Rumor Has It: Speakeasies Are In

       here is a certain quality that is so alluring about a speakeasy.

It stirs up emotions as if a friend is unveiling elaborate gossip.

When you’ve elected to share a bottle, and after it’s half gone, and she leans in with big eyes and a whisper and an “Oh, did you hear…?” It’s juicy. It’s deep. It’s scandalous. And you can’t tell a soul.

Instead, it lingers in your thoughts, and you cannot help but go back to it time and time again. Maybe that is precisely the reason why those secret little bars are on the rise.

We, as a society, seek to be confided in.

The first speakeasy I ever went to was the one where I worked the summer after turning 21.

Good News, Darling in Des Moines, Iowa, was an intimate space with only a handful of tables and a few velvet barstools.

The walls were adorned with custom-themed newspaper wallpaper and a few surrealist paintings. In the drinks, creativity sprang rampant.

Served ironically in a takeout container, “Take Out” consisted of sesame oil-washed gin, pholernum, lime oleo saccharum, red hot chili oil, and cilantro. It was umami-ridden. A moment of nostalgia through two chopstick-resembling straws.

“Marion” was an elevated version of a Cosmopolitan with Wild Roots Pear vodka, marionberry, hibiscus, lemon, cava, white chocolate painted on the side, and a bubble of berry vapor gracing the top of the Tom Collins glass.

Frankly, there were too many to mention. Some were paired with cheese, and others with a packet of hot sauce. A few were washed with strawberry yogurt.

One of my favorites had a corn miso and a buttermilk wash. Each drink had a story, a memory, and a reason to come back to the hidden room behind Hello Marjorie.

I write this all about Good News in the past tense as the beloved secret could not be kept a secret. It has gotten quite busy. The final service will be Saturday, June 20, 2026. Later this summer, it will retell itself into a new story: Nothing Major.

The bar will open up, with its own storefront, on Locust St. Operations and the Beverage Program will continue to be led by Josh McAlexander.

I presume nothing too juicy can remain a secret for too long. People love to gossip.

The year before I graduated from college, I found myself on a quick jaunt to New York City with my boyfriend at the time, a former NYC resident. We indulged in quite a few touristy things, as one does, which, to my surprise, happened to be quite a few speakeasies.

Underneath The Mean Fiddler in Midtown, The Woo Woo invokes a tantalizing, taboo environment.

The inspiration and design direction wear the sexy, seedy underbelly of Times Square in the 1980s and connect seamlessly with the open-mindedness and fluidity of today.

After descending a graffiti staircase, guests come into an adults-only sex shop stocked with authentic 80’s porn magazines and videos. Through a VCR bookcase portal, you can nearly step back in time to a decade when the world was at our fingertips.

Down to the Lower East Side, Paradise Lost provides yet another vehicle to escape into and to get, rather, well, lost.

It’s described as a “tropical hellscape” outside of time, hidden away in the East Village.

The unassuming storefront opens to jungle music and greenery. Walking down the hallway, it’s difficult to keep the thoughts of Richard Connell’s “The Most Dangerous Game” at bay.

It’s terrifying, but it’s exhilarating knowing a craft cocktail waits on the other side.

One of our few afternoons left in the city, I developed a hankering for doughnuts. A good doughnut.

Yeasted and glazed and unusually flavored. All this to say, Dromedary Doughnuts in Bushwick had one dubbed “Alscapone,” pineapple mascarpone-filled, with Mike’s Hot Honey butterscotch, and garnished with prosciutto–and I ate every bite and licked my fingertips.

After which, the lovely doughnutiers practically begged us to utilize their photobooth. Suddenly, we were in Ra-Ra Rhino, a 70s-style tiki lounge featuring a sparkling purple rhinoceros bust that periodically blows smoke from its nostrils. Enigmatic..

At that time in my life, the experience created a taste for me. Being able to escape into another universe for a few hours was profound. Granted, it still is. But speakeasies like The Woo Woo, Paradise Lost, or Ra-Ra Rhino crafted my very own fascination towards the elaborate concoction of storytelling paired with a drink.

I’ve since lived in NYC, discovered so many other speakeasies, frequented favorites, moved back to the Midwest, and still visit Manhattan rather a lot, but now as my own former resident.

Most recently, I visited an artistic inspiration and friend of mine. Being native to the area, I let him show me around a bit. We ate well that week. Watched some Broadway shows that left me speechless. But perhaps best of all was the speakeasy he took me to with no menu.

This concept charms me endlessly because, as a service worker, whether in a bar or a restaurant or what have you, recipes are the foundation. They keep the machine operational and moving fluidly. Yet somehow, in the window seat of Attaboy in the Lower East Side, I had some of the best cocktails I’ve ever had with absolutely impeccable service served alongside them. 

We stuck to whiskey drinks for the evening. Each sip delighted and impressed us. The industrial-style space made me feel at home. Nothing fancy, yet it was beautiful. The polished simplicity was in the company and the cocktail in my hand.

Attaboy continues to stake its place in New York cocktail history. The unmarked metal door is a trademark of the iconic, low-lit speakeasy owned by Sam Ross and Michael McIlroy. 

That, to my belief, is what encourages us to find these speakeasies and to create them much the same. It isn’t dining alone even if it is a party of one.

For those hours, you’re an insider. You’re a part of the story and the storytelling and the magic that is contributing to everyone else’s evening. You’re in on it. I can’t give you all my secrets.

Please dig into the locations, the passwords, and all the spicy history.

Look for speakeasies in different states and confide in those you trust with all the intriguing details.  Escape behind the walls, the photobooth, or the curtain into these stories crafted with care and passion.

I can’t give up all my secrets, but I hope this left you feeling trusted yet impossibly eager to visit these thoughts or some of your own again and again.