Dear Tommy,
I found myself in Seattle this weekend, and I needed a drink. I heard that Knee High Stocking Company was supposed to be pretty good, so I told my friends we should grab a drink there! They said, “Great, Mabel. We’ll hit it up after dinner.”
Me:”Um, when will that be?
Them: “Um, whenever we’re finished.”
Me: “Well, I mean, when do you think-”
Them: “Chill out! I know Portland’s a bustling metropolis and all, but you’re in Seattle now! Relax!”
Me: “Well, I need to know what time to make the reservation.”
Them (flabbergasted): *clears throat. low, menacing voice* “You need a reservation to a BAR?”
Me: “Well, it’s kind of this speakeasy thing”
Them: “What?!?”
Me: *mumbling* “You have to text them, and then you go to this buzzer thing, and you say the secret word, and–”
Them: “Oh, no. Oh, no no no. You are NOT dragging me to some snotty pretentious $*&!?………” The conversation degenerated from there.
Long story short: We went to Knee High Stocking Company. They had something called Mansinthe. (It’s Marilyn Manson’s Absinthe, which due to my Toby Keith post I shouldn’t touch, but god I want to).
The cocktail waitresses were gorgeous and extraordinarily friendly (They even called me “friend” instead of “ma’am”). The bartender was really aiming to please. Oh, and it was lovely, mellow, calm, urbane– we all had a seat— and it was 10:00 on Saturday night on Capitol Hill. Something tells me that this speakeasy trend might have a little something going for it.
Love,
Mabel
Tweed & Malt 
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