I arrived at Bar Agricole on a Monday evening and hadn't thought to make a reservation on what is generally a very slow night in the nightclub trade. I was wrong. Every table was taken, and there was only one seat left at the bar. The very personable host said he would put me on the waiting list. My friends hadn't arrived yet anyway, so I sat on the remaining stool. The bartender was busy creating something very involved, so I had time to really give the place a gander.
It is expansive and open, yet warm. From what I have read, everything that has gone into the place from the napkins to the glass ceiling sculptures has been born from the bowels of an artist, and it shows. Even the cocktail shakers are singularly beautiful, curved and burnished with a faint golden hue. When they rest on the bar, upside down, they look like gilded Russian nesting dolls. Then there are the aprons worn by each staff member, which look like they were designed by OshKosh B'Gosh. Each staffer wears them differently. My bartender, Eric, wore his full-flap up, like someone manning a barbecue. Barback Dan wore his folded over around his waist.
I point out these things to show that Bar Agricole's attention to detail did not go unnoticed by someone like me, who pays attention to details. There was a certain sweetness to the whole place that was endearing. Someone has poured his or her heart and soul into it. You can't fake authenticity.