Remember the good times? When you could buy a plane ticket in cash at the gate? Do you long for those halcyon days when college classmates were all white, and your alma mater had an a cappella group? Care to dust off that old Panama Jack hat and party like it's 1989?
Go to New Haven. According to this gem from Hamptons.com, there's a bar/restaurant that happens to be paired next door with a cigar lounge, and ever the two shall meet. The restaurant's called Bespoke, and the cigar bar is called The Owl Shop, which is appropriate enough, because it's where a-holes of a feather flock together.
Truthfully, the article is impeccably written and the co-authors really know their cigars and their coctails. And I guess they're doing a service. There just aren't enough toolbag indicators enough these days. Sure, there's tribal tats, and fistpumping, and fake tans, but those are just youthful indiscretions. Even the Mercedes/BMW indicator is gone, now that every 18-year-old owns one. But now you can take heart, thanks to this article, because nothing unleashes your sense of superiority than sitting back in a leather chair, crossing your legs, and sucking on a hand-wrapped Nicaraguan while listening to the pianoman "tickle the ivories."
Ambience you say? How about this: "Today The Owl Shop still attracts a refreshingly mixed crowd of New Haven regulars, visiting dignitaries, Yalies, and a remarkably full representation of the New Haven Bar. Early evenings at The Owl often see stalwart prosecutors encamped in the bay window overlooking College Street, while defense attorneys and trial lawyers congregate at the bar and trade war stories."
Kids. Don't smoke cigars. It makes you wear funny hats.