I’m going to tell you about something but you have to promise to keep it between us, OK? I think it might be illegal–or was, anyway, circa 1920. I’m talking about cocktails. Real cocktails with essence of stuff that’s like quadruple strained after being set on fire and muddled with brandied cherries splashed with a generous helping of gin and rose water (or something) and prepared by bartenders dressed in suspenders and newsboy caps who, for the most part, are cool and collected but oozing with giddiness at the crowd of like-minded guests. The Prohibition: It’s back… but the booze is legal this time! It was dark and I was drunk, but I remember the old-school films projected on the wall with the soft notes of Cab Calloway floating through the dark room crowded drink enthusiasts, foodies and cabaret girls. A lot of people dressed all out in theme which was what made it seem dream-like to me. That and my being drunk, I mean. Thirtyninehotel’s Christian Self had mentioned this social experiment to me in passing a while ago and finally just went for it. You can’t even get in unless they give you the entry password so I would suggest being nice to them, or joining the gallery’s e-mail list. Either way. It’s not so much the exclusivity of the modern day speakeasy, it’s the understanding that you’re a guest because you want to be there. Nobody in the place even batted an eye at how long it took to actually get their drink, because watching the bartenders make the drinks and talk about what they were doing was a big part of the experience. It’s one thing to sling drinks for a living, it’s another to be constantly experimenting with tastes and textures, always in search of something new. One of the drinks I tried actually had elderflower caviar! Expect to see a parade of some very talented and very inspired guest bartenders coming through to share their ideas, and expect to need a little bit of assistance getting back down those stairs.

It’s Wednedsay when you’re reading this, and I’m probably still reeling from First Friday. I don’t know how I feel so much about the term “Living the Dream” but it’s so spot on. We all have these images in our head of what we’ll be doing when we grow up. House, kids, dog. For a lot of these young Chinatown people it’s bar, convert venue, café slash gallery slash bar. I admire the courage they all have to just go for it. Brandon Reid (what, is it a new requirement that you have to be ridiculously good looking if you open a bar in Chinatown?) is going for it in a huge way with his café-by-day, bar-by-night Manifest. It’s not ready yet but man I can’t wait to check him, er, it out. Meanwhile, tripping over a puddle to find a black curtain in place of a bathroom door actually felt more quirky than gross at SoHo’s debut of its new concert venue space. Not one, but two of their A/C units were broken and the larger side of the room was only half-painted, but that didn’t stop the people there from dancing their faces off to Ira, Jr. Waikiki and Ramyt, who are arguably the best house DJs on the island. People were literally cheering throughout the night and taking turns jumping on stage to hype up the crowd even more. The In4mation crew brought in its own DJs to hip-hop it up in the next room, causing this clash of genius that kept me coming back after repeated laps around town. It’s hard to go too far when people are so serious about just having a great time. It really shows.

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