In Search of the Smokiest Bar

His friend, 30-year-old Tim Hopping, agreed, but only to a point. "If I were a nonsmoker, I'd hate coming home reeking of smoke," he said.

Both guys talked about what influenced them to pick up the habit years ago. "It looks cooler. Chicks dig it. It's the James Dean effect," Eric quipped.

"It was Stand by Me," Tim said. "What would Corey Feldman do?" Well, really, what wouldn't he do? In any case, WWCFD is truly a question for the ages.

On the bottom level of this Westport dive, the ceilings are low, and the fluorescent light over the foosball machine illuminates the foglike cigarette haze that hangs over the room. The upper level is just as odoriferous, though a wooden deck provides some fresh air as well as a good perch for watching the drunken antics of the duders and duderettes as they stumble through the narrow alleyway outside the bar.

I tried to waft some bar air into my open purse to see if the smoke detector would go off. Nothing happened.

Then I found some dissenters to a smoking ban, including 36-year-old Ed Lynn, a Buzzard bartender for nine years. Buzzard has the distinction of being the least Westporty bar in Westport. Its clientele usually consists of local rockers and service-industry folk, the tattooed and the pierced, and Those Who Dye Their Hair Black. Ed said he had worked both the upstairs and downstairs bars at Buzzard Beach. "For restaurants, I don't mind. But for bars, I don't agree [with the ban]," he said.

But, I explained, city officials say smokeless bars are ostensibly for your benefit. The idea is to protect bartenders and others who spend their days with their heads in a cloud of smoke exhaled from a bunch of barflies.

"In the bar business, most people do smoke," he said. Most of his colleagues, Ed explained, don't agree with the ban.

On weekend nights, after the clock strikes midnight, the Buzzard crowd really begins to filter in. Thanks to its 3 a.m. license, Buzzard is the place where people go to shitfacedly finish off the night, especially after the 1:30 last call for alcohol. A corollary to late-night drinking seems to be chain-smoking. Stretched out across the room, glowing orange cigarette tips look like a carcinogenic chain of Christmas lights.

Milo Konefal, a 26-year-old artist, expounded on how smoking and drinking go hand in hand. Two guys who were walking by overheard Milo and stopped to listen. With this new audience, Milo's voice became more preacherlike in cadence and tone, and the two guys provided a hallelujah response to his points.

"I'd hate to go into a smoke-free bar. What kind of bar is that?" Milo asked.

"It's all about the smokin' and drinkin'." said Random Guy No. 1.

"Not every bar should be designated smoke-free. Lighten up, dude, and commit the ultimate sin," Milo continued, all fired up.

"You're goddamned right," said Random Guy No. 2.

"It should be totally up to the owner. When you go out and drink, you should expect to smell like smoke," he concluded.

Praise the Lord and pass the lighter.

I left after an hour, and the fresh, cold air was a pleasant change after the smokefest inside. I felt grimy and longed to take a shower to wash off the smell. Remembering that sommelier Doug Frost has signed on to help with my quest, I dropped my sweater in a Tupperware container to preserve its odor.

On the recommendation of a co-worker, I headed to another notorious smoke hole: Chez Charlie. True to its reputation, the cigbots turned out in full force. Nearly everyone in the bar expelled a stream of smoke. The acrid smell hit me right away.

After cracking open my PBR can, I started talking to a vivacious brunette, who cried, "Ban that shit. Fuck that." Lucinda Wandfluh, a pretty 38-year-old smoker, understands what it does to other people. "I was in New York, and there were 30 people outside smoking," she said. "Everyone thought it would kill business — it does not. Just put a coat on and go outside."

Located on Broadway near 39th Street, the double-C is in a building covered in beige siding, and it prefers to remain anonymous to strangers. The neon beer signs behind the barred windows are the only indicators that alcohol is served to the general public. One table over from Lucinda sat 33-year-old Frederico Romero with his friends, building a beeramid out of PBR and Miller Lite cans. Frederico, a native of Peru, was clad in a light-gray corduroy jacket. He disagreed with Lucinda.

"A place like this should be a spot for smoking. It [the ban] will change the whole concept of a bar," he said. "The thing about smoking is that it's a choice. Just like if you come into this bar, you can leave after five minutes if you don't smoke."

Chez Charlie is a hipsterish hangout, and its interior feels like a '70s rec room. A black Naugahyde bench lines one wall, and dartboards dot the others. In one corner, James "Superwolf" Trotter spun some vinyl, next to an old-school jukebox loaded with classic 45s.