Well, it took me a few months, but I had the opportunity to try on DadWagon’s favorite small-bore transgression this month. My little family trekked out to Brooklyn to visit friends, and what did we do? We all took our kids (these friends have a three-year-old) to the local gastropub. Yes, friends: I dipped a toe into the babies-in-bars argument that we here at Dadwagon refuse to let die.
It was nice. The pub (Double Windsor, just past the edge of Park Slope into Windsor Terrace) has a raft of beer choices, and a modest menu of really excellent food. It was lunchtime, and the rest of the clientele was child-free until just before we left, but it was uncrowded and quiet, and both kids spent most of the time preoccupied with toy cars and crayons and grilled cheese. Nobody in the bar threw us ugly glances; nobody seemed the slightest bit perturbed that we were there. I had one drink; my friends each ordered a flight of beers.
We left stuffed and not drunk, and the entire experience was what you call civilized living. Nobody sane would say our kids were at risk for a future of alcohol abuse, and I can confidently say that they ruined any grownups’ bar experience that afternoon. Particularly because we wrapped it up by 2:30. An entirely defensible position.
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