The Proper Way to Close a Bar William Brinson for The New York Times; Food stylist: Suzanne Lenzer. Prop stylist: Maeve Sheridan. A Venezuela Libre, a variation on the Cuba Libre. For a few minutes, it felt as if we really might go through with it. This must've been 1996. It was past closing time at the Liquor Store (a much-missed TriBeCa corner bar). An indulgent bartender dimmed the lights and locked the door and let a few regulars stay. After many hours of drinking and talking, crazy notions take hold, and two painters and I got it in our heads that we should catch a cab as soon as the sun rose, go straight to J.F.K. and get on whatever flight would take us the farthest, cheapest. But in that bright light of day, we realized that, for us, cheapest couldn't possibly be cheap enough. With one credit card and about $30 in cash among us, our dream was quickly dashed. But it was a good dream while it lasted. Recipe: Venezuela Libre Jack McGarry of the Dead Rabbit, a sublime new Manhattan bar, recommends a variation on the Cuba Libre. 1 1/2 ounces Santa Teresa ""1796"" Solera Rum 1/2 ounce Fernet Branca 1 dash Angostura bitters To a highball glass, add the rum, Fernet Branca and bitters; add ice, then fill the balance with Mexican cane cola. Garnish with lime wedge. If day drinking is the most freewheeling way to occupy space on a bar stool, late-late-night drinking is the deepest and, frequently, the weirdest. It can feel a bit like detention, if you can imagine something like a deliberate detention - for grown-ups, with drinks. This is when the guy in the pajamas bursts through the door - and explains nothing. When the lawyer tells you he's heading straight to court - just as soon as he finishes his whiskey. At such times, a dark, heavy shadow can cast itself over a bar that had been bright and buzzing only hours earlier. But that's not a bad thing - if you don't mind a downbeat vibe with your late-night drinking. I don't. This is when the reckonings happen. The most important conversation I ever had at a bar happened well after 1 a.m., many years ago, when a friend planted a hand on my shoulder and told me to stop spending so much time in bars. (You might not believe it, but I listened. Now I close a bar down about once a year, out of nothing but happenstance. And once in a while, nothing feels better.) The world seems to wind down quietly, with stillness. Time isn't quite time. And I drink what I think of as slowdown drinks, even slower than the good whiskey I prefer as a nightcap. Is there a "right" drink at 3 a.m.? To each his or her own, but in those final barroom hours, plenty of restaurant workers are out, too, and I follow their lead on the late-night liquor front. Something bitter, like Fernet Branca, to soothe the stomach and still the nerves. Or a bit of spicy Becherovka, the Czech herbal liqueur, also credited with tonic properties. A little fizz is welcome, too - a straightforward beer, even, or a good splash of soda to lighten the spirits (so to speak). Or just one long drink to linger over, like the one pictured here. And then the bartender says it's last call, for real this time. And I wonder what would've happened if we'd had the money to take that flight to somewhere.