I dropped a book off at the little free library near my apartment and a passerby stopped to ask if it was any good. The novel, Russian Gothic, is dark and horrible. The woman walked away, calling over her shoulder, “I get enough of that in the news!” I commiserated. I had started the month hoping to find a bar where I could dive into politics, asking my fellow drinkers about how they were feeling about the state of the world, what they were worried about, and who they would vote for in the mayoral election.
But then the month seemed to drag on with ever more bad news, from the tariff-shocked stock market and federal budget cuts to much needed services, to family drama and work woes. Forlorn, by the third week of April I eschewed bars where I’d find politics for someplace where I could just relax—I headed to Cellar 36.
Nestled on Market Street in Two Bridges, just around the corner from hip Golden Diner and divey Mr. Fong’s, is Cellar 36.
Co-owners Nodar Toronjadze and Fernando Martinez opened the wine bar in July 2023. His smile audible over the phone, Toronjadze explained that the bar is named for the street address, the cellar (where patrons are often brought to see the wine for themselves), to “Simplify things… and because we couldn’t think of anything else.”
The pair met while working at The Ten Bells, a well-known wine bar on Broome Street. After nearly a decade of working together and with wine producers, they set out to create the most impressive wine list in the city.
Speaking in his free-spirited voice, Nodar admitted that when he started at The Ten Bells, his level of technical knowledge of wine was zero, but his consumption level? Very high.
Originally from Georgia, he grew up surrounded by grapes, juice, and wine. Then, once he joined the industry, he quickly started noting which bottles he preferred, which led to an interest in who was making them. An added perk to opting for a wine bar? “Fewer fights in wine bars.”
Cellar 36’s laid back vibe is more than an extension of Nodar’s personality—it was a decision by him and Martinez. “The general idea was to just create a good space; a simple, light environment to just come hang out in. That’s the culture. Mexico and Georgia [where he and Martinez are from] are crazy countries in some ways, but very open.” This openness, for example, explains their decision not to have an Open Table account; instead, anyone can stop by and enjoy the atmosphere, no reservation required.
Mandarin characters from the previous business are still faintly visible on the glass front doors. The inside is minimalist, with tan walls, light wood, and giant bouquets of white lilies whose scent wafts through the entire space. The open shelves are lined with empty wine bottles and plain glasses. Everything is perfectly clean and unfussy.
Outside, the team has recently added a small streetside dining shed for the season and a few foldable tables. As nondescript as its outdoor dining setup may be, the lighting and the inevitable few tables of friends sitting back with glasses of wine, conjure up images of staying out late on a summer evening once the temperatures get balmy, and drinking wine with friends.
A daily happy hour from 5 to 7 pm includes $1 oysters and glasses ($7) or carafes ($20) of French wines (either Chardonnay, Côtes du Rhône, or a rosé Grenache/Cinsault).
Despite the allure of a good deal, it’s difficult not to look beyond the happy hour menu at the curious list of wines from around the world, provided on a thick pile of plain, white printer paper without decoration. Bottles of Georgian orange wine, an artisanal French beer made from elderflowers, and sweet wine liquors that are served in 2-ounce pours in flavors like quince and walnut are only a few of the interesting options.
“This is just…nice” a friend said, as we walked into Cellar 36 one afternoon, Coldplay playing softly in the background. When he looked at Cellar 36’s Instagram account, he was impressed by how many people he followed who also followed the wine bar, including “that actor who was in that gay Georgian movie like 5 years ago.”
I wasn’t sure who that was, but it was increasingly clear that as un-hip as I may be, I’d stumbled upon something quite trendy. Rather than continue to imbibe after an initial glass of wine, I opted for a non-alcoholic Nordic beverage made of lingonberries and infused with birch leaves, rosemary, and lemongrass; “It smells like Michael’s,” my friend noted as he sniffed my glass. Once settled, we relaxed and dove into discussing our lives.
The food
On another evening when I was less virtuous, the tapas-style food menu beckoned. For $5, you can have a plate of about 4-5 thick pieces of fresh bread from La Cabra Bakery, butter smeared liberally beside it. Charcuterie, sausages, cheeses, pickles, and a few other odds and ends are also available—perfect plates for sipping snacks, but also varied enough for a picnic-y meal.
As salsa music pulsed in the background, a father with two children made dinner of the tapas menu; a man with a gold earring and brown leather jacket sat with a glass of white wine, waiting for his date; a middle-aged woman in a wrap-dress walked in and demanded a seat somewhere outside, but far from two men who were smoking because she was “allergic”; a group of friends ordered a carafe and 60 oysters.
My boyfriend arrived in his uniform of khaki shorts and a Hanes T-shirt. Looking around at the other patrons, he greeted me, then quickly asked whether he was allowed inside dressed as he was. I confirmed that the bar was hip, but not snooty. Another friend arrived and we ordered a carafe and multiple plates. Thus prepared, we got busy catching up.
Chilled out and intimate
On a final visit, I walked up to Cellar 36 after work alone, planning to speak with other oenophiles. Each table outside was filled with friends chatting quietly. Everyone seemed chilled out and intimate. I imagined myself lurching up to the closest couple, towering over them and peppering them with questions about how they found out about the bar and what they’d chosen to drink. Instead, not wanting to interrupt their confidential little groups, I walked on.
According to a recent article by Julian Barnes in the London Review of Books, “France in 1900 was an anxious and self-critical place,” and by the First World War, it was a liberal supply of wine provided to French soldiers by their government that “kept the men cheerful and able to put up with foul conditions.”
Life in the second millennium is vastly easier for most of us than it would have been a century ago, and I am thankful to have never had to witness war firsthand. Nevertheless, even in 21st century America, wine, paired with a good friend or two, still seems to make even daily challenges more bearable.
