Go to Towne
In spite of my title, I’m not necessarily telling you, my readers, to visit Boston’s new-ish bar, Towne.
One finds Towne in a space adjacent to the Hynes Convention Center. Its ‘culinary directors’ are local celeb chefs Lydia Shire and Jasper White.
I’m afraid that, while a classy place with pretty good drinks, Towne takes itself a little too seriously.
I went there on Saturday night and had to walk through crowd control ropes and had two different doormen greet me. Rather excessive, especially considering that there was no line whatsoever. I was not even charged a cover.
Drinks range from $10 to $14. In my opinion, unless there is top shelf booze involved, a drink should not exceed the $10 or $11 mark. The ladies I was with concurred - if we are charged $13 for a cocktail, we expect hand lotion in the ladies’ room (there was none.)
I began with the Apple Press, which contains St. Germaine (new favorite alcohol) and various apple flavored things. Quite tasty.
I then asked for a St. Germaine cocktail, to which the waitress replied that the bartenders also do one with a splash of vodka, would I like to try it? I’m always game for something new with St. Germaine, so of course I agreed. When she brought it back to the table, she said that the bartender went a little heavy on the vodka, and if I didn’t like it to let her know.
Holy booze, Batman.
Thankfully, she brought it back to the bar and they put it on ice (a lot of ice, in a huuuuuuge plastic tumbler.) Took me the next hour and a half to finish it, and my goodness did that drink pack a punch. The next morning’s greasy brunch with AT was absolutely necessary to soak up the leftover vodka still running through my veins.
The decor itself is half swanky, half reminiscent of your great uncle’s basement, refurbished circa 1965. And who could forget the photograph of the breast on the back wall?
The bathroom sinks are pretty cool, but a place that size needs a few more stalls and a little bit longer of a mirror.
The bar stools are squishy and comfortable, although treacherous if one leans too far forward - they tend to topple over.
Don’t get me wrong - I had a fantastic time (in fabulous company). Our waitress was quite possibly one of the best waitresses I have experienced - she became our buddy and shot the sh*t with us towards the end of the night.
While I fit in appearance wise, in my skinny jeans and party blazer, I think the flip flops were a little out of place.
At first, the single ladies were a tad disappointed at the female to male ratio (not great), although not surprising considering that the Red Sox and a Final Four game were on at the same time. We sat underneath a TV, so every so often a group of dudes stopped to look at us (or so we thought. The train of thought went “Why are those dudes staring a... oh, right, the TV.”)
Then, suddenly, the men abounded. We met half-hat Steve, whose hat only covered half his head. We met some super drunk dude with longish hair and a Robert Plant concert tour T-shirt. We even met a man who was the spitting image of my father’s cousin’s husband, who we affectionately call ‘Uncle Al’. We even met a few Australian men, one of whom, even after learning I had a boyfriend (and before getting Juju’s digits), told me that if my sister wanted to go to a footie game in Brisbane when she visits, to let him know and he would hook her up. The Aussies really are the nicest people on the planet.
Towne is fun, especially when in good company, but an expensive habit.
In spite of my title, I’m not necessarily telling you, my readers, to visit Boston’s new-ish bar, Towne.
One finds Towne in a space adjacent to the Hynes Convention Center. Its ‘culinary directors’ are local celeb chefs Lydia Shire and Jasper White.
I’m afraid that, while a classy place with pretty good drinks, Towne takes itself a little too seriously.
I went there on Saturday night and had to walk through crowd control ropes and had two different doormen greet me. Rather excessive, especially considering that there was no line whatsoever. I was not even charged a cover.
Drinks range from $10 to $14. In my opinion, unless there is top shelf booze involved, a drink should not exceed the $10 or $11 mark. The ladies I was with concurred - if we are charged $13 for a cocktail, we expect hand lotion in the ladies’ room (there was none.)
I began with the Apple Press, which contains St. Germaine (new favorite alcohol) and various apple flavored things. Quite tasty.
I then asked for a St. Germaine cocktail, to which the waitress replied that the bartenders also do one with a splash of vodka, would I like to try it? I’m always game for something new with St. Germaine, so of course I agreed. When she brought it back to the table, she said that the bartender went a little heavy on the vodka, and if I didn’t like it to let her know.
Holy booze, Batman.
Thankfully, she brought it back to the bar and they put it on ice (a lot of ice, in a huuuuuuge plastic tumbler.) Took me the next hour and a half to finish it, and my goodness did that drink pack a punch. The next morning’s greasy brunch with AT was absolutely necessary to soak up the leftover vodka still running through my veins.
The decor itself is half swanky, half reminiscent of your great uncle’s basement, refurbished circa 1965. And who could forget the photograph of the breast on the back wall?
The bathroom sinks are pretty cool, but a place that size needs a few more stalls and a little bit longer of a mirror.
The bar stools are squishy and comfortable, although treacherous if one leans too far forward - they tend to topple over.
Don’t get me wrong - I had a fantastic time (in fabulous company). Our waitress was quite possibly one of the best waitresses I have experienced - she became our buddy and shot the sh*t with us towards the end of the night.
While I fit in appearance wise, in my skinny jeans and party blazer, I think the flip flops were a little out of place.
At first, the single ladies were a tad disappointed at the female to male ratio (not great), although not surprising considering that the Red Sox and a Final Four game were on at the same time. We sat underneath a TV, so every so often a group of dudes stopped to look at us (or so we thought. The train of thought went “Why are those dudes staring a... oh, right, the TV.”)
Then, suddenly, the men abounded. We met half-hat Steve, whose hat only covered half his head. We met some super drunk dude with longish hair and a Robert Plant concert tour T-shirt. We even met a man who was the spitting image of my father’s cousin’s husband, who we affectionately call ‘Uncle Al’. We even met a few Australian men, one of whom, even after learning I had a boyfriend (and before getting Juju’s digits), told me that if my sister wanted to go to a footie game in Brisbane when she visits, to let him know and he would hook her up. The Aussies really are the nicest people on the planet.
Towne is fun, especially when in good company, but an expensive habit.
1 comment:
Sad but true... I wish I had been with you ladies... you my dears are the best dates ever in my opinion!
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