Margot — A Girl's Guide to Drinking Alone

69 Lafayette Ave at S Elliott Pl, Fort Greene

The Place: A chic new (woman-owned!) restaurant that will cost you a pretty penny for all that chicness.

The Time: Sunday October 1, 6:15pm. It’s finally not raining! So I take myself on a walk and get caught in the Atlantic Ave street fair, bustling all the way from Hicks Street to 4th Ave. By the time I emerge from the hubbub around Atlantic Terminal, I’m so hungry from the smells of all the street corn and crepes. So I wander around Fort Greene deciding where to go, when I happen upon Margot, a restaurant I was just talking about with some friends. No time like the present!

The Vibe: I lived right near here for a while and Margot is in the space where the old Academy diner used to be. They kept the bright blue exterior*, which touches my nostalgic heart. It’s a fairly modern space, giving off stylish French wine bar vibes. It’s got huge windows on two walls, a wooden beamed ceiling, wooden banquettes (that don’t look terribly comfy, tbh), and marble tabletops. The host offers me seating at one of two bars: one is a regular bar and the other is the chef’s counter. The chef’s counter feels a little intense, since it’s right in front of the cooks, like they could accidentally plate a dish on my book or something. So I take the regular bar option, but I’m at the far end closest to the open kitchen, so it’s like I get the best of both worlds. The music is that soul-satisfying rock oldies mix, filled with Fleetwood Mac and the Beach Boys. It’s busy for a Sunday night, but doesn’t feel crowded at all; a slew of couples, friends, families, all a range of ages. I love being right near the kitchen; the air is punctuated with sounds of “fire!” and “heard!” and “hands!” I get that this might be jarring or too loud for some people, but I’m a restaurant gal, I thrive off that energy. I’m seated next to another solo woman, drinking a cocktail and eating bread and butter. I feel very content.

The Bartender: Let me first just say that I don’t need my bartender to be all smiles and sunshine all the time. But service feels a little curt, like responding to my drink order with only a very subtle head nod. And I do feel a liittttllleee judged when the bartender says, “you want the salad AND the rigatoni?” Maybe they’re just having an off day, everyone’s allowed to have an off day.

The Drank: OKAY. Let’s get into it. I immediately start with olives because if I have a drink before I eat anything, I will fall off my barstool. Easy marinated olives, but most of them are the tiny brown ones instead of the big beautiful green guys. Not my fave, and they’re $8, but they’re necessary for my life right now. To drink, I start with an Americano: Faccia Brutto aperitivo, vermouth, soda. I think they force-carbonate it, which is cool, plus it comes over a long, beautiful ice cube in a dainty tall glass. Into it. It’s $16, which is a little much for a low-ABV drink that’s half seltzer, but unfortunately, it’s the norm for New York cocktails nowadays. Then because I’m starving and haven’t seen a vegetable all day, I get the salad AND the rigatoni. “A green salad,” for $17…but it’s crunchy and yummy, perfectly salted and acidic. Although, it’s on a plate that doesn’t allow any room for mixing or cutting, two things kind of vital to this particular salad, so I end up making a bit of a mess, which knocks my chicness down a few pegs. (I also have to wait a while without any utensils, wondering if I could get away with eating a salad with my hands. Eventually I ask for silverware.) This pasta, though. It’s $27 and not an enormous amount of food, but it’s perfect. All it says on the menu is “rigatoni, broccoli, parmesan” and I don’t know how they did it, but it’s 10 out of 10, no notes. I also get a glass of Riesling for $18. There were a few less expensive ones, but what can I say, I’m a sucker for a good Riesling.

Was I Hit On?: Not at all. At one point, another solo woman sits down and clearly tries to talk to the bartender, and I want to tell her that she might be fighting an uphill battle. But I don’t really want her to talk to me instead, so I say nothing and devour my rigatoni.

Should You Drink Here Alone?: I’ll say yes, with an asterisk about the price. All in all, my random date with myself cost me slightly upwards of $100. New York’s obviously an expensive place; in fact, this might now be a normal amount to spend on a nice night out. And I’m not saying Margot isn’t worth it. Just letting you know that when you step into her house, you might have to pony up.

* This clearly was a Mandela effect, because apparently only the awning of Academy was blue.