1744 Main St.
On the corner of the Disney-like maze of uniformity that is Weston's — er — downtown district, stands Swig Bartini. If you're in the neighborhood already, you probably won't have a problem with the $5 cover charge ($10 on special occasions), and you're likely to find it worth every penny. The modish industrial interior, with its brick walls, bare cement floor, and exposed ventilation ducts, is neatly dressed in the way you'd imagine some posh Manhattan jazz lounge. Swig turned 6 years old Saturday and has based its success on the simple concept of making women feel comfortable enough to come out in droves. That success is evident, and by my calculations, it can be assessed as a comfortable four-to-one female-to-male ratio. Swig's biggest commodity sits at the many round tables sipping colorful and cleverly named martinis, oddly enough, and smiling happily as lively conversations spark looks from the roaming men. Several TVs are tuned to the Heat game, but no one's watching (why would they?). The guys walk about holding imported beer or scotch, sometimes alone, sometimes in hunting pairs, but always aware that any sign of disrespect will have them thrown out on their asses. But these guys are prescreened. No hats, sneakers, or even printed T-shirts are allowed past the door — only the fashionably sensible here. I hear the food is great, though I couldn't try it (I blew my allowance on the cover and a couple of beers). Catch live music on Fridays, DJs spinning the latest in dance and pop on Saturdays, and ladies night on Wednesdays, when women get complimentary cocktails and martinis. Now, is this the social equivalent of fishing with dynamite?