OXFORD'S ELUSIVE SPEAKEASY
Oxford's Elusive Speakeasy
by Nicholas Carr
I stumbled through the alleys on the square, searching in the dark for a door that supposedly hides a speakeasy. The locals know - but keep it hush hush. It's bourgeois, swanky, and I just might spot Morgan Freeman - unless he was pulling my leg.
I spotted a line of people in a back alley - usually I avoid people who have gathered in the night, but this is Ox. My Ox. I joined this orchestra of well-dressed souls and contributed my own two cents. I was ready for a stiff drink.
The door opened; it was my turn to knock on the door and ask for passage... My father would describe the concierge who stood before me as a "yuppie," but this is the Oxford norm - I like it. The young man complimented my fleur-de-lis print tie as he ushered me to a vacant bar stool.
The barkeep placed a menu on the bar infront of me, casually offering me a toasted marshmallow. "It's on the house," he beamed. I graciously accepted his offer and ordered a Manhattan.
$12 grilled cheese,
No Morgan Freeman (yet)
but for an extravagant sum, they will fly a certain celebrity chef to cook for me and a few guests.
How bourgeois would that be?
Morgan freeman at his booth with a sandalwood / patchouli blend wavering through the dimly lit bar.