I ended a dazzling night at a downtown charity gala with a quiet, moody nightcap at W.C. Harlan, the speakeasy tucked into a nondescript corner of Baltimore’s Remington neighborhood. If you know, you know. If you don’t—you’ll probably knock like I did (oops).
I sipped a Fragola ‘75, a frothy little number that somehow nailed the flavor of tart rhubarb pie in cocktail form—made with amaro zucca rabarbaro, St. George’s Terroir gin, strawberry, aperol, lemon, cardamom, and topped with sparkling wine. A whole mood in a glass.
For a few surreal minutes, I thought Edgar Allan Poe might be my bartender. The vibe? Melting candelabras, fogged-up mercury glass, blackout curtains, dead flowers in delicate disarray, and murmured voices floating through the dark like secrets. Romantic, grungy, and just whimsical enough.
W.C. Harlan has been quietly serving Baltimore’s cocktail seekers for nearly a decade, purposefully placed “in the middle of nowhere” with that Field of Dreams energy: if it’s good enough, people will find it. I found it—and I’m already plotting my return, this time with my husband in tow.
Female-owned, unapologetically mysterious, and still completely magic. A perfect end to a very mom night out.
W.C. Harlan on Instagram
No reservations. No sign. Just knock (but maybe with more confidence than I did). But don’t actually knock, that is weird and you’ll look like a loser.
