Another round, bartender!
A quarter century ago, Siberia, the infamous bar run by Tracy Westmoreland, stood as a quintessential Big Apple dive.
Known for its hard drinks, cold beer and environs he once lovingly described as an absolute “s–thole,” it was a favorite for a who’s-who of high and low New York characters, including Anthony Bourdain — who called it “heaven on Earth” — and late-night host Jimmy Fallon, to name just two.
Now, after a period of hibernation since the closing of its second iteration in 2007, the free-wheelin’ watering hole has sprouted back up like fresh beer from a long-dormant tap.
To the delight of its legion of fans and thirsty revelers, Siberia’s third life reopened last month, deep below the street in an intimate space in the 57th and Eighth subway station.
“Siberia is a bar that welcomes everybody,” Westmoreland told The Post of his secret to success, in between sips of a Captain Morgan and soda.
“It’s a place where famous writers would sit next to down-and-out strippers. If you’re cool, come on in, and stay out if you’re a bigot, a–hole or racist.”
Just don’t expect a pristine paradise: At Siberia, past and present, the grime and nautiness are its calling card, and the color red is a jarring constant.
“People are going to have to be good here. People would literally be having sex on the bar,” Westmoreland recalled to The Post, adding that the new place would be “the sanitized, kosherized version.”
Not that it will be overrun by, say, business bros in suits.
“We’ll get the freaks,” he declared.
He also said he even got assistance from the Metropolitan Transportation Authority in getting a license for a late closing time — 4 a.m. — from the community board.
“The MTA is so cool — they wanted this here so bad,” he said. “The MTA asked for it. A lot of people wanted it.”
Outside, there’s still a sign for the subway hideaway’s former tenant, Gotham Tacos. Inside, the tight quarters are illuminated by low-hanging, colorful fixtures installed by Westmoreland that emit a red glow over tipsy patrons.
The crimson color has been a Siberia theme; the windows that look out onto the train station are covered in red curtains to block a view for passersby when the front door isn’t propped open.
At the original Siberia, patrons would know the bar was open when a red bulb outside was turned on.
‘Everyone has a good time’
One recent, hazy night at the new Siberia — the wall behind the bar lined with gritty, painted portraits of locals by Hell’s Kitchen artist Dana Nehdaran — a jukebox blared and crowds passed by outside, rushing to catch the nearby 1, A, C, B and D subway lines.
Westmoreland made his way around the room in bare feet, proudly welcoming back patrons he hadn’t seen for the better part of two decades.
“Siberia and Tracy are inseparable, so if you talk about Siberia, you’re talking about Tracy,” “The Sopranos” actor Michael Imperioli, an early Siberia disciple, told The Post.
“Everyone has a good time. I once took (James) Gandolfini there and he loved it,” Imperioli said of his late co-star.
“It’s Tracy’s vision and his living room, and he welcomes kings and paupers alike.”
He refers to Westmoreland as “the grungy Toots Shor,” the ’50s-era nightlife impresario who was close with the stars and gangsters of the day.
“Tracy’s the quintessential New York saloon keeper, and that’s a dying breed,” said Imperioli.
“More and more of these places are part of a restaurant group, but this is one guy’s vision, and everything stems from him.”
“Tracy is a legend,” agreed a thirsty, Bud Light-sipping reveler also named Michael, who was found at the bar recently by The Post. “I’m so glad he’s back.”
Clearing out crack vials
Westmoreland’s youth is rooted in legendary New York nightlife.
He was just 18 when he landed a job doing security at Studio 54 for its notorious owner Steve Rubell.
“Steve was just crazy,” recalled Westmoreland of Rubell, who died in 1989.
“He liked drugs, he liked d–k, and he wasn’t shy about it.”
By the ’90s, after a stint at legendary club the Palladium, he decided to strike out on his own.
A Russian friend named Yuri recommended a space inside the Broadway and 50th Street station, where Westmoreland found an absolute mess, a former Kung-Fu-themed hip-hop bar whose floors were covered in “hundreds of crack vials.”
He soon discovered it was a former haunt of Samuel L. Jackson before the future actor cleaned up in rehab. Westmoreland even found an autographed photo of Jackson amidst the rubble.
“I said, ‘This is perfect!’ So I threw out the crack vials, painted it red, and put the bar here.”
With that, Siberia was born in 1996.
Drinks were served out of a cooler, and a jukebox was always on — and Bourdain was a fan of the latter.
“Bourdain loved the jukebox. He brought 10 CDs in — he brought the New York Dolls, The Ramones — the punk stuff he was into. We only had 100 CDs.
Siberia’s chilly name is a nod to Yuri; he was half-Siberian. When Westmoreland got business cards made up, his title was “Minister of Propaganda.”
But its Russian ties were far deeper than he realized.
He heard rumors that the site was an old dead-drop zone for the KGB — used for exchanging secret packages and information — which turned out to be true after Westmoreland found KGB paraphernalia in the walls.
Everyone is welcome – except ‘meatheads’
“Deep in the steaming entrails” of the subway, as Bourdain once described its location, Siberia’s first iteration quickly became a go-to hangout for a variety of high- and low-powered Midtown characters.
“In the mid-’90s was when I first stumbled into Siberia, which is how most people discovered it,” remembered Imperioli, who later featured Westmoreland in his 2009 directorial debut “The Hungry Ghosts.”
“I walked in, and the last thing I was expecting was a bar. This was before speakeasies became a gimmick.”
As Westmoreland once noted: “If you can’t find the place, you aren’t smart enough to be here.”
“Back then, we had newspapers covering the windows, and the only indication we were open was a red light outside,” said Westmoreland of the dingy secret space.
Imperoli reminisced that he was taken by Westmoreland’s attitude.
“If he doesn’t know you, he immediately makes you feel like you are one of those people that he knows. He’s just so welcoming, gregarious, fun and non-judgmental.”
Within reason, that is.
One night during its heyday, a group of unsavory characters came in whom Westmoreland didn’t take to.
“There were 70 people there, but 20 needed to go,” said Westmoreland, calling them “meatheads.”
With that, Westmoreland announced last call.
“We turned on the lights, all walked out, saw them off, and me and my regulars walked around the block and went back inside.”
Other times, Westmoreland would tell his bartender to broadcast hardcore gay pornography to its unsuspecting, rude, macho patrons he wanted to flush out.
“All of a sudden, the TV goes from a beautiful Fellini-esque scene to one guy eating another guy’s a–,” Westmoreland remembered with a laugh. “They were, like, ‘Boys, let’s get out of here!’”
Thanks to its location steps away from the offices of Hearst, The New York Times and NBC, Siberia built up a high-powered cache of heavy-hitting media clientele.
The Times even referred to it as “a place where everybody knows your byline.”
“It was the size of a shipping container,” said the Fox News host Greg Gutfeld during an August appearance on “The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon” in which he spoke of the bar’s early days.
Westmoreland, Gutfeld said, “looks like a cross between a Viking and a larger Viking.” Gutfeld later made him the official “nightlife correspondent” on his Fox show “Red Eye.”
Fallon, meanwhile, then a fresh-faced comedian and new featured player on “Saturday Night Live” in 1998, also became close with Westmoreland.
The “SNL” alum supported him through a location change from 50th Street to a dilapidated nook by the Port Authority subway station, even helping to relocate Siberia’s bulky “nicotine-stained jukebox.”
“He’s the same guy today as he was when I first met him,” said Westmoreland of the “Tonight Show” host.
‘I got him, and he got me’
Westmoreland got to know Bourdain (“Tony,” as he was known among friends) when the future TV personality would stop by Siberia to relax after his sweaty shifts in nearby kitchens, including Sullivan’s, named after the TV host Ed.
Bourdain fell madly in love with Siberia, once proclaiming: “You never know who’s going to be draped over couches or listening to live bands in the dungeon-like cellar — rock-and-rollers, off-duty cops, drunken journos, cast and crew from ‘Saturday Night Live,’ slumming fashionistas, post-work chefs.”
“I got him, and he got me,” Westmoreland mused of their friendship to The Post.
“He would come in late at night and always drink Heinekens,” he said, remembering that when Bourdain couldn’t make it, he’d have waiters walk over freshly-cooked food, complete with plates and utensils.
Westmoreland is the one who encouraged Bourdain to write what he knew.
“He was just a cook, but he was writing crime novels back then. I told him, ‘I’m gonna bar you from here if you keep writing these novels. You’re not a gangster. You’re a cook!’ ”
Westmoreland still remembers the day he came in with a contract to write about restaurant life with his trademark acerbic style, which would become his star-making “Kitchen Confidential.” Westmoreland’s name appears in the acknowledgments.
Their boozy bond went so deep that Bourdain tried to talk Westmoreland into opening another location of the dive on the idyllic island of St. Martin.
“We were going to call it Siberia South, but I just didn’t want to leave New York.”
When Westmoreland was forced to close his first iteration in 2001, thanks to the Rockefeller Group pushing him out of his lease, Bourdain, who died in 2018, didn’t mince words.
“Once again, the evil Rockefellers, much like Attica, have put their foot on the working classes. These imperial rat bags should be hunted down and neutered,” he subtly said at the time.
Third time’s the charm?
In recent years, Westmoreland had been working the door at another famed Hell’s Kitchen dive, Rudy’s.
But when he heard about an open subway space, harkening back to Siberia’s roots, he jumped at the chance.
Even though it’s been 20 years and much has changed in the neighborhood, little has at the new Siberia.
There’s still no bathroom — there’s only one available for employees — while the bare-bones speed rack has liquor and beer, including Heineken, just as Bourdain would have liked.
There is one key upgrade: Amateur DJs can now whip out their smartphone to control the soundtrack via an app-enabled TouchTunes jukebox, which on a recent night blasted everything from punk to Christmas music and Frank Sinatra.
“People talk about how gentrification is bad, but at least now you can walk around outside in Hell’s Kitchen,” Westmoreland said of the area.
“It used to be all chalk outlines and pimps. And they were hysterical, by the way, with their shoes and leather hats.”
With the hindsight of years behind him, Westmoreland got teary-eyed about his continuing legacy.
“I’m just a f–king guy from the Rockaways, and I’m hanging out with the smartest people on the planet,” he said before finishing his Captain and soda. “That’s the great thing about New York City.”
