Venice burlesque party at the Townhouse

March 26, 12:37 AMLA Cocktails ExaminerAaron Vanek

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The Speakeasies at a modern Speakeasy: the Townhouse in Venice

Where: The Townhouse 52 Windward Ave. Venice 310-392-4040

Map 

When: Just now, Wednesday night
What: What? I can’t hear you.

My ears are still ringing and my buzz is peaking, but if you quit giggling at LOLCats or skateboarding malfunctions on YouTube and move your keister now, you might be able to catch the closing dance at the Townhouse in Venice.

Located in the historic Venice Square, less than a drunken stagger away from Danny’s is an updated speakeasy. Instead of flappers and Dapper Dans, we have European hostel guys in American Apparel peacocking before hippy leftovers in jeans jackets patched with safety pins or the cute casually dressed female creative assistants. Everyone’s communicating solely via body language inside this classic bar ripped with stereo steroids injected by a DJ.

Expect to jostle elbows for about ten minutes (or about two originals from the Guitar Hero play list) before you can yell your order to the overworked tattooed bartender. Almost everyone gets a beer, but they do have a specialty cocktail menu. I had to bellow twice before I got my Negroni.

Negroni: Tanqueray gin, Campari, Cinzano sweet or dry vermouth, splash of soda, lemon peel (I got a wedge)  

The Negroni didn’t appear in America until after the War (WWII, for those keeping track), and it may be a reparation from fascist Italy. It has bite, and is designed to stimulate the appetite.

It arrives in a honkin' big old-fashioned glass, and I’d count the ice cubes if I could see them. It doesn’t overpower; the gin smoothly insinuates itself before all other ingredients. But it has a weird earthy aftertaste. Ejecting the straw and sipping straight from the glass is better, as the lemon zings the almost antiseptic hint of the drink.

I sit for a bit in a secluded corner, trying to keep tinnitus at bay. I can barely make out the early 20th century wallpaper photos and period art on the walls. I wish I could see them better, but I’m probably the only one in this quite busy establishment who notices inanimate objects that don’t carry a warning label to pregnant women.

While finishing off my Red Stripe Negroni chaser, I’m warned to clear my section of the bar. Next thing I know, two girls in hula skirts and fake coconut bikinis shake barefoot booty above me. These are part of the Speakeasies, a burlesque troupe who enlivens the Townhouse every Wednesday or on special occasions.

Photo flashes bathe nearly naked flesh, regular girls groove to the music, guys go “Whoo!” and before you know it, they’re posing in their coconuts and getting a helping hand off the bar, which rapidly resets with another round as the bartenders rush to fill the void of sexual frustration. In a few minutes, the show repeats but with different outfits.

There’s something remotely assuring to know the celebration goes on, right now, minutes after a new Thursday greets the Pacific Coast. I don’t know about you, but I’m glad to know ancient human rituals of dance, courtship, and consumption continues into the wee hours. The world somehow isn’t as bad as it seems while there’s still a chance to get cheap beer, perfectly adequate cocktails, and free burlesque on a Wednesday night.

But now I’m hungry. Good thing In n’ Out is open until 1am on weeknights.

Thanks to Venice Paparazzi for getting me on the QT and very hush hush. 

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