I can’t put my finger on why exactly, but I’m huge fan of all things Speakeasy and Prohibition – peepholes, derbies, spats, suspenders, and paperboy hats. I’m sucker for dark, mysterious, low-key, unpopular, undiscovered and thus, sexy. I’m particularly in lust if they have a mechanical NCR register, in lieu of the now ubiquitous (and ghastly) touchscreen Point of Sale systems. Toss in some dim lighting, exposed brick, rustic copper ceilings, a hipster-approved 3-piece band with upright bass, aged Mahognay – and I’ll never, ever leave.
If you’ve noticed my Pub Crawl, you’ll see that most of my favorite haunts are somewhat befitting of those descriptions. If I could have chosen my birth, I probably would have selected a period somewhere between post-Civil War Reconstruction and the turn of the 20th century. Simplicity and authenticity were king. Massive opportunities were left and right for the taking. The Man pretty much let you do your thing as you pleased. I would have thrived with my “can-do” disposition.