With an hour to kill before my birthday party, I was walking around Belltown in my silly dress in the freezing rain. I rarely drink alone, but…maybe that’s the move here? To celebrate myself on a date with myself?
It’s not hard to figure out how to spend the most luxurious possible solo hour in Belltown. Despite the attention it gets from both national food media and snobby listicle sites, Roquette’s somehow maintained a real-ones-know reputation in this city. Surrounded by oontzy dance clubs and yelly sports bars, this sleek, French-inspired cocktail lounge frequently sails under even my own radar, and definitely others’. A shame, considering its cool combo of elegant and chummy—Roquette’s unlikely to disappoint anyone who visits, even unreal ones who do not know.
What a perfect secret hideaway for an intimate little date with yourself, though. Self, we really must do this.
Fresh off its second James Beard nom, Roquette is standing room only on a blustery Friday. Ah, it’s so pretty and plush inside, with its cobalt velvet and palmy murals. They’ve got an ensemble cast tonight: Kyton Blair from Roquette’s original 2019 opening team—who’s also the StarChefs Seattle 2025 Rising Stars Award winner for his work there—as well as Chelsea Mathews (The Doctor’s Office) and Parker “Top Shelf” Knowles (Oyster Cellar). All major players in Seattle’s beverage programs.
From Roquette’s book of spectacular, world-class cocktails, I choose a Golden Hour: George Dickel Rye, Calvados Coquerel, Amaro Nonino, Giffard Piment d’Espelette, and apricot. The name was like a lovely personal welcome; in my wet scarf and drippy hair, I thought a sunny-golden hour spent in here just might break through the winter chill.
I like to smell the fruit before I take a sip—here, a swath of orange peel—and doing this adds enormously to the experience. Always a fan of gingerbready Dickel Rye. Calvados Coquerel is from Normandy, an oak-barrel cider brandy with farmy notes. Amaro Nonino is Italian and reminds me of MarketSpice tea: orange, cinnamon, chamomile, thyme, with a fruity grappa base. Also French, Piment d’Espelette’s a spicy, intense liqueur made by macerating espelette peppers in rhum agricole. And the sweet zang of the apricot juice unites everything, like hot honey on an experimental pizza.
This cocktail has always known me and is, in fact, my date tonight. We understand each other. We’re in love.
Before I go, Mathews sends me a Disco Ball—green AND yellow Chartreuse, mezcal, and “sparkles,” served in a disco ball-shaped shot glass. She’s “made it skate” with floaty ice slivers. In comparison, this tiny drink’s a flamboyant stranger who doesn’t know me at all, and it’s dazzling. I want a big version.
The karaoke party later is chaotic and fun, if exhausting, and I feel celebrated. It’s a privilege. But when the day is over, I’m deeply thankful for my meditative golden hour with the Golden Hour beforehand, hidden in plain sight at a svelte little lounge. This is the frequency I want this year. Age 46: I totally hang out at Roquette all the time now.
