Skip to main content

Speakeasy 21- Cocktails Downtown


It was my birthday last week, and a good friend and I started the celebration at Speakeasy 21.  I had avoided this place for a while; I find the bars right in the office towers downtown are often just too loud, or filled with, you know, rich idiots (I am trying to write at least one post without using the word douchebag, but perhaps one about the Bay street bar scene isn't the place to start.)



We were seated quickly, but it was pretty crowded for a Tuesday night.  It was indeed loud, but no worse than anywhere in the area, I guess.  The cocktail I had was delicious.  Now, I am fully aware that I am late to the party on practically everything cultural these days (just see my TV reviews; have you heard of this Game of Thrones business? ) but the throwback cocktail thing- I have been doing this for years.

I was ordering sidecars in bars back when you had to tell the bartender what was in them.  I was scouring antique stores for coupe glasses before they became ubiquitous again.  For me, it was an Algonquin Round Table thing.  My love of Dorothy Parker et al meant a lifelong infatuation with the style, if not the liquor itself.  Still, although it's delightful to have a drink at the actual Algonquin when I'm in New York, I'm relieved that I can finally get old-school cocktails in so many places.

At Speakeasy 21, I had a Sloe Gin 75, which was like a French 75 but with some Chambord thrown in.  Very good. I can't comment on the food, since my friend and I just had drinks, before meeting some others at Montecito for dinner (more on that later). I'd definitely go back and try something else from the menu.  I have 2 friends who work in that office tower, and I noticed they had patio furniture about to be set up, should this mother%$#*%ing Canadian winter ever end.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Now or Never Books

As I mentioned in a previous post , and as it's the season, I am in a purging and organizing mood.  No, I'm not following Marie Kondo's advice as closely as I should be, mostly because it's SO HARD with books, and I have more books than anything else.  I've gone over and over my bookshelves, but I just can't seem to part with any more titles.  The vast majority of my books do spark joy, even if it's just the memory of having read it; I know I'm supposed to get rid of them anyway.  Not sure I can. I have started making piles that I am calling "now or never" books.  One of the bits of advice in The  Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up  is essentially: if you haven't read it yet, you're never going to.  I just can't face that.  In the pile pictured above are some books that I know will be amazing, but for some reason I haven't found the time. I have to read these in the next, let's say, 2 months, or they get donated.  It

Princess Pancakes

Greek yogurt pancakes. As someone who spends as much time as possible on Harbour Island, I feel a kinship with others who love it there and return frequently.  Kinship isn't the right word; that implies some sort of equal status, which I am very well aware I don't share with the Harbour Island people I follow on Instagram: India Hicks ,   Annika Von Holdt , Alessandra Branca , Amanda Brooks , and Marie-Chantal of Greece . Aside from the fact that I am pretty much the only one of these women with any measurable body fat, let's not even get into the gulf between our economic statuses.  (Then again, being the poorest person to regularly holiday on HI, and now to have a house on Eleuthera, is not one of the world's saddest tales, I know). Take Marie-Chantal, or MC, as her friends (and someone who prefers to type only 2 letters) call her. One of three daughters of  duty-free magnate Robert Miller, she married into the deposed Greek royal family in the 90s, and is no

Girls Who Wear Glasses

Image- Pinterest I had braces for 3 years.  That may give you some idea of how out of whack my teeth were as an adolescent.  My dad used to say I could eat corn on the cob through a picket fence.  Even with good insurance, he still referred to my braces as "the trip to Hawaii."  I had them removed just a few weeks into high school.  I was perfect, for about a month. Then, one day in math class, my teacher asked me to do the problem written on the blackboard.  "There's something written on the blackboard?" I said, which was both smart-ass and true.  I couldn't see a damn thing on it.  So, off I went for an eye exam, and, sure enough, I needed glasses.  I was  not  pleased.  Hipsters hadn't yet been spawned by the devil, and the only people who wore glasses were nerds and old people.