Angelina M.
Google
Tucked into the heart of downtown Superstition Meadery, there is a doorway that does more than open—it transports.
You enter through the Burmister Building, standing watch beside Prescott City Hall, where history hums softly in the architecture and gift-worthy treasures line your path. For a disabled Marine Corps veteran with a service dog, the ease of access—stairs and elevator—feels like a quiet, thoughtful welcome before the magic even begins.
Then the elevator doors part, and the world tilts.
Original wood meets industrial metal, velvet booths cradle you with throw pillows like an invitation to linger, and the air itself feels steeped in story. This isn’t merely a meadery—it’s a threshold. A basement that opens into a realm of comfort and craft, where time loosens its grip and you swear the walls are listening.
The food arrives in perfect portions meant for sharing—generous, intentional, satisfying without asking too much. Each bite feels designed to accompany a sip, and each sip feels composed with the same care as the room around you. Every mead, every cider, every delicacy tastes like it was made with a steady hand and a little bit of spellwork.
On a Christmas visit—when the season already bends toward wonder—the choice became deliciously difficult. Ho! Ho! Ho! sparkled. Storm Currant tempted. But the super-limited small-batch Cha Cha Shake whispered my name, and I listened. It came home with me like a souvenir from another world.
The staff move through the space with warmth and ease, generous with knowledge and kindness, making you feel less like a customer and more like a welcomed guest who discovered a secret worth keeping.
This is not just a stop—it’s a destination.
And as you drift back upstairs, looping around City Hall Square toward your car, don’t rush. Wander. Shop. Let the charm linger.
If a hobbit passed by with a knowing smile, I wouldn’t question it for a second.