On Milwaukee's South Side, where young boys play kickball amid lampposts and parked cars, I sat inside a clapboard house.
On the outside, it conforms to its neighborhood: a white-paneled house with window boxes, where flowers spill over the edges in the summer. But inside, lights soaked the room in a red glow. A half-moon bar assured me that I hadn't accidentally stepped into a stranger's house.
At an upstairs table, I was told there was no menu here. Instead, my waitress asked me to describe my preferred tastes. Gin or whiskey? Citrusy or bitter? Spirit-forward or sweet? And hey, would I like it aflame?
Who says no to fire? Ten minutes later, I was staring at a tall, whiskey-infused slushie that harbored a pool of blue flames about an inch from my straw — an apparent specialty at Bryant's Cocktail Lounge.
It wasn't the first time, on this extended weekend trip, that I had found myself awed by Milwaukee's liquor-inspired genius.
One night earlier, I had discovered Foundation Bar in the city's Riverwest neighborhood. Upon entering the inconspicuous-looking stone-fronted house, I was transported to Polynesia — or at least 1960s America, when tiki bars reigned. The walls in the dark, corridor-like bar were covered in string lights and brightly colored faux sea life, and chiseled into totem pole-styled columns. Sitting at the thin wooden bar, I watched as Mai Tais, Singapore Slings and other tiki specialties brimming with crushed ice, edible flowers and bouquets of fresh mint were paraded to the tables.
To be honest, I was stunned.
While the craft cocktail revolution is infiltrating major cities worldwide, I had still always thought of Milwaukee as a place where beer took the boozy spotlight.