What every neighborhood bar should be studying

I judge a city by its counters — the places where one person can walk in at nine, eat well, and talk to somebody interesting without trying. Bar Alcove is a masterclass.

The room is all low light and dark wood, the kind of bar that makes everyone look like they have a secret. The menu is eight plates that change weekly. The beef tartare with smoked egg yolk was the best thing I ate in New York this trip, and I ate ambitiously.

What separates it is the bartenders' radar: they know who wants conversation and who wants to be left alone with a book, and they're never wrong. My martini came exactly as ordered, stirred to just short of silk.

Atlanta needs twelve of these. I'd settle for one.