At W.C. Harlan, every detail has been attended to. Two crystal chandeliers, hung high above the bar, provide the only electric light. Tea candles are strewn about the bar and the tables at dusk. Antique glass jars and objets d'art are tastefully arranged around the room. An upright piano, sometimes manned by someone playing gypsy-jazz tunes, caps one end of the bar. The cocktail glasses look like they were sourced from your grandmother's breakfront. The two-beer draft system is outfitted with rustic tap handles and metal housing that disguises any modernity that might mar the impeccably decorated Remington speakeasy. It serves the kind of carefully composed cocktails that dissuade Miller Lite meatheads from infiltrating its environs, making it even more of an enclave for aesthetes.