After the sparklers, the fireworks, the glitter, we turn soft. Fuzzy blankets, slippers, sweaters. Scarves. Snow hard on the ground this morning, with fresh powder on the horizon. I wake early enough into a darkness that turns softer in its blue, tones of pink breaking through.
If I have to go out—the luxury of working from home, having my needs met with home gym equipment over the week, my fridge stocked and ready—I want to be somewhere comfortable. Shed my layers, the cold lifting from the fabric. Sink into a chair, a bench, next to my beloved. Not have to wait for my eyes to adjust to my surroundings; rather, take it all in.
That’s what happened, at the dip of winter, a particular cold warmed immediately by Bohemien Bar.
Ambience has a certain particularity to it: We always sense it, the tone of the place. The volume of music competing with the volume of voices. The decor, too, a volume. But Bohemien Bar has thought ahead: it’s like entering a perfecting decorated modern living room. Music blossoms over a custom speaker system, each speaker built by hand, the sound not bouncing off the walls. Your conversations are clear—no need to yell over each other, no need to lean too close (unless, of course, the vibes are right and promising).
A bar is known for its drinks, so that’s where we began: I got the Naima, a brightness in winter: lemon, peach, sweet wine, vodka, kefir blend, topped with a sage leaf. The glass, whimsical: A straw like a tail from the bottom of the glass. I sop, delighted by the brightness. My beloved, of course, with Bohemien Bar’s twist on an old fashioned: the Echo Chamber, rye whiskey with Laphroaig whiskey, cocoa nibs and toasted sesame, bitters and orange. He tells me it’s the best he’s had. I sip and agree.
Our appetite whetted, we turned toward food. This is where true bar food and drink 101/Jon Taffer comes in: You want people to crave. With food, you want salt and texture so they continue to imbibe (responsibly, of course). Immediately, we gravitated to the crispy zucchini: zucchini rounds breaded and fried with a spicy tzatziki. Zaatar and paprika dust the zucchini as well—warm spices and crisp.
The shrimp bao is truly textural: crisp shredded lettuce, creamy aioli, shrimp tempura, chili crisp brown butter, all on pillowy bao buns. They are truly hearty, with the sweet shrimp slowly melding into creamy aioli slowly into unctuous brown butter and chili crisp heat. Simply, I loved them. Simply, I would order both of these again.
We decided to transition into dinner with another round of beverages: My beloved went with a Gold Dust Woman, mezcal and Campari with sweet vermouth, mango, and coconut in a dust reminiscent of a Japanese tea ceremony. Sweet with a slight smokiness. I went with a tropical drink, the One Love, served in what I lovingly call the “booty glass”: rum with passion fruit, pineapple, coconut, orange, and turmeric. I’m a sucker for a tiki bar, a tropical time—I loved this drink, its creaminess, its depth, its cheekiness.
We continued down the handheld path we’ve carved, each getting tacos to share. My beloved opted for wild cod fish tacos, topped with pico de gallo, avocado, and crema. I wanted more texture, went for fried chicken tacos with chipotle aioli and pico de gallo. Both were absolutely delightful, the fish light as expected, the avocado creamy. Fried chicken meaty and crunchy, the chipotle giving a little heat. Against my drink, I was in spice heaven: sip and crunch, sip and crunch.
We wanted to smooth ourselves into the rest of our evening. We indulged in both desserts: creme brûlée cheesecake and warm chocolate ganache cake. The cheesecake had excellent texture, from its light crust to the creme brûlée on top. Not too glasslike, not too much effort to shatter. The warm chocolate ganache cake took me back to experiencing lava cakes on cruises with my family—but this one was even deeper in its chocolate depths, brought to lightness from the bite of raspberry and whipped cream.
And now we’re in the depths of winter. It’s been a scattering of rain for days. Snow at times. Place me back here, with this smattering of delight. I will brave the cold nights toward warmth.
And Now, We Further the Plot: Your Literary Rec
Paige Taggert’s “You Make Love Like the Last Snow Leopard” is a poem of instinct, of mood. “Your grooves dip a real x of an arc. / I love your shadow. It’s performance on the wall.” How quick, my recall of Bohemien Bar: the way sound does not bounce off the walls. Performance, yes, the special audio system, the DJs that visit late into the night on weekends.
What other performances do we have to spill onto the walls? What grooves? Our conversation ebbs, bounces off the face in a smile, a furrowed brow. What delight, these motions.