A lazy-eyed, dark-skinned server walks by in black latex tights that she appears to be injected into. I avert my eyes.Vulgar thoughts must be driven from the mind—not because they’re sinful but because, in this environment, they’re unseemly. I try to think about art history, stock prices.
Raines Law Room co-owner Yves Jadot takes a seat across from me, beside a can dlelit mantel, below a gilt mirror, on a plush velvet chair from Chesterfield. “We wanted to create a relaxed atmosphere,” he says, “where you feel like you’re in somebody’s house.” Somebody’s, but not just anybody’s. Above us a beveled-tin ceiling, at our feet a leather trunk piled with worn burgundy tomes.
Jadot, who furnished the bar with antiques he’s collected as a hobby, says he had an old English townhouse from the turn of the century in mind when decorating. Back then, the first room was the drawing room, the next room was the parlor and the third was the kitchen. Likewise, Raines Law Room is divided by two sets of curtains before the kitchen in the back.
I ask Jadot if that’s a real bearskin rug at our feet. He’s not sure. But he tells me to check out the wallpaper. What looks like your ordinary arabesque reveals itself, on closer inspection, to be the silhouettes of naked ladies doing it with naked men. “It’s discrete,” Jadot says with a stealthy smile.
The bar’s name refers to a prohibition passed by the New York City Legislature in 1896, which prohibited the sale of alcoholic beverages on Sunday (crucial for six-day working men) except in hotels. To meet the definition of a hotel, wily saloon owners curtained their space off into separate, furnished rooms, some of which featured beds. This last inclusion led some saloons to take on the function of a surprise third institution—hence the cheeky wallpaper.
Raines Law Room’s most creative touch is the inclusion of little doorbell buttons at each booth, which correspond to a number that lights up in the kitchen, where the servers hang out. Says Jadot: “You don’t have that waiter that comes every five minutes.”The bar’s old-fashioned cocktails are made in the kitchen, where guests are welcome. Each takes about 10 minutes, and each is made from scratch. Bartenders have been replaced, in the frustrating current fashion, by “mixologists” or “decanters.”
The crowd on a recent Monday evening was pretty polished. Those who had dressed casual still looked wealthy. The $13 cocktail price and quiet atmosphere must be self-selective: There is no dress code at Raines Law Room, and reservations are not accepted. About 35 people are allowed in at one time; others are invited to wait in a cafe of Jadot’s located next door. “I can’t take [the noise],” says Jadot. “I used to manage nightclubs.”
I try to mingle, discretely checking my sweater for stains. I find kinfolk in Yseult Chehata, a young Parisian with sparkling eyes who works in marketing at a photography institute. She’s less impressed than I am. “It’s a bar,” she says.
“It’s just a bar.” She takes a sip of a Tom Collins made from fresh-squeezed grapefruit.The prices, she says, will keep her from becoming a regular, but she’ll be back for special occasions.
“I like the bars where you go to the waiter and you tell them how you feel, and they make the cocktail,” she says. “I feel like this is that kind of place.”
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Raines Law Room
48 W. 17th St. (betw. 5th & 6th Aves.), no phone
anonymous
