I also like the fact that, today, it’s more expensive.

As the old saying goes, “You get what you pay for.”

If that’s the case, I’m going to get a pleasurable dining experience.

            After all, I’m paying for it! 

I don’t need an accurate recreation of an earlier time. I’m a fan of today’s fine dining.

But I like how, in 2016, New Yorker columnist, Shauna Lyon, describes Chumley’s,

“It’s now a swanky restaurant.”