Location: Undisclosed. Somewhere between the financial district and the waterfront. You'll know it when you find it.
First impression: the bar is too small for the number of bottles behind it. This creates a sense of abundance in scarcity—every spirit is within arm's reach, but the space forces intimacy.
- Counter: Eight seats. Copper patina. Worn smooth in the middle, rough at the edges.
- Light: Amber. Source unclear. The kind of lighting that forgives.
- Sound: Jazz, but wrong. Maybe played at the wrong speed, or from another decade entirely.
- Service: The bartender remembers your second drink before you order it.
The menu doesn't exist. You describe what you want to feel, and the bartender interprets. I asked for "the end of a long week" and received something bitter with a honey finish. Accurate.
Rating: Not applicable. Stars don't work here. This bar doesn't want to be compared. It wants to be returned to.