Doug Quinn, the beloved bartender who helmed P.J. Clarke’s for nearly a decade, is gearing up for war.

“I want to create an army of Doug Quinns,” says Quinn, who was fired from Clarke’s in June 2012.

Rather than retreat after an unceremonious ouster, the tapster has gone on the offensive.

Last month, he opened his own Midtown East saloon, Hudson Malone, in a two-story space at 218 E. 53rd St.

It sits — conveniently, depending on whom you ask — a mere two blocks south of the original Clarke’s at 915 Third Ave.

“Darling, if I could’ve been next door to P.J. Clarke’s, I would have, to be perfectly honest with you,” says Quinn, gussied up on a recent Thursday night in one of his signature Turnbull & Asser bow ties.

“You walk into P.J. Clarke’s and the New Yorkers aren’t really there. You know?” says the fast-talking, 46-year-old Quinn, who rises from his seat to scan the crowd at regular 30-second intervals.

“This place will be a ‘New York joint.’ I don’t think they really exist so much anymore,” Quinn says.

He suddenly jumps up like a soldier springing into action.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to say hello to this person,” he interrupts — for the fourth time that night — sprinting to a suited man he hasn’t seen in months.

“Give me a hug, sweet peach,” Quinn says, patting the 50-something gentleman on the back and hopping behind the bar in one fluid movement. Within seconds, as if by magic, “Sweet Peach” has a martini in hand, glistening with shards of ice that Quinn says “you can skate on.”

Sweet Peach is just one of the many fans and admirers who have followed Quinn to Hudson Malone.

After all, Quinn has become something of a mythical creature among the city’s most elite and discerning drinkers, famed for his uncanny ability to remember every customer’s drink . . . and life story.

And for being able to pour a dozen cocktails at once, all while keeping a firm eye on the door.

“I mean, listen, some people say I’m gifted,” says Quinn. “You know, I’m blessed and I’m gifted with certain things. Yeah. But I also work hard, too.”

If customers’ loyalty is any indication, the hard work pays off.

“I go where he goes,” says 37-year-old Shane Clifford, a former Clarke’s regular who boycotted the joint the night it tossed Quinn out.

“I look back at ‘Cheers’ and Doug’s the bartender that knows everybody’s name. He’s the Ted Danson of New York City!”

Which just might’ve been the problem.

“I was building a brand [at Clarke’s] . . . and maybe, in some respect, they didn’t want me to be the brand,” says Quinn.

“My relationship with [owner Philip Scotti] was always very contentious,” he admits. “I don’t think he’s used to a guy who will tell him to go f - - k himself, you know? There was a lot of nonsense going on there.”

According to Quinn, the “tipping point” occurred when a drunken patron allegedly groped female customers.

Quinn wanted the offender kicked out on the spot. Instead, a newly hired general manager at Clarke’s bought the rowdy client items from the raw bar and “kissed his hiney,” according to Quinn.

“I told the [general manager], he can’t have any raw bar, you’ve got to get him out, because he’s going to get clobbered . . . and this is an insult to every woman who’s ever stepped foot in this place while Doug Quinn has been behind the bar.”

Instead, Quinn was kicked to the curb, mid-shift.

“You know, you want to fire me? Take me out for lunch, fire me. Shake my hand. We’re friends,” says Quinn.

“George Steinbrenner doesn’t come out in the middle of the game and fire Derek Jeter in the seventh inning.”

(A rep for P.J. Clarke’s refused to comment on any of Quinn’s allegations.)

Quinn didn’t spend too much time mourning.

In October, he leased the spot where Hudson Malone now sits — previously home to a succession of frat-tastic, all-you-can-drink dens of debauchery.

Then he simply spread the word.

“I didn’t realize how many thousands of people I know,” Quinn says. “I’ve been everywhere in the world, and wherever I go, people will say, ‘Hey, Doug Quinn.’ People tell me how something I did touched their life,” he says. (While at Clarke’s, he introduced at least 10 men to their future wives.)

“You know what’s wonderful?” asks Quinn. “This kid came in here last week, this kid Tom, and he said, ‘Doug Quinn the legendary bartender served me my first drink at P.J. Clarke’s.’ You know? And then he goes, ‘But I drink here now.’ ”

“Here” is an old-school saloon (jukebox included) where Quinn’s bow-tie collection hangs behind the bar, men outnumber women 60 to 1 and portraits of bar-owning luminaries Joe Allen and Elaine Kaufman hang on the walls alongside a chalkboard scrawled with “Quinn’s Laws,” which include “Stand Tall. Choose Sides,” “Mediocrity Sucks,” and “I’d Rather Die on My Feet than Live on My Knees.”

(Find the bar by a vintage “Eva’s Dress Shop” sign temporarily hanging out front; a proper Hudson Malone logo is on its way.)

“It’s pretty simple,” he says of saloon etiquette, where the mainstays are “Treat people the way you want to be treated” and “Take pride in what you do.”

Quinn hopes to expand on his “brand of hospitality,” whether that means erecting another Hudson Malone or opening a Quinn & Sons steakhouse.

“I have a lot of visions,” he explains.

And as for P.J. Clarke’s, he has no hard feelings.

“Listen, I love P.J. Clarke’s. I put my heart and my soul into that. That’s what Doug Quinn’s about. You put your hiney out there. You put your heart and soul into everything. And sometimes that bites me in the butt.”

In fact, he’s such a good sport, he’d like to take the old place off Scotti’s hands.

“I’d like to go back there and buy the place at some point,” he says. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We have a lot of work to do here first.”

In the meantime, he’s just happy keeping that saloon spark aglow.

“I’m just a facilitator,” says Quinn.

“I create magic, that’s what I do.”