Modern Speakeasies only emulate the best of Prohibition's tricks
Prohibition wasn’t cool. No booze, nasty makeshift distilleries, crackdowns for the faintest smell of beer or whiskey on the breath. But what came out of Prohibition was cool—speakeasies. The password at the door, having to know a friend of a friend to discover the location, the dark glamour. Surely the years since the last day of Prohibition—December 5, 1933—have only heightened the mystery and danger of speakeasies in today’s culture.
Prohibition began in January of 1920. After this year, more than half of American liquor started being produced at home and its taste reflected its unskilled distillers. Because of the nasty taste, older cocktails that relied on the taste of alcohol for its deliciousness started being replaced with available ingredients. Instead, Americans used ingredients that covered up the taste of their sub-par liquor—rye, crème de cacao, ginger and ginger ale.
Nasty tasting alcohol was the least of Prohibition-era peoples’ problems. Obviously, alcohol production was unregulated, so additional ingredients that got into batches of booze went undiscovered. In the holiday season of 1926 alone, 47 New Yorkers died from poisoned alcohol. Jamaica ginger, a medicine with a high alcohol content used as a liquor substitute, made frequent drinkers of the stuff lose the use of their hands and feet.
But the shoddy alcohol didn’t stop the production of speakeasies. And today, most speakeasy reproductions serve cocktails pre-Prohibition—from 1890 to 1910—to stop unnecessary deaths. Today’s speakeasies only emulate the exciting parts of a business trying to stop a police crackdown—dark drapes at the windows, poorly lit booths and a pass code to enter.
Modern speakeasies certainly are a trend. The hidden places of booze and snacks, suspenders and crinoline skirts are springing up around the country like weeds.
Seattle’s Knee High Stocking Co. employs the old technique of pretending that you are some other kind of business, but you really just sell booze. The speakeasy operates out an unassuming building in Capitol Hill with only a tiny sign marking its existence. You have to make a reservation through text message. The windows inside the small establishment are blacked out with pieces of cloth and the bartender makes a mean alcoholic punch every day.