There are a number of restaurant bars which function fine for people who aren’t even dining, or who just want to come in for cocktails and casual bar food. Then there are those like Icarus, where the bar is really meant as a side attraction to the food. Part of it is the layout. The wood paneling and Ethan Allen furniture made it feel more like a Maryland country club lobby and less like a tony South End eaterie. The bar itself is small and awkwardly situated en route from the entrance to the dining floor and is conspicuously visible to half the restaurant. When I went there were a number of nondining patrons lingering around their drinks, but I’m not sure they weren’t the exception.

So, no, I’m not expecting a destination restaurant bar like the Franklin Cafe, but even by its own standards, Icarus’s bar could probably do better. More importantly, the food at Icarus is excellent, but the drinks menu seemed mismatched, trading in many of the sweet vodka sensations that flashy nightclubs do. Space constrictions result in a smaller selection than you’d want and expect; they didn’t stock my favorite gin – normal enough, but the lack of a high-end rum surprised me. I ended up going with a gimlet and was served a watery, unbalanced cocktail that made me wonder if the bartender used the misguided “fancy” recipe of squeezing actual lime juice into the drink. Maybe I should have stuck with the glowing yellow mango drink the woman next to me was having.

Zon’s, a small restaurant in Jamaica Plain’s Hyde Square, bills itself as gourmet comfort food. If that seems a contradiction in terms, you don’t spend much time in JP. The appeal of nice dinner out in a place that’s not intimidating or too expensive captures the ethos of the bohemian bourgeoisie perfectly. It’s dress-down fancy.

Zon’s pulls it off, fortunately. Eat and Destroy has a review of the food, but after a recent visit I thought I should mention that its bar itself is unfairly overlooked in a part of the city where Irish pubs are thick on the ground but where there are few other drinking holes. It’s a small space and the bar section is even smaller, but even on a Thursday night it wasn’t crowded and my friends and I were able to snag seats at a prime hour.

They do not have a full liquor license and instead are limited to cordials and sweetened liqueurs. Amazingly, given the limitations, they’ve been able to craft an appealing cocktail menu. It gave me a chance to imbibe sloe gin, which I’ve not had in years. The Charlie Chaplin cocktail was a nice after-dinner drink, sweet and fruity but an unexpected combination all the same. I haven’t tested the recipe out at home, but guides list the following:

Charlie Chaplin

1 jigger sloe gin
1 jigger apricot brandy
1 jigger lemon juice

Shake and pour into an old fashioned glass, garnished with lime.

And of course, instead of a cocktail you can always take one of their cordials neat or on the rocks.

Their beer selection was limited, but a seasonal Harpoon hit the spot. The wine selection seemed fuller. The bar staff were unfussy, friendly and capable. Definitely one to add to the mental rolodex of places to go for a nightcap, digestif, or even a glass of beer in a place that doesn’t smell like what you’re drinking.

Zon’s is located at 2 Perkins Street at Centre St. in Jamaica Plain, near the 39 bus.

Ian, a former bartender, leaves in the comments an interesting and well-reasoned case for including frou-frou concoctions in the “martini” category. His argument is that highballs are a category of drink based on the type of glass, so we should be willing to consider things in a martini glass to be a martini.

I’d put the etymological emphasis elsewhere. On one hand, the highball has come to be a whiskey and ginger ale, but from what I gather it was originally scotch and soda. So it’s been a fairly generic term for a while – and while we classify screwdrivers and vodka-tonics as highballs, people don’t usually order them that way. On the other hand, even the Pop Rocks martini at Match (the place T-Rage so expertly reviewed) references the very drink it’s supplanting. The martini (originally the “martini cocktail”) derives from Martini & Rossi vermouth. Earlier versions may well have been sweeter than the idealized dry martini we have in our heads today. But they, too, had vermouth as a component.

Certainly, it’s a purist stance. I should probably have Ian’s understanding and live-let-live attitude. But I don’t. Especially when I read stuff like this:

You may not notice the narrow Charlesmark Hotel façade as you walk down Boylston Street, but it’s most certainly worth stopping for. In fact, the tiramisu martini alone merits a drop-in. A brilliant concoction of vanilla vodka, Baileys, amaretto, sugar, spice, and everything nice, this drink eats like a meal — a delicious pastry-like meal. The Key-lime martini tastes like liquefied pie (in a good and alcoholic way, of course)

I’ve been to the Charlesmark Lounge (655 Boylson St., near Copley) and liked it as a bar. It was an undiscovered little spot on the edge of Back Bay (let’s see how long that lasts), with a nice slender layout. The service was subpar, but sometimes even that’s OK, especially since the bartender was capable enough with the vodka martinis and cosmos. But tiramisu? Key lime pie? If I want these desserts – I often do – I’ll eat tiramisu or key lime pie. There’s such a wonderful world of spirits out there, I don’t see the point of bothering with ersatz food.

Meanwhile, this weekend I visited Encore Lounge (275 Tremont Street, next to the Roxy) which is the antidote to Trendy Bar Syndrome. For starters, it’s a cabaret bar, and on open-mic nights patrons belt out show tunes and songbook favorites to piano accompaniment. The clientele, unsurprisingly, leans heavily gay and older, though on Saturday night there really was a cross section of people, women and men, straight and gay, young and old. The ethos is pure hotel bar: round black-lacquer tables, votive candles, dim lighting. Sure, it looked and felt like a Billy Joel video, but I was into it as a refreshing change. I’m not even a showtunes or cabaret fan, but the fun people were having was infectious.

Service was attentive, but the bartending was more miss than hit. My friends ordering mixed drinks complained of watering-down and ended up resorting to the drastic measure of taking their next vodka neat. The server confided that one should order manhattans from him, since the bartender didn’t know how to make a good one and he did. It was all right, but I’ve had plenty better. One cosmo arrived without the cranberry juice (!); instead of taking it back to remake it, the server brought out a plastic shot of cranberry juice to add in. Granted it was a busy Saturday night for the staff. But if they’re charging Theatre District prices (11 bucks a cocktail), one expects better.

By the way, if you make it to Encore take a minute to peek into the Marriott lobby. It’s grandeur of the sort you just don’t see much these days.