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Behind the bars at The Walrus Club there is no attitude, rather attendants who pine for an era where a Manhattan, old fashioned and straight up was made with love, and the patron enjoyed the wait. These are those who pour neats and can tell the flight from the aroma, blindfolded. When it comes to their drinks, and only their drinks, they prefer the pure and the rare, to the transient and corrupt. They don’t ask questions, they don’t tell secrets.