Halloween night, and the Masquerade is still hours off. Before the masks go on and the Wolves of Tenth Street take the stage, I want you somewhere quiet first. So tonight the cigar lounge opens early, at six, and it stays a little secret until the doors to the main room swing wide.
It is a small room on purpose. Twelve leather chairs, one brass lamp, rain on the back window and a humidor that our lounge keeper has been filling all week for this one night. Ask for the house pairing: a mild, slow-burning smoke with a short pour of our cask-strength bourbon, or a darker leaf with a spiced rye if you like it with a little bite.
Not a smoker? Come anyway. The coffee old fashioned is on all night, the window seats are yours, and the conversation in that room is better than anything on a screen.
The lounge kitchen is sending in small plates: dark chocolate truffles dusted with smoked salt, candied pecans, and a board of aged cheddar, fig and black pepper crackers.
At nine the lounge closes, the masks come out, and the night belongs to the Masquerade. Bring your mask from the Mask Table, or let me find you one on the way in. Twenty-one and over, as always, and the ride-home desk is by the front door.
Come early. Sit close. Let the smoke do the talking.
- Scarlett
Talk at the rail