Ruthie's — A Girl's Guide to Drinking Alone

241 Smith St at Douglass St, Carroll Gardens

The Place: A new(ish) wine bar in Carroll Gardens that is perfectly fine, but lacks a bit of character.

The Time: Saturday September 9, 7:30pm. I was home watching the US Open Women’s Finals and when Coco Gauff won, I jumped off my couch and shrieked so loud that my dog thought something terrible had happened. I realized I should get out of my apartment to celebrate her amazing win, so I changed out of my sweats and put on “hard clothes,” (as my mom calls them) and headed down Smith Street. When I first started this blog, I never went out alone on weekends because I was nervous I’d be viewed as pathetic, but now I’ve reached a point in my life where I’m like, fuck it, everything is made up and the points don’t matter.

The Vibe: I’ve walked by Ruthie’s a lot since I live in the neighborhood. It’s fairly new so I still haven’t been, mostly because it’s kind of unclear as to what it even is. But I want to give it a shot. It’s muggy AF outside…and just as muggy inside, which isn’t pleasant, but I’m committed. It’s got a modernist interior: there’s a gray slab marble bar, wooden banquettes and booths and a long communal table in the middle. (They also have a large covered outdoor patio.) The white molded ceiling is low and everything is painted either white or black. Christmas lights are all around and there are sparsely placed plants. It’s nice; everything is just kind of plain. Anyway, I grab a stool at the bar (which is fixed to the floor, so if I were to literally grab it, it wouldn’t go anywhere). There’s a couple at the corner of the bar, a couple at the other end of the bar, two friends to my left, and a smattering of people sitting at tables. A group of three come in, sit to my right, then quickly leave because it’s too hot in here. I get it; I’m sweating in my hard pants. I’m sitting right near the speaker so it’s pretty loud, but the music selection ranges from early Destiny’s Child to ABBA so I’m not mad at it.

The Bartender: He has a lot of curly hair, an Irish accent, and seems a little overwhelmed. Or maybe he’s just overheated? I’ve worked in bars without A/C before and it does feel like your brain is melting after a while. He also calls me “madam” and I am hoping this is a cultural thing because otherwise I will be sent into a downward spiral of ordering anti-aging creams and eye masks off Instagram.

The Drank: It’s apparently a wine bar, but I need something refreshing right now. Wine doesn’t hit the same way a shaken cocktail does, so I get the margarita on the menu, made with tequila, strawberry, jalapeno, falernum and mole bitters. It’s good, it gets the job done and it’s (sadly) on the cheaper side these days at $14. It does feel kind of silly to drink a margarita here when Leyenda is a block away. After I drink it a little too quickly, I order a pet-nat chardonnay and the kale salad because, you know, I live in Brooklyn.

Was I Hit On?: Two different solo men sit near me while I’m here, but nothing happens. I spend more of my time listening to the ladies next to me talking about dating and honestly, it sounds exhausting. One friend says to the other that a guy she’s chatting with on a dating app “clearly goes to Ibiza to fuck,” and it takes everything in my power not to reach over and throw her phone into her glass of orange wine.

Should You Drink Here Alone?: Yeah sure. Ruthie’s is a nice place to get a drink and a bite, even if it feels a little nondescript. Maybe they’ll settle into themselves once they’ve been around a little longer. There are a lot of wine bars in this city; Ruthie girl, you might need to step your game up if you wanna make it to the finals.