Edina made history last week: It axed its decades-old ban on happy hour, becoming the last city in the metro area to do so. With drink specials outlawed since time immemorial in this well-to-do suburb, the newfound liberty felt a bit like the end of Prohibition.

What had the city leaders of yesteryear feared? Would cheap booze lead to pandemonium? Chaos in the streets? Hardly.

Last Thursday, the first day of legal happy hour, 63-year-old Michael Musto pulled a stool up to the bar inside the Edina Grill. It was 3:58 p.m. -- two minutes until blast-off.

With a smile wrapped around his face, the silver-haired retiree ordered one of the first happy-hour drinks this fair city had ever seen. It was a ginger-peach cosmo. It tasted like freedom.

"Oh, man, is that good!" he said.

Are old-timers like Musto ready for cheap drinks? Do the Real Housewives of Edina really need discounted booze?

"Everybody needs a bargain," Musto said.

Up and down 50th and France, happy hour had arrived. At Salut, a green specialty cocktail was $5. Next door, Cocina del Barrio was selling bottles of Dos Equis for $3.

For decades, Edina was a "dry" city. Wine was finally allowed in restaurants in the mid-1980s. The Draconian liquor laws eased up again in 1999 when -- gasp! -- liquor was introduced to the dining scene. (The city still owns the liquor stores.)

Edina Grill co-owner David Burley tried twice during the past decade to overturn the happy-hour ban. The third time was the charm. He persuaded city leaders, with the aid of neighboring establishments and the Minnesota Restaurant Association. Using napkin math, Burley estimates that the Edina Grill lost out on $100,000 a year without a happy hour.

Still, happy hour comes with a few stipulations in Edina, such as no two-for-ones, punch cards or "bartering." So tell your country cousin he can't trade his chickens for a beer.

Edina resident Linda Parell brought her 25-year-old daughter, Jennifer, to the new happy hour last Thursday. Anything was better than the "Prohibition" years, Linda said. "I remember going to Tejas and having a white-wine margarita -- how lame is that?" she said.

That cosmo drinker, Musto, lived in Edina during the 1990s but has since moved to Plymouth. He still ventures back to 50th and France for dinner, but only after going to happy hour somewhere else. He keeps a list of his favorites on his phone. But he's ready to rekindle his relationship with this quaint suburb.

"I feel like this is a whole new community, ripe for exploration," he said.

As the minutes ticked by and the happy-hour crowd swelled, longtime regular Dirk Hackett decided it was time for a toast. He got the bar's attention, instructed everyone to raise a glass and then shouted:

"Happy days are here again! Edina is all grown up!"

Someone immediately muttered: "There goes the neighborhood."