The Lore of Miami’s Prohibition Bars

In 1933, the Goodyear blimp Defender took regular flights from a mooring on Watson Island. The tallest building on Miami Beach was the Blackstone. And a bar opened its doors in a squat concrete storefront at 222 Washington.

There’s actually a good chance the bar had been open for a while before then, but it wasn’t until 1933 that anyone could talk about it, because that was the year Prohibition ended. Al Capone had been a Miami Beach resident for five years at that point, living in a palatial house on Palm Island that the mayor, J. Newton Lummus, had sold to him.

“Capone is no worse than a lot of others down here,” Lummus said prior to the sale.

Afterward, he voted with other councilors to try to evict the gangster, possibly because he hadn’t been invited to enough of the Champagne-swilling parties Capone threw while his organization gunned down his business rivals up north in Chicago. By 1933, it was a moot point: Capone had been arrested for tax evasion, and his syndicate’s biggest source of income had just dried up as the country went wet. Liquor was back on the menu of law-abiding establishments from coast to coast.

And one of those was The Deuce. It’s still located at 222 (or three deuces) 14th St. in Miami Beach. Nowadays, it’s called Mac’s Club Deuce, after Mac Klein, the larger-than-life proprietor who bought the place in 1964 and kept it colorful until his death in 2016. It’s also got a website … one that touts “Est. 1926” as its opening date.

“From the lore, there was a lot of rum-running in Miami Beach back then,” said Club Deuce general manager Angel Diaz.

The details get a little hazy (a feeling anyone who’s visited the Deuce will know well). Before Klein, two brothers owned the bar and there was a piano where the register is now. There might have been some neon, but it didn’t make anyone think of “Miami Vice” yet – the show was still four decades in the future. In the before-Mac era, Miami Beach boasted art deco without nostalgia.

In the before-Prohibition era, there wasn’t even that. In 1926, the “Great Miami Hurricane” put a halt to what had been the first of Miami Beach’s many real-estate booms, but it’s safe money it didn’t put a halt to the city’s thirst, or the establishments eager to satisfy it.

“Scotch was imported from Nassau, rum from Cuba – Bacardi would actually have someone greet American visitors at the Havana airport with a free daiquiri,” said Matthew Perez, a cocktail consultant and history enthusiast from Miami Lakes. “And beer was imported from everywhere.”

“People also made do with whatever was handy,” he added. “The Budweiser company sold barley syrup that enterprising cooks could ferment into a pretty decent homebrew in the home kitchen. Grain spirits could be steeped with juniper berries and other herbal ingredients to make bathtub gin. The quality could get iffy, but bartenders found ways to make the cheap stuff taste decent and the decent stuff taste delicious.”

One of the most popular gin drinks of the time was a cocktail that evolved from a pre-Prohibition bourbon mixture named for one Col. Joe Rickey.

“We can’t specifically prove this was sold at The Deuce or any institutions in Miami Beach during Prohibition,” said Perez. “But a gin rickey would have been a top seller, especially in the days before air conditioning.”

THE GIN RICKEY

INGREDIENTS

• Ice
• 1/2 lime
• 1 1/2 ounces gin
• Soda water

METHOD

• Place 3-4 ice cubes in tall chilled glass; squeeze half a lime over ice and drop rind into glass.
• Pour in gin, top with soda, stir once or twice, then serve.

Note: This drink should never be confused with a non-alcoholic “lime rickey,” which has no gin but plenty of sugar. A genuine gin rickey is dry and tart, with no sweetener at all.

In 2023, Club Deuce is still pouring gin rickeys – and vodka sodas, beers and whatever else might make you feel at home there. The timelessness is part of the appeal.

Across the MacArthur Causeway and just on the other side of the cruise port, there’s a different kind of timelessness hidden away inside the 21st-century sleekness of the InterContinental Miami, the largest marble structure in Florida. It’s not strictly speaking authentic to the location – the hotel was designed and built in 1983 by architect Pietro Belluschi – but hanging onto authenticity can be a kind of small-mindedness. For the transformative Biscayne Tippler, good history means a good story.

Freddy’s speakeasy has a bit of fun with the idea of Prohibition-era Miami. You can’t get in without a reservation. In fact, you won’t even be told how to find the place – once you’ve reserved your spot, a delightful young thing in full flapper regalia will lead you to a nondescript door which only opens for the appropriate knock.

“We aim for Freddy’s to transport you back to a vintage time upon arrival, when our flapper escorts you to the secret door,” said Robert Renfroe, the hotel’s food and beverage director. “Due to the nature of its location and size tucked away inside the hotel, it was only natural the intimate space was turned into a hush-hush underground amenity for guests and locals alike.”

The space is intimate indeed, seating no more than 12 at a time. Unlike Club Deuce, where you might find yourself emerging blinking at the sunrise and wondering where the last few hours have gone, reservations at Freddy’s come with a two-hour window. Within that narrow time frame, though, it’s possible to feel transported.

The moment that door opens, you’re greeted with a welcoming shot called a Four Ballades, named for a composition by the bar’s namesake (the hotel is located on Chopin Plaza; the “Freddy” is Frederic Chopin). It consists of Casa Noble tequila, cilantro, Cointreau and fresh lime juice, although the exact method of preparation remains a house secret.

There’s rum served from the cask and signature cocktails with names like Bitter Truth and Tipsy Whisper. When asked what’s good, Renfroe said, “Guest preference has been the Envied Elegance, made with vodka and fresh cucumber.”

Again the exact method is Freddy’s secret, but you could experiment with proportions of Tito’s vodka, Domaine de Canton ginger liqueur, lime, cucumber essence and two kinds of bitters: peach and Peychaud’s. Or you could make your way to the InterContinental and connect with someone who knows the secret knock.

Would Al Capone approve?

Said Renfroe, laughing, “Let’s say, he would be impressed!”