On Punctuality, Passwords, and Finding Alchemy: Lusaka’s First Real Speakeasy

The Lusaka365 Insider visits Alchemy, Lusaka's first speakeasy: a hidden bar requiring a password for entry.

I arrived at Alchemy at 6pm sharp. Not 6:03, not "Zambian time" 6:45. Just 6pm. There's something about being early in Lusaka that feels like a small act of rebellion. You get the bartender's attention before they're three orders deep and sweating. You scope the room before it fills with people who will inevitably ask what you're drinking. And crucially, you get service when it's still fresh, before the kitchen runs out of whatever you actually wanted to order.

I've been doing this long enough to know: early is everything.

The twinkling entrance to Lusaka's first speakeasy

I knocked on the gate. The one with the symbol. The same symbol that had been DMed to me like some sort of digital speakeasy handshake, which felt very Ocean's Eleven meets WhatsApp group chat. A small panel slid open (just like in the movies) and two pairs of smiling eyes appeared. I was ready. I had my password memorized. I'd rehearsed it in the car.

But before they could ask, I blurted it out anyway. Excitement, nerves, too many spy films, who's to say? We both giggled. The gate opened. She asked for my name. I gave it. And just like that, I was in.

The walkway was small, intimate, twinkling with fairy lights like someone's very chic garden path. I walked quickly (too quickly, probably) toward the building at the back. It was tiny. Bedroom-sized. Maybe smaller than your bedroom, depending on your real estate situation. Burnt orange walls that felt warm without trying too hard. A bar planted right in the middle like it owned the place. A couple was already tucked into the corner, mid-canoodle. So much for being first.

The mixologist was already mid-pour, something amber and promising. He smiled. I did the thing I always do: asked permission to take photos. Permission granted. I exhaled. He handed me a menu.

And here's where it got good.

Cocktails called Madagascar Vanilla Whiskey Sour. A Tale of Two Teas. Petrichor.

The exact amount of whimsy needed right now. Drink names that suggested someone had actually thought about this, that cared about the narrative of an evening and not just the markup.

I was peckish (because of course I was) and scanned for snacks. Angry fries. The name alone did the work. Done. The main mixologist walked in. Elias, who I recognized from an earlier gin tasting around town (it was on our calendar last year, did you miss it?). My order was received like I'd just commissioned a small piece of art. Questions followed: What do you like? What flavours speak to you? What's your cocktail personality? What do you usually go for?

High Tea in Manhattan with angry fries

I wasn't used to this. In most places in Lusaka, you generally get the same drinks and wines everywhere. You order a whiskey sour and it's just another order on the list. Mixed quickly from the same bottles, handed over, next customer please. There isn't usually this much care taken. Nobody's asking about your preferences or adjusting the drink to suit your taste. You don't get interviewed. You don't get asked to reflect on your flavour preferences like you're in some kind of therapy session for your palate.

I ordered the High Tea in Manhattan. The description read like poetry: whole leaf Counters Grey tea extract (orange pekoe tea, bergamot, orange peel), Rittenhouse Rye, Dolin Rouge Vermouth, Alchemy bitters, expressed lemon peel. It sounded like the kind of drink you order when you want to feel like you appreciate things.

While I waited, I learned that Elias (the distiller) is making in-house gin. Not your "let's experiment in the garage with whatever botanicals we found online" kind of gin. Proper, distilled, this-is-a-science-and-I-have-credentials gin. Alchemy Gin, naturally. He's a proper distiller, which means he can make drinks taste a certain way. Not the way your house G&T tastes after you've free-poured the Tanqueray while scrolling Instagram and hoped for the best. A specific way. An intentional way.

The angry fries arrived just in time. Hot, golden, with a proper kick of spice that lived up to the name. And suddenly I was living my best life: sipping a cocktail that tasted like a Victorian tea party met a Manhattan bar, eating one angry fry after another (they disappear alarmingly fast), enjoying some much-needed whimsical alone time.

The High Tea in Manhattan, by the way, is not sweet. This matters. This is critical information. It's the kind of cocktail you need sometimes. Balanced, complex, grown-up in the best possible way. Not cloying, not trying too hard to please everyone.

More people trickled in as the evening unfolded. Drinks were made to order. "Is Chileshe's Bramble ready?" Each one taste-tested before they left the bar. Not from your glass, obviously. A professional taste. A tiny pour into a separate vessel, just to make sure you're getting what you came for.

I suddenly wished I'd brought a magazine. One of those glossy ones you buy at the airport and never actually read but feel very sophisticated holding. This was heaven. Nice jazz from the speakers. Not the kind that's trying to prove something, just good, moody, scene-setting jazz. Cozy without being cramped. Nobody was loud. Nobody was performing for an audience. A controlled environment in the best sense. The place holds maybe 25 people max.

Elias introduced me to Aaron (the first mixologist/bartender who'd greeted me at the bar), and the two worked in sync, a quiet choreography of measuring and mixing. Elias enthusiastically explaining tastes, smells, and techniques. Talking to customers, not at them. Asking questions. Adjusting based on what he heard back. Just what Lusaka needs.

Madagascar Vanilla Whiskey Sour with atomized sarsaparilla

I stared at the bottom of my empty fry bowl and thought, what the hell. Ordered the Madagascar Vanilla Whiskey Sour. I've been on a quest to find the best whiskey sour in Lusaka (comprehensive list coming soon). It's become something of a personal mission, the kind of project you take on when you realise you've been settling for mediocre versions of drinks you actually love.

While I waited, Elias let me taste another gin he's been working on. Poured a small measure, explained the botanicals, the process, the vision behind it. Really good stuff. Even if gin isn't your thing (and I'll admit it's not always mine), live a little, won't you?

One note before you rush over: there's no beer on the menu. None. Not even a token lager for people who "don't really do cocktails." So if you're the kind of person who needs a Mosi to feel comfortable, plan accordingly.

The whiskey sour arrived. That atomised sarsaparilla sealed the deal. A technique I didn't even know existed until that moment, a little cloud of flavour that hit before the drink itself. I savoured it. Slowly. Like someone who'd finally found what they'd been looking for.

Here's the thing about speakeasies: they started during Prohibition in 1920s America, when alcohol was illegal and bars operated in secret. You needed a password to get in, usually whispered through a slot in the door to avoid police raids. The name came from the need to "speak easy" (quietly) about where you were drinking. It was illicit, intimate, and thrilling in equal measure.

The concept died with Prohibition in 1933, but it came roaring back in the 2000s when bartenders worldwide started reviving the craft cocktail movement. Suddenly cities from New York to Tokyo had hidden bars with unmarked doors, password requirements, and serious attention to what was in your glass. The theatre of it (the secrecy, the ritual) became part of the appeal. It wasn't just about drinking. It was about the experience, the discovery, the feeling that you'd found something special that not everyone knew about.

Lusaka's first real speakeasy arrives at a moment when the city's drinking scene is ready for it. We've had bars, sure. We've had lounges. We've had places with good music and decent cocktails. But this (a hidden bar that takes its craft seriously, that asks you to slow down and actually taste what you're drinking) is different.

Here's the thing about Alchemy: it's small. The concept is that you actually learn about what you're drinking. You figure out your tastes. You have conversations with people who know what they're talking about. You slow down.

Because let's be honest: drinking culture in Lusaka is mostly about what's available and a little bit of peer pressure. What's on the menu at the place your friends chose. What's on special. What everyone else is having. There's nothing wrong with that, but it doesn't exactly foster adventure.

So don't expect quick service. This isn't that kind of place. This isn't the kind of bar where you order three rounds in 20 minutes and call it a night. Drinks take time because they're being crafted. Each one is considered, tasted, adjusted if necessary.

The music is moody. A bit upbeat depending on the day and the crowd and whatever's happening in the room. But don't expect amapiano or house music. Don't expect whatever's trending on the top 40 list. This is a different vibe entirely, one that requires you to adjust your internal tempo.

The largest table seats maybe seven people if you're all very good friends who don't mind being cozy. Others seat four. But most of the tables are for two. Maybe six tables total. So go when you want quality alone time. Or a proper conversation with someone you actually want to talk to. Or to canoodle in the corner like that couple I mentioned earlier.

Large groups would struggle. Not just because of the space, but because drinks take time and there are only two people making them. If you show up with eight friends all wanting cocktails, you're going to be waiting. Someone's going to get impatient. You're going to miss the point.

If you show up ready to slow down, to pay attention, to actually taste what you're drinking, you've found the right place. Lusaka's first real speakeasy. 2026 is starting strong.

Alchemy (@alchemyzm) did not know Lusaka365 was visiting. This is not a paid piece. To submit an event for our calendar, click here. To see what's coming up in Lusaka, check our events calendar.