You cannot simply enter The Bar at Baccarat Hotel in Manhattan.
First, you must locate it, which is, in true New York style, currently camouflaged behind a veil of scaffolding. Once you ask the man in the suit at the door if this is The Baccarat, he will say, ‘yes, ma’am,’ and, once you are greeted by the ventilation—as if from Empress Anna Ivanovna’s ice palace—laced with the Baccarat Rouge 540 fragrance, and the Baccarat authenticated tiles, you gradually realise that you are literally inside a Harmonie Baccarat crystal—one of their most popular designs.
The room is lit by the Harcourt Wall, which consists of 1,824 Harcourt glasses, and once you near the elevators, the lone Tsarine Candelabra— a heritage piece named after Tsar Nicholas II’s wife Empress Alexandra Feoforovna—demands your attention; it consists of nearly 800 handcrafted crystal elements. More crystals greet you once you’re up, the Grand Salon you walk past is densely lit by sunlight and there are more Chanel and Hermes here than the mind can comprehend.
Once you walk through the enlarged wooden barrel, you arrive to a room with black-and-white floor tiles, contemporary paintings, colossal crystal chandeliers, and men in suits and expensive watches (I was, without doubt, the youngest person at The Bar). It was the World Cup; one television with Telemundo coverage of England vs Croatia. Welcome to the Bar at Baccarat.
I began with the Baccarat Rouge—a cocktail named after their signature red crystal. Baccarat was the first in France to master the technique of annealing in which, as my bartender Kenrick passionately explained, the lead crystal mix and 24 karat gold is raised to exactly 540 degrees Celsius. This alchemy results in a red colour that never fades.
No other house can replicate its luminous, translucent finish. The drink too is an alchemy: Patron El Cielo tequila, passionfruit, St. Elizabeth Allspice, dram, cardamon, lime and Baccarat Blend Tea. Kenrick took out a hexagonal Baccarat-rouge leather coaster to cushion the $280 Harmonie tumbler.
He gently poured the liquid gold on top of a ruby ice-cube, the ice-cube progressively bleeding into a nostalgic sunset. At $54, you may as well take your time, and indulge in the luxury—actually, the density and grooves of the Harmonie tumbler will insist that you slow down.
Next up, the Baccarat Old Fashioned. In theme, it was served on a red Harmonie tumbler. Kenrick told me it was inspired by the bar manager observing and creating an idea from a blurry yet defined charcoal drawing of a cloud in The Bar (Cleo Szeto, Nuage, 2013, charcoal on paper). He placed a piece of Angostura cotton candy on top of the tumbler, and steadily poured the drink over it, the rain dissolving the cloud. I took a sip and we exchanged a look like we were in a saloon. ‘hmmm, interesting.’
The drink clearly wasn’t for me, but the investment banker next to me ordered two of them. Kenrick proceeded to make me an espresso martini, which didn’t taste bitter like others I have tried before: it was like rich milk chocolate, the best I ever had in my life.
Baccarat Rouge is also in the food. The first dish I had, the Tuna Nicoise Crudo, was itself a piece of contemporary art: the freshly square-sliced tuna resembled the deep, ruby crystals, and it was accompanied with nicoise olives, capers, quail eggs, watercress, green beans and finished with a tangy anchovy vinaigrette and herb pesto and chive oil. They all had their designated spots on the plate, like the overture of a ballet. I was unsure whether to eat or simply admire it.
The menu at The Bar is curated by Alsatian chef Gabriel Kneuther. Yet, it does not reflect his home region, an hour away from the town of Baccarat. Instead of pork, the menu focuses on beef and fish. There are vegetarian dishes too, such as the tomato soup, a sweet saturated red, followed by hints of spice, all balanced with the richness and nuttiness of the Gruyere and Comte and the creaminess of the American cheese in the grilled cheese.
Some more adventurous dishes include the prawn cocktail poached in pickling liquor, served with a homemade prawn cocktail sauce, but in my opinion, the dish suffices without it. My favourite dish was the truffle fries; a crunchy mountain covered in a dainty snow of Parmesan cheese.
Time flowed in a haze of the senses: my espresso martini turned into a double espresso, the caviar into a basket of bread, the day into evening, sunlight into red and blue lights, England v Croatia into Uzbekistan v Colombia. As I was nibbling on my basket of bread, I realised I had yet to see the Grand Salon, now empty except for a couple having their photo taken. Kenrick took me to the host room first, and I was left alone with chandeliers and other amazing accoutrements. Part of Baccarat’s beauty is in its imperfection, and craft. Standing alone with so many crystal-clear chandeliers without any other distraction makes you appreciate the labour and skill of these glassmakers across multiple generations.
Now in the Grand Salon, Kenrick asked me to ‘pick a year.’ ‘1999,’ I automatically replied back. He took out a notebook with the year on its spine, and my jaw dropped to the floor: here were yet more Baccarat gems annealed with the gold of guest’s messages since the Hotel’s opening. I wrote my own in the ‘2026’ book, adding to the archive, a chandelier of experiences (and I would immediately re-visit The Baccarat purely to inspect each notebook). I perused the one from 2020, filled with happy memories, vulnerable confessions, and sketches, one of which seeming to be of the Grand Salon, though I couldn’t figure out where.
That sketch of the Grand Salon overflowed my thoughts when I was eating an expensive vanilla cheesecake ($29) whose sweetness was balanced by a spicy and sharp gooseberry and ginger compote. I showed the sketch to Kenrick, and like two children in an Enid Blyton book, we went to try and find the hidden treasure. He showed me a crystal of a horse, and suggested it could be that, and that the animal changes each year according to the Chinese zodiac. ‘Last year, it was the year of the snake.’
‘It could be that…’ I turned to my right. ‘wait, that’s the bull in the sketch!’
The bar is intended to be a luxury experience, a place for the elite, a place to be seen… expect to spend at least $200/$300 per person. If you can only get one thing, I highly recommend the Baccarat Rouge (even though it’s $54)… I still think about it.
The clock was about to strike midnight; Colombia was playing against Uzbekistan. I was watching the remaining minutes with the nurse and the investment banker. In the 99th minute, Colombia scored. ‘GOOOOOOOOOOOAL!. The lights turned on, and the television was turned off.
My night at The Baccarat had come to an end.
To find out more about The he Bar at Baccarat Hotel, visit baccarathotels.com/new-york/dining/bar
Review Sanem Alti
