Barred: Reynard

When: Monday, 8:29pm
What did I drink? Last Word (gin, chartreuse, maraschino, lime juice) $14

I’m still not clear whether there is an S or not at the end Reynard since it’s spelled both ways on the Wythe Hotel’s website. I will stick with Reynard out of fear of sounding like the sort who says Nordstroms or Barnes & Nobles (Tim Hortons, however, is correct and always throws me off) even though I totally am that sort at my core. A business shouldn’t confuse old people like that.


The restaurant bar (not the rooftop lounge referenced in New York’s Eloise parody–I wouldn’t guess that anyone in that illustration is a day over 33, would you?) was a civilized place to be on a weeknight, further reinforcing the now obvious theory that weeknights trump weekends. The crowd mellowing in proportion to the price of a drink (clubs, excluded) is also a growing truth.

I have yet to touch on the viability of male patrons (which while not the main focus, is a subtext of this venture). Reynard is certainly no Arlington Club, though it wouldn’t have been completely out of line to strike up a conversation with the silver-streaked but not elderly gentlemen reading a book (because I’m bad at this, I didn’t even notice what he was reading–you would want to be careful about Proof of Heaven or similar) or the solo dining Asian man who gave off a food-knowledgeable vibe even though he was quiet (no, I’m not saying Chinese are mystical and/or wise).


Lest you get too comfortable with the adult atmosphere, a Girls billboard, kitty corner, looms out of the dark as you exit.

Was I carded? No, it’s a restaurant not a kegger. The doorman (not Irish or Irish-looking this time) was imposing enough to keep interlopers at bay.
Age Appropriate? Yes, plain and simple.

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