The Great Train Revelry, Part III: The Hudson Line

Trainjotting examined the first two parts of InTown Magazine’s “The Great Train Revelry,” covering the pubs along the Harlem Line and the New Haven Line, earlier this week. Here, ladies and gentlemen, is the third and final installment: the Hudson Line.

Of the three rail routes, the Hudson Line is the hands-down winner in the looks department, thanks to that snaking body of water to the west. It’s the pub crawl that’s best suited to the daylight hours; if you’re heading out of the city, be sure to snag a seat facing front-left for full visual pleasure.

The boxy warehouses of Yonkers give way to the leafy greensward of Hastings-on-Hudson, and we disembark. We head up the hill on Southside Avenue, and have barely hit 100 steps before we’re inside the impossibly cozy Maud’s Tavern, every bit J.C. Fogarty’s rival for “Most Charming Joint You’ve Ever Seen.” Bartender James Dale serves up a hearty pint of our beloved Captain Lawrence. A man comes in and grabs the stool next to us. James deposits a Beck’s before he says a word.

When he does speak, Chris has a thick Liverpool accent. He was transferred from Britain to Westchester and bides his time in Maud’s until his wife scores her visa. He lives just a block away. “It’s easy,” Chris says of his own nightly pub crawl. “Too easy.”

Before we get too comfortable—because Maud’s is just that kind of place—we head back down the hill, then hop the next train for Dobbs Ferry. Unlike the previous two legs of the crawl, there’s a certain fitness level required to conquer the hills of Main Street, and I .nd myself wishing I’d spent more time at the NY Sports Club on 9A in Hawthorne, instead of the Applebee’s across the parking lot.

Dale had recommended the Celtic Corner—and it does indeed look appealing—but we’re conserving energy at this point, and Austin’s Steak & Wine is a few doors closer. Oh, and the fivesome of young women laughing at the bar doesn’t hurt either.

Alas, the women are escorted to the dining room as soon as we drop anchor. But there’s college football on the plasma—New Rochelle native Ray Rice (who also happens to appear on page 46 of this issue) is hauling the rock for Rutgers—and jazz on the house system. The menu offers a selection of lighter fare, perfect for a pub crawl. We order up crab-cake po’ boys and a handful of sliders, and the barkeep pours us a delightfully hoppy creation called Goose Island Honker’s Ale. Life is good.

It’s tough to leave Dobbs, but we must press on.

Back on Metro-North, we pass Ardsley-on-Hudson and get out in Irvington. While the village’s main drag is to the east of the station, we head through the tunnel under the tracks and end up on the western side, to a long riverside warehouse that holds a trendy new restaurant (and one of InTown Westchester’s top 10 restaurants of 2007) called One.

The joint has big-city ambiance—a warehouse-on-the-water setting that looks like a more manicured version of Red Hook, Brooklyn. And the guy in the ironic glasses explaining the intricacies of a wine label might as well be a sommelier from TriBeCa. The bartender, a feisty blonde woman (Bay Ridge?), shows us the wine list. She’s pushing the quartinos—those containers that are bigger than a glass but smaller than a bottle. She’s all attitude when I opt for the glass.

The guy in the specs swirls his wine around as he describes its “notes,” the word grenache rolling off his tongue like he’s been saying it since boyhood. I close my eyes and can see Belushi, clad in a toga, smashing the man’s acoustic guitar.

We take a quick tour of the dining room, and it’s a sleek space—high ceilings, an entire wall dedicated to wine storage. The waiter gives us a brief history: One is turning two (will they change the name?). While neighbor Flirt Sushi recently went out of business, the new Red Hat outpost is a welcome addition.

After One, we cross under the tracks, get to Main Street, and start climbing the steep hill like Lance Armstrong taking on Alpe d’Huez. Night has fallen and, other than our huffing and puffing, it’s dead quiet. Going up toward town hall, we think we see yet another urban trapping—a homeless guy, long beard down to his belly. We get closer, though, and see it’s no vagabond at all, but a bronze statue of Rip Van Winkle—a hero to nappers everywhere. Fighting off a serious urge to cuddle up next to Rip for a little snooze, we reverse direction and head back to the train for our final destination.

It’s only one stop, but the spirit of Mr. Van Winkle seems to hover; it takes considerable effort to stay alert and not wake up in Cold Spring (seasoned commuters call that pulling an Accidental Tourist). The train whisks us to Tarrytown, where we’re faced with a dilemma: Schlep the few blocks—steep blocks, needless to say—up Main Street, or take the overpass and walk all of about 25 feet to Striped Bass. Our arms are a mad tangle of high fives as we cross the threshold. Mission (nearly) accomplished!

Set on the river, sailboats docked nearby, Striped Bass offers an inspiring view of the Tappan Zee. In the warmer months, the deck is open for live music, lobster rolls, and cold beer. Inside, photos of ships and giant fish line the walls. The roster from the Tarrytown Boat Club sits in a frame. We order up beers at the Bass’s ample bar and re.ect on the evening’s crawl.

There’s something about the Hudson Line that we can’t quite put our finger on, some faint itch of déjà vu—massive hills leading out of the train stations, gabled homes built into the bluffs, glittering landmark of a bridge. It’s all so… San Francisco! Suddenly I’m in the mood for some Ghirardelli chocolate and a glass of Napa pinot noir, or even just a bowl of Rice-a-Roni and an Anchor Steam. Perhaps a little Journey on the juke—that song about the lights/going down/in the ci-tay.

Eventually reclaiming my sense of place, I sit back, sip my beer, and watch the bridge twinkle overhead. The cars are rushing to get somewhere, whether it’s Westchester, Rockland, or points beyond. I scoff in the direction of the drivers, strapped in their steel boxes while we’re getting around on the rails, some shoe leather, and a bit of ingenuity.

We drain our beers and step outside. Uh… Where does a guy get a cab around here?

MAUD’S TAVERN Hastings-on-Hudson

ORDER AN Espresso Martini to boost your stamina for the homestretch.

PUB GRUB Does comfort food get any more comfortable than fried chicken with cole slaw and french fried potatoes? (149

Southside Ave.; Hastings-on-Hudson; 478-2326; maudstavern.com).

AUSTIN’S STEAK & WINE Dobbs Ferry

ORDER A Winter’s Bourbon Cask Ale, which warms the imbiber on the chilliest of eves.

PUB GRUB Steak on toast (39 Chestnut St.; Dobbs Ferry; 693-1575).

ONE Irvington

ORDER A 2005 Castle Rock cabernet—a taste of California wine country without leaving the county.

PUB GRUB A dozen Wellfleet oysters (1 Bridge St.; Irvington; 591-2233; restaurantoneny.com).

STRIPED BASS Tarrytown

ORDER A Macallan 12-year-old Scotch.

PUB GRUB Half-rack of grilled St. Louis ribs in tequila barbecue sauce (236 W. Main St.; Tarrytown; 366-4455; stripedbassny.com).