I lied to you, just now.

Did you catch it?

For the six-and-a-half years that I’ve lived in this city, the craft cocktail scene has consistently grown, and I’ve been watching with a big fucking smile on my face.

In that time alone, a half dozen new establishments have begun serving drinks of a caliber few would expect from a mid-sized city in the southeast. Unless, of course, those few had lived in Knoxville.

But of all the cocktail bars in the city, only PostModern has ever felt like home.

With its doors opened just shy of ten years ago, PostModern Spirits is significantly older than this new wave, and it shows in the way they do things. The place has always been a little scrappy, a little homespun, and a little experimental. A dream executed by a small team of passionate people on a tight budget. These are the hallmarks of the most interesting creative projects, and they’re getting harder to spot out in the wild.

PostModern was the kind of place where you could set yourself up at a table and spend three hours sipping delicious concoctions in the late-evening light. The place to start your evening. Or end it. A destination in its own right, a must-visit during any event in the Old City, and a place to bring out-of-towners so you could show them just how great Knoxville can be.

Warm. Inviting. Friendly. Delicious. Interesting. Affordable.

The qualities of a local staple. Things that every drink-forward Villain has come to expect from the eastern end of the Jackson Terminal boardwalk.

And look, you won’t hear me arguing that PostModern served the best cocktails in town. (That distinction has become so competitive at this point that there is no clear winner.) What PostModern has always done, in my experience, is punch way above its weight.

The not-so-secret part about some of these great new bars in town is: Money. And it’s not just the prices on the menu. It’s the glasses. The decor. The furnishings. The building renovations. The well-dressed people serving drinks. These places feel expensive, and that feeling is typically reflected in the price point. Often they operate as part of a conglomerate, whether that’s a couple of establishments under the same ownership, or a full on ‘restaurant group.’ And that’s fine, truly. Money can open up avenues for experimentation, design, and an increased level of professionalism for those doing the work. But with that influx of capital, we lose a good deal of humanity. The place becomes more about a concept, and less about the people behind it.

PostModern was a place for delicious drinks made with interesting ingredients, served by friendly people in simple surroundings. All at about ⅔ the price of their competitors, with nearly every ingredient made in-house.

Yes, most good cocktail bars will make their own simple syrups, and sometimes a shrub or an infusion. But who makes all of those things, in addition to all the many and variable varieties of liquors and liqueurs that make up their menu?

No one, that’s who. No one but PostModern, anyway.

So come February 1st…? Just no one.

It may be a little late to say it, but I would have gladly paid much higher prices to keep a place like that alive.

The truth is though, I just don’t drink that much anymore.

Well, not as much as I used to anyway. Not enough to save something that was too beautiful to live.

That was the lie. That I, in my own estimation, could still be considered a drinker.

I used to frequent every cocktail bar in town often enough to recognize when they had a staffing change, and I finally had enough drinks to realize what an excess of alcohol does to my body. So I’m part of the problem, I suppose.

But for the moment, all of that is out the window.

For the rest of the week, you’ll find me drinking in celebration of a sinking ship, ringing the bell and swapping stories with the Jolly Roger while the mast slips below the waves. I’ve already managed to make off with the last bottle of Giniferous Gin on sale to the public (and the four bottles before that… and a couple of liqueurs).

You still have a few days left to say goodbye, and I encourage you to do so.

We’ll be there for final service on Saturday, to have one last drink and witness the death of something beautiful.

Come join us, give thanks, and throw these kind folks a little extra money on their way out the door.

PostModern: A Drinker’s Obituary

Order Among Chaos