Step into Bacchus and bask in the low light cast by the fireplace and tealights, its Turneresque wall paintings, and the irony-free evocation of piano bars of yore. The lounge has (or had) staged a hip, self-aware second coming, but, for Bacchus, it's still and forever the days of Ike and Mamie's first White House term. The piano man in the corner pounds out Neil Diamond, and the crowd of boomers and their children hum along.