The ambiance may always look a little dark with its standard dim lights, but the sparks of connection you can find there are surprisingly bright.
There’s a certain interior I noticed in a couple of bars. You have the tables for groups of friends to talk amongst themselves. And then you have the bar itself, a long, shared counter with lots of ingredients and drinkware, where everyone faces the same direction, looking at a wall full of bottles.
It’s often seen as the default spot for the solo drinker, a place that can look a bit unapproachable or intimidating from afar. But it’s not just for those flying solo; it’s a space that works just as well for a friend or two.
I can’t really remember when my love for cocktails began. It probably just grew with age. As you get older, big gatherings with friends become harder to organize. Life just happens—schedules clash, priorities shift—and the loud nights out in clubs are replaced by something more intimate, a change perhaps brought by the pandemic? The drinking sessions become smaller: sometimes it’s just me, other times it’s with a friend or two. It was in these moments that I realized choosing to sit at the bar was a thoughtful choice.
It was there, sitting on a bar stool, that I realized I wasn’t just a customer—I had a front-row seat to a show. I’ll never forget lining up for more than an hour outside a bar in Hong Kong a few years back. When I finally got to the door, the bartender said the tables were full but offered a seat at the bar.
“Perfect,” he said. “It’s the front row to where the magic happens.” He was right. The bar is a stage where bartenders perform, and the shakers and stirrers are their instruments. But it’s more than a performance; it’s a place where small talk can turn into a real conversation.
And so one by one, these are a few of the small moments I wanted to share by just sitting on that high stool.
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The Angel Shot
In a coffee shop that turns into a craft cocktail bar at night in Legazpi Village, I showed up early for a Bumble date, feeling a bit nervous. I told the bartender it had been a while for me. He just smiled and told me not to worry, he’d be right there. If my date did anything to make me feel uncomfortable, he said, all I had to do was ask him for an “angel shot.” It’s an old trick, but it was incredibly comforting to know a stranger was looking out for me. The date went well—he was a nice guy, though we just ended up as friends. Still, the bartender’s gesture was a quiet reminder that you’re not alone.
The “Papansin Drink”
At a Japanese-inspired bar in San Juan, I learned about the “Papansin Drink” through a good friend who was a regular there. He told me to tell the bartender my choice of alcohol—at the time, it was mezcal—and the bartender took it as a challenge. He came back with a special drink (mezcal with a hint of pandan!) that wasn’t on the menu, using what I asked for but adding a few more ingredients that made it so much better. It’s a really cool exchange: the bartender gets to be creative, and I get to be surprised. What an awesome way to stay open! You get what you want and sometimes, even more.
The Birthday Toast
A few years ago, I lost a good friend to cancer. On her birthday, I went to a neighborhood bar in Makati to have one drink for her. As I sat there, looking through our last WhatsApp messages, the bartender asked how my day was, but his question didn’t feel invasive even if it I knew it was a prompt for small talk. It surprisingly felt easy to tell a complete stranger why I was there. When he found out, he came back with two shot glasses, one for him and one for me. “A toast to your friend and the life she lived,” he said. It was such a kind and unexpected gesture. In that quiet moment, I felt a different kind of empathy from him, like he was understood the wave of grief in me.
The Closing Time Negroni
After a loud birthday party at a club (yes, rare!), I stopped by a favorite jazz bar in Amorsolo to unwind before heading home. I didn’t realize they were five minutes away from closing and the bar was already empty. As a regular, the bartender saw me right away. “Negroni?” she asked with a smile. She said she was already closing up but hoped I didn’t mind her cleaning while I had my drink. It was a small act of kindness. It felt nice that we both had the same agenda of wrapping up our night before heading home.
Meeting Spot for Strangers
On a solo trip in Kaohsiung, Taiwan, I found myself in a small, quaint bar after a long day of doing touristy things. I was by myself, writing on postcards, until two young women sat next to me and introduced themselves. They were Taiwanese but studying in California, and it was so refreshing to hear them speaking English. We talked for the next two hours—about their school, my trip, and how strange and nice it is to be away from home. That simple chat made me feel less alone as a solo traveler. It was an unexpected gift that made a foreign city feel a little less foreign (if that makes any sense at all!).
Sitting at a bar is a strange and wonderful way to see the world, sometimes hitting you with a few life realizations. The ambiance may always look a little dark with its standard dim lights, but the sparks of connection you can find there are surprisingly bright.
Of course, I would always encourage to drink in moderation (and know how to hold your alcohol). The magic is best enjoyed when you can remember the moment—and the connection—the next day.
