On a rainy November night in Le Marais, three drinks writers search for plus de convivialité. It could be the set-up for a bad joke, but as they push open the steamed-up vine-arched wooden doors and find it immediately, I guess we’ll never know. Bar Nouveau is packed: a press of bodies from the white and grey flecked marble bar to the Riviera walls a mere metre and a half apart (or so it seems). Stools – somehow – under the still bright windows hold literary agents comparing their méconnu to Proust and Colette. Our trio half-fall down the stairs at the direction of le garçon Marc. Here, all is (relative) calm. A rotary evaporator is illuminated in hot mauve between two bare brick walls. Benches and tables move in a Tetrissian pattern to make space. Menus are proffered and illuminated. There’s Fine a’leau (Martell Cognac, verjus and sugar) not seen since Casino Royale and the nouvellement célèbre Ramos (grain, vanilla yoghurt, peat and St Germain). Marc charges away and back with the order, swinging on the newel post like a child charging downstairs for dinner. A group of twenty-somethings slink in for a six-top and the Tetris begins again. They talk gruffly of fashion and art – what else matters here in rainy Paris? The nouveau? Maybe only to founder Remy Savage. An off-duty bartender strolls in to join his amanuenses. Later, back upstairs – breathe in; squeeze past – the four signal bartender and co-founder Sarah for a nightcap. Jasmin (gin, Campari, citrus) or Gustave (olive, camomile, agave). The all-French playlist is turned up, and the bodies seem to dance around each other under the chanterelle pendant lights. No one falls down the stairs. Just Marc – controlled speed, tray balanced, smile intact, blacklight in hand. (5 Rue Des Haudriettes, Paris, 75003, @bar_nouveau_). Read more Bar Tabs here.