Given the hulking barkeep’s old-timey getup, I’m going to go ahead and assume that he’s a master mixologist and that “Arthur’s” is a trendy, high-end cocktail bar full of house-made bitters and obscure brown liquors. The bowl is filled not with peanuts but with organic yam chips served with a smoked onion rémoulade. This place is so damn hip that they don’t even have barstools. Just down the bar there are probably a bunch of 20-somethings with ironic facial hair and plaid shirts drinking 12-ingredient old fashioneds. Leroy is painfully out of place, but he’s too drunk and depressed to notice.