Covering the surprisingly sprawling basement spaces that lie beneath the Octagon Bar, The Liquor Rooms builds on the popularity of Vintage Cocktail Club, which refashioned the long-departed Pal Joeys as a decadent home of mixology to fine effect. What VCC didn’t have – space – the Liquors Rooms has in abundance. There are literally many rooms, unfolding outwards from the single street level entry with a selection of nooks and crannies in between for good measure.
The vibe is, in an overall sense, the match of Vintage Cocktail Club: a low-lit chicness, hinting at exclusivity but catering for inclusivity. It’s not just the size that gives this place versatility, the lay-out also naturally entails a mix of décors and vibes. The first room you enter (The Black Rabbit Room, I later find out) features what I presume are The Liquor Rooms’ pain et beurre, hip lounge cats draped on couches, often sporting fedoras sipping on cocktails, as well as a smattering of older, suited business gents at the bar, alone or accompanied. The back room – sorry, Boom Room – caters to cavorters, frollickers and prancers. The DJ is spinning a pleasant mix of funk and soul – all is well in here.
Onward, into the dark heart of The Blind Tiger Room and things have taken a turn for the bizarre. In search of space, we have stumbled upon what we later discern is conference’s worth of German brain surgeons. Not sporting the appropriate wristbands, we are forced to pay for our cocktails like any Joe Schlub off the street but both our Whiskey Sours and our Aviations (each around the tenner mark) were tasty, made promptly and with just the right amount of nonchalance. The Liquor Rooms pride themselves on the plethora of concoctions shaken into coupes, goblets, and tin mugs that make a welcome, if pricey, alternative to the vodka dashes and fluorescent potions of other city centre clubs.
The stacked fireplaces and curtained stage of the Boom Room and the walls of flowers in the now-defunct smoking area give a real feeling of stepping ‘through the looking glass’ into some sort of lavish residence. Unfortunately this seems to come coupled with an elitist door policy. Upon being told that one of our party can come in “despite being a bit younger than we normally allow” – twenty – I couldn’t help but feel that this attempt at a kind gesture from the door person had completely the opposite effect. ‘We don’t really want you here, but we will take your money and make you feel unwelcome while doing so.’ But hey, no one pays bouncers to be sound, right?
We exit to the strains of that Tiefschwarz ft. Mama ‘classic’ Corporate Butcher, a hilarious request from one of the surgeons no doubt. Who says Germans don’t have a sense of humour?
The Liquor Rooms
7 Wellington Quay
Temple Bar
Dublin 2
Words: Ian Lamont
