The GAN? guide: World's top 10 hottest cocktail bars:
Fezziwig's, London
Pre-Edwardian, speakeasy-style nook that sits behind a rusted portcullis on an unmarked street in Covent Garden. The drinks are made only from ingredients found in the novels of Charles Dickens, and are collected daily from local thickets. There is no drinks menu, and orders must be placed through the lone bartender, who is to be questioned and addressed solemnly as Fezziwig. The cocktails blaze a trail through late Victorian medical books. Best drink: Whooping Cough Dropsy. Dress code: Workhouse casual.
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@(*)<<<<<>>>>, Brooklyn, NYC
Future-retro, speakeasy-style loungette in a neighbourhood of Brooklyn so hip that, like a solar eclipse, it can only be regarded through specially-made glasses. Entry is limited to those that can approximate the correct pronunciation of the bar’s name, which itself changes every four days. Best drink: Hard to say as the menus are written in kanji. Dress code: Mid-1960s Peruvian malcontent, though strictly “not too Peruvian”.
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o, Tokyo
Hyper-minimalist, speakeasy-style nub, its location ever-changing and trackable only via prohibitively expensive smartphone app. All we know is, it’s white inside. Best drink: n/a (“classification intimates imperfection”). Dress code: All they would say was “no Converse”.
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Deglutition, San Francisco
Ultra-utilitarian, speakeasy-style lab space, which advertises mainly on the inside covers of medical journals. The name (the scientific word for “swallowing”) denotes the formal tone of the establishment. Orders are not made, they are prescribed following a thorough swabbing of the oral cavity by the ‘fructo-alcoloid-hydrationists’. After consultation, a concoction is then injected directly onto the area identified as most receptive to flavour. Best drink: The homemade C20H24N2O2. Dress code: Business sterile.
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Rick's Bar, Brazil
Uber-remote, speakeasy-style jungle clearing, a four-day hike from the nearest drop off point on the Amazon River. Former London bartender Rick Gradall relocated here among the Yanomani tribe after declaring that he was fed up of serving customers who “didn’t want it enough”. Rick invites only the most committed imbibers to join him. Best drink: Coconut milk plus whatever bottle you bring with you, with hallucinogenic frog back. Dress code: Fun rainforest (formal wear on Thursdays).
Foams, Sydney
Foam-obsessed, speakeasy-style boîte on the harbourfront, run by sociopathic former chef Chuck Daniels. “As soon as I tasted foam,” he ranted, “I just wanted to make everything into foam.” Patronage is an act of endurance as Daniels berates all customers continually about the benefits of foam. Best drink: “It’s a foam bloody Sidecar, mate. Imagine that!” Dress code: unruly.
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Das Boot, Berlin
Psychologically damaging, speakeasy-style locker in the basement of a former rust merchant. Clientele are not encouraged. Once seated in the claustrophobic iron bunker, a harmonic tone designed to keep you on the edge of nausea is played. The earplugged bartenders then thrust liquids at you at their whim. Riding high on the scene having been recently voted Vice Magazine’s “Most Penis-y night out (Europe)”. Best drink: “There is no English word for this, but it means you are engorged by failure.” Dress code: Relaxed, as long as it incorporates a still-live organism.
Carnivale Carnale, Prague
Semi-pornographic, speakeasy-style studio touted, with no discernable competition, as ‘the ultimate eroto-gothic cabaret bar”. Staffed by a trio of failed illusionists, each drink comes with multiple props and is presented via an elaborate magic trick, lasting anything up to 33 minutes. Customers are distracted by a constant stream of scantily clad assistants, none of whom seem to actually assist. Best drink: The whole menu is just a vehicle for laboured sexual/occult metaphors. Go with whichever repulses you least. Dress code: That thing that’s like a gypsy in a top hat.
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Novice, Garforth
Hipster-baiting, speakeasy-style pub in the provincial north of England. With the ethos: “If we’re new, we can’t get old”, scenester Jimmy X set up in a nondescript northern English town, confident that the crowds would follow. Bartenders are employed for one night only and must have no previous experience in the service industry. “I want that innocence and wide-eyed hunger poured into every drink,” X said. Best drink: Ice water. Better yet, just water. Dress code: Lottery-winning former miner.
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Pour Aller a la Banque, Paris
Fiscally-intimidating, speakeasy-style bolthole that seeks to recreate the economic boom periods of the last century. The menu changes on an almost hourly basis, with ingredients chosen on their current worth on the open stock market. The bartenders all have post-doctorates in economics and under ten per cent body fat. Best drink: The Pork Future. Dress code: Offensively trustafarian.
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