Imagine for a moment you have a mistress.
We know: it’s a crazy idea. But humor us.
You would be forced to tread carefully in your after-work meetup spots, lest you run into an ex (or worse, a “current”).
You would need something sleek, sexy and a bit off the beaten path for covert cocktailing in leathery surroundings. Ideally, with an in-wall fireplace.
Well, good news (hypothetically speaking, of course): we just found it.
Introducing Nubar, a lounge-y hotel enclave for bourbon, Grilled Korobuta Pork Loin and under-the-radar trysts, now open in the Sheraton Commander Hotel in Cambridge.
So back to that hypothetical. Starting tonight, if you ever receive a restricted-number inbound call from you-know-who, you’ll direct her here for a cloak-and-dagger rendezvous (and as always, the crumpled napkin on the bar means “abort”).
While she waits for you at the underlit bar and sips on a Harvard Garden (gin, St-Germain elderflower liqueur), you’ll make your Bond-ish entrance through the hotel lobby (and maybe, just maybe, get a room for the night).
After discussing the merits of the side-romance over Grilled Escarole and Fontina Flatbreads (or just the merits of flatbreads), you’ll move to the leathery lounge area near the fire, knocking back several inhibition-demolishing Sazeracs with absinthe, and Braised Veal Breast (veal tends to be all the more veal-y with absinthe and mistresses).
Of course, you could just come in here with a regular first date.
We know: it’s a crazy idea. But humor us.
You would be forced to tread carefully in your after-work meetup spots, lest you run into an ex (or worse, a “current”).
You would need something sleek, sexy and a bit off the beaten path for covert cocktailing in leathery surroundings. Ideally, with an in-wall fireplace.
Well, good news (hypothetically speaking, of course): we just found it.
Introducing Nubar, a lounge-y hotel enclave for bourbon, Grilled Korobuta Pork Loin and under-the-radar trysts, now open in the Sheraton Commander Hotel in Cambridge.
So back to that hypothetical. Starting tonight, if you ever receive a restricted-number inbound call from you-know-who, you’ll direct her here for a cloak-and-dagger rendezvous (and as always, the crumpled napkin on the bar means “abort”).
While she waits for you at the underlit bar and sips on a Harvard Garden (gin, St-Germain elderflower liqueur), you’ll make your Bond-ish entrance through the hotel lobby (and maybe, just maybe, get a room for the night).
After discussing the merits of the side-romance over Grilled Escarole and Fontina Flatbreads (or just the merits of flatbreads), you’ll move to the leathery lounge area near the fire, knocking back several inhibition-demolishing Sazeracs with absinthe, and Braised Veal Breast (veal tends to be all the more veal-y with absinthe and mistresses).
Of course, you could just come in here with a regular first date.