Down a spiral staircase is Nightjar. It’s dark. It’s moody. It’s illegal to take a selfie. (Okay, not illegal, but you’ll get dagger eyes.)
This bar is a speakeasy that takes itself seriously. Live jazz drips from the walls. The cocktails arrive in teacups or glass skulls. One drink, “The Lancet,” comes with a side of dry ice fog.
Best part? The toilet door is hidden behind a bookshelf. You will feel like Harry Potter peeing.
