In 1924, Harry Mac Elhone placed an add in the Paris Herald Tribune (aka The Trib) for his bar stating the following: “Harry’s New York Bar. Just say: Sank Roo Doe Noo.” That was supposed to be sufficient for any Anglo Saxons to make their way safely to his bar. The address of the bar was: 5, rue Daunou, 2nd arrondissement, Quartier Opera. So “Sank Roo Doe Noo” was alot easier to say.
Why write a piece about a drinking establishment for Pete’s sake (or Harry’s for that matter) when I could just as easily be discussing the virtues of a cream sauce? Well, in addition to being somewhat of a rogue Chef, I have an awful sentimental streak in me which comes out here and there especially if I am writing about France and Paris especially. So I work with it. So on the nostalgia angle, I think back to my years in Paris and remember my father rolling his eyes, putting down the Trib and chuckling at the add for Harry’s Bar all the while repeating “Sank Roo Doe Noo. Sank Roo Doe Noo” working the accent the way most Americans would pronounce it. He never got tired of doing that and we never got tired of making sure we laughed.
I’m sure my parents were customers at Harry’s and likely more than one generation as well. In all likelihood they would be with another couple for a night out on the town; or maybe they were playing tour guides for family (usually Southerners from my Mother’s side) and showing what the night life in “Paree” was all about. The guests were usually taken to one or more “naughty” shows, and a look-see at some of the seedier parts of Paris. My father had a nose for “spots” that were guaranteed to make your eyes grow wide and that’s all I’m saying. But coming back to Harry’s New York Bar, another thing I like to ponder is that maybe on one side of the family, my maternal grandfather set foot in Harry’s some years after being with Pershing and returned to the City of Lights with his bride and, after witnessing Lindbergh’s historic landing at Le Bourget in ’27, they celebrated at Harry’s along with many others. It’s also entirely possible that across the bar at another table was another couple, she a beautiful dark haired wide eyed American gal (my paternal grandmother) sitting with her husband, an older, impeccably well dressed banker and stock tycoon both toasting Lindbergh’s success and their new life in Paris. Two American couples unknown to each other yet one day forever linked together.
Harry’s is an institution pure and simple. The oldest American bar in Paris. Harry’s is a bar with a story, many stories. But it’s still very much a bar- no more no less. You owe it to yourself to stop in and have drink – be it a Martini, Bloody Mary or a Side Car and ponder a little bit of its history. Harry’s New York Bar opened in 1911 and story has it that the bar inherited its decor from a bar in Manhattan that was built in 1860 then subsequently closed during prohibition and literally re-created in Paris under the name New York Bar but it came of age during the First World War and legend holds that the Bloody Mary was invented there in 1921 courtesy of Ernest Hemingway who named it after his wife Mary. Apparently Mary would throw a fit on those days, those special occasions when Hemingway would come home rip roaring drunk, to us a polite expression. It was also here, that Ian Fleming had James Bond coming down the stairs at Harry’s in “For Your Eyes Only.” There have been some other folks who have strolled in through Harry’s front door including: F. Scott Fitzgerald, Humphrey Bogart, Knute Rockne, Coco Chanel, Jack Dempsey, Rita Hayworth and sometimes even the Duke of Windsor. And that’s just for starters.
Harry’s is an authentic New York style saloon and I dare say than some one of us have, in our time, darkened the doors of salons the likes of Harry’s somewhere in the world. Harry’s decor hasn’t really changed since it opened in 1911 though I understand that every fifty years or so they change bartenders. We speak of the “lost generation” those artists who were in Paris during the inter-war period, well I feel pretty certain that they were never really lost in the literal sense, they were just hanging out at Harry’s. Note to the choir: Harry’s piano-bar has a wonderful sense of intimacy to it and whether you’re nursing a martini, a White Lady, a Side Car or a Blue Lagoon and sitting back relaxing, you’re likely to hear Gershwin working on his “American in Paris.” Harry’s Bar is famous for their drink concoctions and I understand that during President Obama’s visit to France to commemorate the Normandy invasion they created the “Omaha Beach.” By the way, if you have that urge to eat and drink under the same roof, try a Croque Monsieur or Croque Madame both appear rather good substantial bar food as does the Club Sandwich.
I look forward to seeing you there. I will be sitting at the bar near end, nursing a Bloody Mary of course!