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Barred: The Mayflower
When: Saturday, 11:22pm
What did I drink? Manhattan, Velasco (mezcal, mint, sweet vermouth, maraschino) $10 each.So many Mays so suddenly: Mayfield, the Crown Heights restaurant, Maysville, the Flatiron’s Char no. 4 spinoff, and The Mayflower (sometimes referred to as Mayflower Social) the tiny pseudo-speakeasy behind Aita in Clinton Hill.
If you ask someone, even an area resident, if they’ve head of it, it’s likely the answer will be no. The 25-seater (five being little stools smooshed at the bar) doesn’t draw the masses, which is good because the slightly hidden (there is a sign, though there wasn’t one originally) bar isn’t much bigger than a typical NYC bedroom.
Clientele generally ranges from early 30s downward, and despite the Brooklyn address, the beardo factor is low-to-nonexistent, as happens the farther you stray from the L train. The fact that you can hear yourself speak over the music (Joanna Newsom, Hall and Oates) often means that there will be at least one table with an older (not old) couple. On a separate night, Jonathan Ames and a lady friend filled that quota.
I don’t think the real Jonathan Ames drinks–and certainly not white wine–does he?
Was I carded? No. Despite the small size, it can get a little hairy if more than one party wants drinks at the same time, so there’s no time for the bartender to ID check.
Age appropriate? Yes, but it tends to attract couples and groups of couples, so the odds of meeting strangers are slim.Photo credit: fuck yeah schwartzmans. Fuck yeah, I know I’m supposed to reblog, but I’m old school.
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Barred: Reynard
When: Monday, 8:29pm
What did I drink? Last Word (gin, chartreuse, maraschino, lime juice) $14I’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. -
Barred: The Dead Rabbit
When: Tuesday, 6:11pm
What did I drink? Maidens Blush (see below) $12, Gladstone (rye, parfait amour, caraway aquavit) $14.Leaving the 11211 zip code, going out before 9pm and avoiding weekends is an advisable tactic. I’m only sad that Dead Rabbit showed up a block from my office right as I’m moving into a building that will have a Señor Frog’s on the ground floor.
Amidst all the grown frattiness of Stone Street and the disappointment that was Demi Monde, Dead Rabbit gets everything right. Not only are you given a cool glass of water, the hallmark of the adult bar, but also a teacup of welcome punch. It sets the tone. The dim, flattering lighting, minimal cell phone absorption and seated parties only, added to the pluses. And importantly, the bar stools turned out to be plush leather 2×2 seats (even the cranks at Mouthfuls would approve).
Working theory #2: the more expensive the drinks, the more mature (or douchey, depending) the audience. $14 cocktails ensure plenty of suits and quite a few over-50s.
From 5pm-7pm, though, there are dollar oysters and $12 specials like the Maidens Blush (Ransom Old Tom Gin, Pernod absinthe, lemon, raspberry cordial, rose water, orange bitters) which is not a delicate drink, despite the name but brown and intense. Two straight-up cocktails are enough to work their magic and get you home at a respectable hour.
Was I carded? No, I encounter that far less in Manhattan, but there was an Irish doorman, presumably for crowd control.
Age appropriate? Highly. Mission finally accomplished. For a brief period, we could’ve sworn our group consisting of two 40-year-old women and a token 36, were the youngest in the room. -
Barred: Dram
When: 9:38pm on a Friday, and 12:20am on a separate Friday
Drinks: Makers on the rocks, a mildly unseasonal Leaves Do Fall (gin, Meletti amaro, pear eau de vie, amontillado, orange bitters) $10Perhaps because it s not as new as OTB or as small as Post Office, both nearby choices, I’ve been able to get a seat (old people need to sit) on a weekend on both recent visits. There are nice drinks at relatively sane prices and food like the kimchi dumplings (which I’ve had) and the masala popcorn (which I haven’t) that makes the whole bar smell sweet and cause patrons to exclaim that they can smell Eggos. Small plates, sherry and digestifs are indicators that a bar might be age appropriate–even if no one appears to be over 32–and serving a cold glass of water with a cocktail clinches it.
I’m not sure if Ferris Bueller being projected on the wall was intended for those who’d originally seen it in the theater to reminisce/feel ancient or to give pop culture retroists a charge (same for the Fugazi playing one evening).
Ladytron’s “Seventeen," echoing on visit one, couldn’t have been more apt."They only want you when you’re 17. When you’re 21, you’re no fun.” (And best sad YouTube comment: “I am fifteen i don’t want to be old D:”)
My mission was saved when a 50-ish Mr. Belvedere-ish man in a wool overcoat stepped in the door just as I was about to leave. Then again, it’s different for men. I was with a gentleman celebrating his 43rd birthday and he couldn’t fathom why being the oldest person in a room would be an issue.
Was I carded? Yes, both times by the nice (but tough to the card-less) bouncer who reminded me of an Irish boxer (not one in particular, but the genre I just invented in my mind) who was the most mature looking person in the bar and yet probably no more than 36.
Age Appropriate? Not technically, but the vibe isn’t egregious. A friend brought 60-somethings and they had a nice time.