Your opening paragraph. The italic lede. The line that lands the reader at the door before they know it. Two sentences max.
Your first body paragraph. Where the bar came from. The year. The room before the brass went in, before the walnut was sanded back, before the door had a name. Who was there at the beginning. Slow, concrete, no rush.
Your second body paragraph. The bars you worked in before this one. The shifts that taught you to stir. The bartenders who shaped your hand. The room you walked into and knew you wanted one of your own.
Your third body paragraph. The night the room opened. The first stool taken. The first drink poured. The first regular to call back. Make it a memory, not a strategy doc.
How we make a drink.
Your paragraph on the bar's working principles. Whether the classics run on house spec or guest spec. How the seasonals get picked. Why the same hand pours the same drink twice in a row.
Your second paragraph. The ice, the glass, the garnish, the timing. The thousand small choices that turn a drink into your drink. No list, just one line about each.
What the room becomes at midnight.
Your paragraph on how the night shifts. The early hour at the bar, the corner-booth conversation, the second-drink slow-down, the last-call long pour. The kind of night you want the room to hold.
Your second paragraph. The regulars. The ones who order without looking at the list. The ones who bring the friends. The ones whose seat is always the same seat. The names you remember in plain language.