s many of you know, I'm often at odds with what appears in this magazine. Two months ago, we ran a feature about bars in Philadelphia, and I felt that it was off the mark on the choices. It also never clearly defined what makes a bar good. Frankly, I don't know why our editors didn't ask me to write the piece, since I've spent more time hanging out in saloons than the entire staff combined.

It's my opinion that the best bars are pure theater. They must be immaculately clean, with sparkling, elegant barware; the back bar should be able to withstand the white-glove treatment over the gleaming surfaces. There are no drink-spritzing guns; drinks are mixed carefully before you, the old-fashioned way. (Richard Santore, owner of Saloon, feels that beverage guns are unsanitary and provide inconsistent quality.} A great bar is a perfect set to a great play in which the bartender is both the director and main actor, and it's a role that requires a man!

He should be of at 1east a certain age, with an inscrutable face. He knows more than most psychiatrists and reveals less, judging your mood before you even sit down - maybe you need a joke; maybe you just want a whiskey. He is, in other words, the world's best party host. A good bartender never reveals much about himself, but he knows plenty about his customers. Yet the next time you slide onto one of his stools, all he seems to know is your name and what you're drinking. What an art! In a sane world, bartenders' social ranking would be well above lawyers and just a notch below a great physician.

So here's my informal, incomplete list of great bars that offer something special:

> The Swann Lounge at the Four Seasons. A very chic, sophisticated, gorgeous room with a marble bar. The accoutrements sparkle, and the barmen always remember what you order.

> The Boathouse in Lambertville. A small asphalt-shingled shack, it's on the opposite end of the chic-bar spectrum-at least from the outside. But it's as drop-dead cozy and warm inside as any Ralph Lauren interior, with prints and models of ships providing a sharp boating motif.

> Saloon, South 7th Street. A very comfortable polished-wood atmosphere, with Philadelphia memorabilia everywhere: an oil painting of the charter members of the Philadelphia Bourse; a large reclining - nude painting by Robert Susann (a Main Line artist, and Jacqueline's father}; an 1870 bronze eagle from the old Fox's New American Theatre. A room to melt in for hours.

> The Old Guard House Inn in Gladwyne. Walk back in time: a rustic, warm room where large animal heads peer down meditatively from the walls.

> The Prime Rib, Center City. What E1 Morocco must have been like in the late '40s - an elegant room with leopard-skin carpets and black-lacquer piano and furniture. It's a long bar with an exceptional back bar.

> Steve & Cookie's in Margate. Two great bartenders-George Patten and Bruce Gehringer - often work as a team in the piano bar. George has a voice out of central casting - all smoke and gravel - and he can simultaneously snap a starched napkin into place for someone's dinner, nod hello to an arriving couple, and tell you a joke just on the edge of dirty.

What Bruce and George do in their easy formality creates a wonderful atmosphere. My wife and I will go into Steve & Cookie's for a drink, end up having dinner at the bar, and get into several wide-ranging conversations with people we meet; suddenly, a few hours later, we're back at home, where we turn to each other and say, "Now wasn't that a great party!"

A great bar is an oasis in an uncivil world. It's a place to unwind, have a perfect martini, and watch an expert barman simultaneously perform and take care of you. A place to feel that time is, for once, on your side.