These days, clandestine bars are more likely to elicit groans than curiosity. We have, in other words, surpassed peak speakeasy. So a drinking establishment must be very good to be worth seeking out, by, say, first roaming through Walter’s, a brunch mainstay in Fort Greene. Behind a door at the back of the restaurant, Karasu’s lounge materializes like a photographic negative of what came before. Where there was light, there is inky, elegant darkness. Where there was bright chatter, there are jazz records spun at a volume that underpins conversation without overtaking it. On a recent Saturday night, the bartender Frank Cisneros, who once worked in Japan, waxed rhapsodic about the beauty of ceremony in that country’s drinking culture. That fascination pervades Karasu, where even a whiskey neat is crafted with a many-stepped ritual. In quiet moments, a bartender may walk you out after you settle up. It’s a welcome gesture, since the cocktails can be quite strong. The Dippermouth (bourbon, crème de banana, coffee) and the Ginger Baker (ginger, tequila, jasmine) are sophisticated and complex, and eminently drinkable. Even if your order is simply a can of Orion beer, the bartender carefully turns the label to face you. “There’s a Japanese saying, ‘Ichi-go ichi-e,’ ” Cisneros offered. “It means ‘One time, one meeting.’ The concept is: everything is ephemeral.” So, the logic goes, one must endeavor to make every interaction last. Later that evening, a patron stepped out into the falling snow only to hear someone calling her name. It was Cisneros, dashing onto the sidewalk. “You forgot something,” he said, presenting her pen in outstretched hands. On gloomy winter evenings, it is a rare pleasure to feel so thoroughly looked after. ♦
