Fulton Ale House — A Girl's Guide to Drinking Alone

1446 Fulton St btw Brooklyn and Kingston Aves, Bed-Stuy

The Place: A regular, kind of nondescript sports bar in Bed-Stuy where I can watch some tennis.

The Time: Monday August 29, 6pm. It’s the first day of the US Open. Fun fact about me: I’m obsessed with tennis. I played as a kid, even made the JV team in middle school, then dropped out to be in the spring play. (At 14 years old, I was, first and foremost, an acTOR.) Though I no longer play “competitively,” I still watch all four major tournaments religiously, and even reviewed a bar while watching the 2018 US Open Women’s Finals. The stakes are a lot lower for the first round, so I figured I’d grab a beer and catch a match, stress-free.

*Thin Man Raspberry Sour at Fulton Ale House*

The Vibe: It’s got classic, pubby energy. The long wooden bar is the centerpoint and several large TV screens are scattered around. According to a sign behind the bar, Fulton Ale House is the “home of the Brooklyn Bills Backers*,” whatever that means, but they also host trivia nights and apparently RuPaul’s Drag Race watch parties! (Which I would also agree is a sporting event.) I spy the tennis on the screens on opposite sides of the bar, and I’m on my way to sit at the corner, but the bartender greets me with a huge, friendly hello, so how can I NOT sit near him? This means I’m further from the tennis but I will survive. There are two guys to my right, both alone, on their phones, drinking beer, and there are two friends to my left. The music is pretty fun; there’s a big mirror behind the bar. At one point a guy comes in and the bartender immediately says to him, “I have tennis on, Gary, it’s all I could find,” as if he’s apologizing. But Gary still sits, drinks his beer and watches the match. The two screens behind the bar are showing Eyewitness News and a teenage boy lost his arm after he was struck by a train?? I just. This world fucking sucks and I’m not saying we shouldn’t be cognizant of what’s going on but my god, if a bar isn’t a place of reprieve from the horrors of humanity for like half an hour, then what is?

The Bartender: His name is Kendrick, and he asks me where I’m from. He tells me he’s from “Deep South Mississippi,” then immediately asks for my star sign. Turns out we’re both Aries so we fist bump. After this intro, I don’t spend much time talking to Kendrick, but I love his vibe. Someone he obviously knows sits at the bar, and he makes her a cocktail by saying, “because I’m nice and I like you, I’m putting a REAL orange in it.” The two friends are discussing dinner options, and they ask Kendrick where they should go to eat around here. He responds, “I don’t eat around here. I eat in my kitchen.” I feel that.

The Drank: They have a pretty good draft beer selection but only one sour. It’s the Thin Man Brewery sour ale “aged in raspberries”??? Whatever, it’s a good raspberry sour. It’s also happy hour so it costs $6 instead of $8.

Was I Hit On?: Nope, when Kendrick asks what my sign is, it is very clearly not a pickup line. Regular ESPN always has too much commentary between matches and that isn’t fun to watch at a bar, especially with no sound or subtitles, so I spend a lot of time looking at their back bar and at my own face in the mirror. I notice that right behind the POS is a handwritten note that says, “No service Sean Williams,” with the last four digits of his credit card. What did Sean do?! How bad did Sean fuck up that this is written on a receipt in the middle of the bar for EVERYONE to see?! This is public shaming of the highest caliber and I am HERE FOR IT.

Should You Drink Here Alone?: Sure. I only stayed for one beer because the dinner bell in my stomach was ringing but if Fulton Ale House had food, I would’ve been here a lot longer. I had a really nice, chill time and would happily come back when I’m in the neighb. Maybe next time I’ll make Gary into a true tennis fan.

*Google tells me this is a “growing legion of Buffalo Bills fans in Brooklyn.” Cool. Go Bills.