Profile

The mismatched furniture, weathered window shutters, lazily swiveling ceiling fans and dim ochre lighting summon thoughts of a Confederate-era New Orleans boudoir. But the ruckus that evolves here each Friday and Saturday night is the flipside of a sedate, slow sipping weekday crowd that leans slack against the bar, nursing shots of bourbon and fanning themselves with coasters. On these weekends, young professionals deluge the second-hand sofas, scanning for objects of flirtation and downing tasty (if ice-heavy) pitchers of sangria. The most common complaint you'll hear is about the service, which at times appears to be almost contemptuously slow, but the sofa groupings to accommodate large parties are a rare find, and the easy-going atmosphere makes impatience seem terribly passé. — Will Doig