Speakeasies

Last night I met up with my friend in Old Town Alexandria to catch up, as he had been in Europe for the past month playing shows all over Germany, in Amsterdam and Paris. That asshole. Just kidding, it was nice to talk to someone about recent trips to Europe. Especially someone who feels the same way about travel etiquette as me.



We met on the corner of King St. as the evening got dusky and the lights in the trees lit up. I had just passed a Greek restaurant that smelled incredible so we went to check it out. I like it when those spontaneous meal decisions that are based on smell and feel alone turn out to be wise ones, because I have never been so entertained at a restaurant before in my life. Did you know that it is apparently a Greek tradition to throw plates on the ground while people are dancing around them? Yes.

We sat near the second level of the restaurant, which allowed us a perfect view of the two old musicians as they slowly set up their mics and guitars. Then, a chubby nine year old boy from a nearby table made his way onto the dance floor. I wish we had cameraphones for that moment so that I could show you his dance. It was unlike any other I've ever seen. It began by him hopping up and down on one leg, the other held up in the air as he sawed it, like it was a washboard instrument. Don't ask. I don't know why. But he seemed to be loving it, and the crowd was too. Then his mother came out on the dance floor too, taking his hands and twirling around with him, his tongue hanging out like an innocent, overeager Gene Simmons.

Our waiter, and three other waiters joined in, forming a line of dancers, who probably weren't greet at all, but had been taught the dances. They grabbed an older woman from the table in front, who looked as if she had seen a gypsy dance or two in her day. She didn't care that her husband was left dumbfounded when Greek waiters stole his wife away to wind through the tables. At last they came back to the dancefloor, where they formed a circle, and those plates I mentioned? They got tossed at their feet. Dollar bills got thrown in the air. We took sips of our licorice tasting ouzo and ate our anchovies.



After that, it was hard to find a place where the entertainment could compare, but we had made it our purpose to go to a speakeasy that night. It's this little place where--shhhh. I'm not supposed to be telling you this, so listen carefully--it's only open when the flag is in the window and the blue light is on. You have to be dressed properly, and ring the buzzer, having made reservations, or hoping to get a seat at the bar. You'd probably want to sit at the bar anyway, because that's where the action happens. No, I'm serious. This is a place that takes its cocktails very seriously. As in, they have dropper bottles of flavoring and jars of fresh herbs. The bartender cuts his garnishes to order, and if you get the Sherlock Holmes he burns a sliver of lemon peel then runs it along the rim of the glass for that extra smoky flavor. Then he finishes the drink off with a brisk rub and slap of mint leaf. I don't know what the slapping does, but he does it with panache. And he's quietly listening to everything you say as he moves around the bar doing a dance much more refined and elegant than that of the Greek dancers. We were talking about Hot Toddies because that's what he recommended I use some honey liquer for, brought back from a farmer's market in Germany. I couldn't remember what liquor was used with it and he corrected my guess of whiskey. Apparently it's brandy. And you don't use Earl Grey, they use a jasmine tea in theirs.
All in all, an elegant sort of night on the town with a friend. I wish I could make it my local bar.