Around the corner a life model disrobes. Behind them old school friends discuss which of their classmates are now wastemen, and which are hench. This must be the place.
There’s a seat in this bar that’s the perfect place to sit if you’ve ever dreamed of being a private investigator in a film noir classic. You can recline in your wicker-weaved chair, or rest your forearms on the cold marble table.
You have to judge your audience before you start discussing terroir. Pick the wrong time or place and you could end up with a reputation for pomposity, verbiage and downright pretension. In the right circumstances though, it’s the only word that works.