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I write this, here, in the depths of winter. Sitting inside this venue, warm, filled with libation and reflecting on all that is going on around me. It is the time of year when the leaves and flowers have flown south. The time, when the fast approaching equinox, swallows the daylight, more, and more, each day, until we aren’t sure the sun will rise at all tomorrow. Its that time, when the chill has set in, just enough, to force one to wrap themselves, in a thick, wintertide, coat - but not so much, as to stop you from going out all together. Its the time, that maybe most, of the entire year, I am beckoned by the warm cardinal glow of the unassuming light that shines above this bar. A sign that shines out on nearly every block across France. Tonight, it’s light glistening and dancing, across a rain soaked street of Kentishtown, like the siren song of the pleasure district of Amsterdam.
The Tabac. I have been coming here for a number of years and wasn’t sure I would ever write this review. Mainly, because I don’t want any more people to find this place. But, as they say, somethings are just not ours to keep - no matter how much we’d like them to be.
The staff are friendly, warm and it’s unlikely you don’t know the bartenders’ names in your first visit.
This is a 4 season bar, in all the best ways. In the winter, as the windows steam up and all that can be seen (in or out) is movement and light, this place transports you to places (and times) you’ve only read about.
In the spring, if you are lucky enough to snag a seat at the window, and watch the rain fall, while sampling the new seasons menu, you can bemuse yourself for hours with the world passing by.
In the summer, sitting outside, watching people and cars hurry past, the Tabac is just enough calm in this crazy world. Like my personal mooring in a storm.
And in the fall, when the winds arrive and everyone begins their slide into a more friendly time, this place is the hug waiting for you on your return.
I know what you’re thinking. This is ridiculous. How could this place be everything you say? So what, it’s a tiny, little, hidden, secret? Who cares, it has a quirky layout that provides some semblance of intimacy? And, a cocktail menu that changes seasonally is great, but does it really matter?
Maybe not. Maybe you’re right. Maybe, you should stay away. Because maybe, I have just romanticized the Tabac. Built it up, into some kind of brasserie from Paris in the 1800’s. It’s highly unlikely I’m surrounded by top tier talent, that people will talk about for centuries, every time I’m in this establishment. It’s unlikely a closet, selling cocktails, could make anyone feel this way.
But… what if you’re wrong?