14 Store Road, Tuxedo Park \ @_reggiebar_ on Instagram
What this town really needs is a bar,” has long been a popular sentiment among residents of Tuxedo, a quaint Orange County village known more for its hiking and biking trails than its boozy hot spots. But their wish came true—thanks to Brad Ewing, a Tuxedo Park resident and the proprietor behind Reggie Bar, a chill, art-infused canteen located along bustling Route 17.
“I hoped that someone would open something interesting when The Junction closed,” says Ewing, referring to The Tuxedo Junction Inn, a hangout that shuttered several years ago. “I thought, ‘how hard would it be, really?’”
Not too difficult it turns out. Ewing, a printmaker and former adjunct professor at the Pratt Institute in Brooklyn, enlisted his artist friends Grayson Cox and Alex Russi to help transform the space into a gallery and watering hole. A reclaimed marble top bar designed by Cox and Russi is the focal point of the room, where guests can sip on a curated list of Spanish wines (the Izadi “Larrosa” Rosado 2020 rosé is particularly tasty) and small batch beer like Newburgh Brewing Company’s Megaboss and Brown Ale. There’s also a small food menu—think charcuterie, sandwiches, and spiced nuts—provided by Dottie Audrey’s, a fan-favorite brunch and lunch spot right down the road.
The name and nondescript sign out front featuring a horizontal line of colored squares is a nod to a term used to describe how the colors line up when printing artwork. “When things are printed correctly it’s called good registration so a lot of printers use what’s called a reggie bar,” says Ewing. “It’s a quiet shout-out to the print community. Nerdiness runs deep here.” And so does creativity: Paintings and sculptures are on display and for sale. Prints by German painter Arno Beck are currently on display through September.
Besides a $500 handmade, personalized glass (which if purchased, includes unlimited drinks for a year), prices are very reasonable— under $10 for a glass of wine and $7 for beer. “It’s so good to stand back here and see all of the people I’ve met—from plumbers to artists—sitting here, chatting away,” says Ewing. “People had no place to go here. And now they do.”