VEUVE CLICQUOT LA GRANDE DAME BAR + CLINK AT THE LIBERTY HOTEL

215 CHARLES ST., BEACON HILL, 617.224.4004. LIBERTYHOTEL.COM

By DAVE WEDGE | Photo By Alison Klein

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I discover that Saturday night at the trendiest, velvet-roped spot in the city is a serious zoo. Thankfully, some media maneuvering allowed my crew to bypass the frustrated mob waiting in the painful, hair-gel-freezing cold. Hard to believe this sleek nightspot was once a hellhole that housed Boston's rapists, killers and thieves. The main floor where cons once shanked each other is now a lushly carpeted urban mecca for movers and shakers looking to be seen while banging back $15 cocktails. Tucked to the side lies the newly created Veuve Clicquot champagne bar, which is one of just three such spots worldwide. Suffice to say, the offerings are a far cry from jailhouse hooch.

Drink 1: Yellow Label Veuve Clicquot champagne ($16). I felt like a total poser, but the bubbly's smooth, dry and ice cold—exactly the opposite of the garbage champagne you find at cheesy weddings and lame parties. "The originality is the draw," server Frankie Preffer, a 22-year-old blonde nursing student, said of the lounge's appeal. Preffer added that the La Grande Dame bars are the only places connoisseurs can get the brand's top champagne, La Grande Dame 1998, by the glass. I thought about getting one for about a minute, but was quickly dissuaded by the thought of begging reimbursement for a $49 drink.

Drink 2: Blue Lemonade ($14). By the time I polished off the Yellow Label, many thirsty patrons had schmoozed past the door staff. One boldly sported a T-shirt that read: "Marriage should be a 3-year lease." This prompted one tipsy divorcee to ask him: "Do you really believe that, or do you just want to get laid?" As my spunky server Shannon mixed me a Blue Lemonade, this match made in hell bantered back and forth about marriage. "It's really a statement on the country's 55 percent divorce rate," he rationalized. Not missing a beat, the divorcee snapped, "That's why you get a prenup." My giant lemony martini with floating blueberries helped me cope with these two barstool shrinks. They seemed destined to either come to blows or hook up, but I wasn't sticking around to find out.

Drink 3: Mumbai Express ($13). By now, the booze was talking and my handwriting was starting to get a bit sloppy. This stiff concoction of Red Bull, chilled vodka and fresh kumquat added fuel to the fire, packing a punch to match the price.

Drink 4: Very Berry ($14). The bar manager Kam, harried from the voracious crowd, recommended this sweet potion of Stoli Rasberry, Stoli Blueberry and citrus topped with fresh raspberries and blueberries: "This tends to be what the ladies want. They eat the shit up." Humbly accepting what he flatly admitted is a ladies' drink, I found myself pining for a PBR tallboy and Keno. I was downing fruit like I was at a Caribbean breakfast buffet, now keenly aware that these foofoo drinks throw an alcoholic punch that would make Dean Martin stumble.

Drink 5: Painkiller ($14). In the end, I opted for whiskey topped with champagne. A play on a classic Old Fashioned, this carbonated mind-crusher was like root beer on steroids. The champagne added smoothness, but my friends said the boozy stench reminded them of their highball-sipping grandfathers. This one was not for the meek and quickly marked the end of my night. I left behind my new friends in the care of Boston's power elite and wandered outside, where well-dressed nightstalkers were still jockeying to get in.