A Visit to Vandaag

If you're only interested in drinking, Vandaag is a nice antidote to the darkened drinking dens of the East Village. It's light, spacious and airy, with a vaguely European design befitting the Dutch-Danish thrust of the menu. I know they want you to eat as well—Vandaag is primarily a restaurant, with plenty of fine food. But the large bar, taken on its own, can be a very pleasurable experience.

Unlike any other bar in town, there are categories titles like Genever Cocktails and Akvavit Cocktails on the drink list. There's also a list of Infused Akvavits, which you can order solo or in groups of three ($20) or five ($30). Flavors include strawberry with long pepper and sarawak peppercorn, pineapple, horseradish and dill, Chamomile citron, mustard seed and sultanas, and smoked black cardamom. You'll find more Dutch gin in the Digestif Cocktails section, where genever is mixed with things like Port and Fernet Branca. (One drink, the Dutch Flip, with cream, an egg and espresso, sounds like breakfast to me.)

Taking its appropriate place at the head of the list is the Vandaag Gin Cocktail. This is one of the glories of the cocktail list, a strong statement composed of Bols Genever, Golden Age beer reduction, bitters and a wash of Kirschwasser and Absinthe. The drink is a spin on an Improved Gin Cocktail, a Jerry Thomas special that's beloved in cocktail circles. But it stands on its own. It's distinct and forthright sipping drink, the entrancing lacing of the beer reduction lending the drink its personality. Don't leave without having one.

If you want something less imposing, the Bohemian Spritz may do you. It's made of Gruner Veltliner, Vermouth Blanc, St. Germain, Zirbenz Pine Liqueur, with Sparkling Wine and Grapefruit Zest. It's perfectly refreshing, though I prefer a different pine liqueur drink on the menu—Fir Lining, a spin on the Tantris Sidecar, a creation of Audrey Saunders of Pegu Club. It includes Clear Creek Douglas Fir Eau de Vie (it and the Zirbenz are the only major pine liquors readily available on the American market), Velvet Falernum, lemon juice, a little pineapple juice, and green Chartreuse. The base liquor is a Genevieve Genever-Style Gin which has been steeped in pine needles. True to the drink's name, the glass' rim is lined in a power made of sugar and pine powder. There's a lot more going on here, and it keeps the senses alert. (These drink, by the way, are all the work of beverage director Katie Stipe.)

One should also probably indulge in a Kopstootje while at Vandaag, simply because you won't be able to get one anywhere else. A Kopstootje is a glass of chilled Genever with a beer back. (The name means "Little Head Butt") If you don't specify, you'll get Bols and a glass of Carlsberg. Which is well enough. But, on one occasion, I asked for Cornvign instead of regular Genever. There are a few types of Dutch Genever and Korenwijn ("Cornwine") is the most heady and rustic, as it contained considerably more malt wine. It's generally not available in the U.S., but I saw a bottle on Vandaag's back bar, so I requested it. It made all the difference, adding considerable punch to me head butt.

Finally, I would also like to express my affection for the barkeeps' aprons, which vaguely evoke Delft blue pottery. Very fetching.

A Visit to the Lady Jay's

I usually don't go out of my way to visit a new "regular" bar. But the idea of a highly regarded chef—in this case Sam Mason of Tailor, the SoHo restaurant which used to contain an estimable cocktail bar manned by Eben Freeman—opening a bar with ostensibly no frills and no gimmicks was tantalizing enough for me to drop by the newly unveiled Lady Jay's on Grand Street in Williamsburg.

Indeed, there's nothing special here. Just a nice, solid bar. Exposed brick walls; booth up front; stools around the bar; a jukebox; a Shuffle Bowl game; and a draft and bottle beer lists where nothing pierces the $6 ceiling. The only things that gives the joint an interesting edge are the absolutely huge, airy backyard deck in the back; and the fact that Sam Mason—tall, lanky, tattooed, handsome—is making drinks behind the bar.

Still, I can't help but think that Mason has something up his sleeve, and that he will stealthily haul out some secret weapons in the weeks and months to come. Why? Something about the way he meticulously prepared a couple of Bloody Marys. He was very chef-like about it. It took him forever, as he carefully dosed the tomato juice with hot sauce, tasting it often until he hit upon the right level of hotness. He added a pickle spear and skewered four olives with great care. All these vegetables were from storebought jars, so they weren't fancy. Yet, he handled them with kid gloves. Then, as he handed the cocktail over, he mentioned something about a shellfish Bloody Mary making an appearance next week. The man has some ideas in his head.

My guess is Lady Jay's will be popular with bartenders from other bars when they get off their shirts. It's elemental and basic, with an unspoken serious touch. Which is what a lot of bartenders are looking for in their off hours.

A Visit to East Side Social Club

Since it comes from Employees Only owner Billy Gilroy, I figured the East Side Social Club, on E. 51st between Second and Third, was worth an inspection, cocktail-wise. I'm all for a new place to go to for a well-honed Negroni in the drinking wasteland of Midtown.

As the name suggests, this Italian restaurant leans heavy on the irony, trying to strike a self-conscious balance between the old red-sauce, Mobbed-up joints of the past, and the hip, stylish, retro hangouts of today. There are wall murals, and photos of Sinatra and Marciano. But the decor is miles beyond that which you'd find in a true goombah place in terms of taste. I wonder how many people who frequent the place are actually aware of the dual aesthetic. 

Perhaps as a way of adhering to its regular-guy ideal, the cocktail program makes more than a nod to the hoi-polloi. It's not genteel. No rarefied concoctions and tiny-precious glasses here. There's a lot of vodka (five cocktails in the spring menu use it as their base by my count) and the coupes verge on the size of a small punch bowls. I sampled the Upper East Side, a blend of cucumber vodka shaken with mint leaves and lemon juice, served straight up, because the menu said it was the place's most popular tipple. It sounded simple, and it tasted simple. Not too exciting. 

ESSC casts a nice spotlight on the classic Negroni, making it with Old Tom Gin, and offers it served up or on the rocks with an orange twist. (The latter is my preference.) There's also an interesting emphasis on bygone dessert drinks you don't see very often anymore, like the Grasshopper, Pink Lady and Golden Dream. Nice to see the owners not being afraid of looking like cocktail squares by including those drinks. Let's just hope they actually taste good, not ironic.

Sure there is nepotism at work here, but Gilroy the chef seems to have earned his spot by cooking at both Chanterelle and A Voce. He'll be putting out a Italian American menu with crudo and raw bar specials, homemade pastas, and Berkshire pork chops. Of course, cocktails will get special attention.

The 113 seat space is divided into a bar, a main dining room, and a semi-private room on a raised platform. Dinner starts tonight, late night next Monday, and lunch and breakfast next month. Find more info here and see the menu below.

A Visit to La Opera Cantina

I had a list an arm long of cantinas I wanted to visit on my recent trip to Mexico City. I got to exactly one. I was close to visiting La Covadonga, a huge and old cantina, but our local Mexican guide, a chic and pretty young native, talked it down so as tacky and "creepy," we decided to avoid it.

The one we did visit, however, was exceptional, and unique. The opulent La Opera, right the Centro Historico, opened in 1876 and reminded me more of the grand, wood-paneled, high-ceilinged cafes of Vienna and Trieste than a Mexican cantina, which one always expects to be charmingly scruffy. The place is grandly of the Guilded age. The wooden bar (which was carved in New Orleans!) is mammoth, about 20 feet tall and 10 feet deep. 

Cushioned banquettes surround large central pillars and roomy booths line the walls. The walls are covered with brocade wallpaper and the ceiling is edged with ornately gilded, embossed, Art Nouveau tin. Mirrors abounded, lending added grandeur to the room. A tuxedoed Mariachi band, including an ancient, blind man playing something like a zither, serenaded the drinkers. "La Opera" was stamped on everything, from the windows to the floor mats to the packets of free, green mints. (Though, for some reason, carved into the backs of each wooden chair was the letter "B.")

We were shown a bullet hole in the ceiling directly above one of the booths opposite the bar. It was reputedly put there by Pancho Villa. We didn't believe it. It was too neatly placed, too centered. (Of course, this detail is the one thing all travel guides mention about La Opera.)

We became fascinated by a trio of old, dignified men in suits who held court in the first booth, near the entrance. They looked so comfortable, so supremely confident, we deduced that they had been meeting in that booth regularly for years. Someone suggested they were part of local organized crime. I didn't think so. But they were movers and shakers of some sort. Perhaps powerful lawyers of politicians; La Opera has always been a political watering hole. 

I ordered a shot of Herradura Antiguo Reposado, a tequila I am told cannot be had in the U.S. (I found out upon returning that is was only recently introduced in America.) I did not get a chance to eat anything, though I hear the food is good. A good place to linger. Sadly, we had to be on our way after a single drink.

A Visit to The Chambers Hotel

Ma Peche, the new Midtown location of the Momofuku empire, which is situated in The Chamber Hotel, a swanky habitat on an otherwise downscale block, has started serving lunch, I hear. But that's not what brought me to E. 56th Street on a recent evening. It was to try mixologist Don Lee's new cocktails.

Don Lee, formerly of PDT, is Momofuku chef David Chang's drink man, and goes where Chang goes, Lee follows. That includes Ma Peche. The mezzanine has been serving drinks since late last year, including three original Lee creations: a 7 Spice Sour, a Pikesville Mule and a Sesame Old Fashioned.

The Chambers has that kind of sleek, cold, ultra-modern look that you find in a lot of boutique Manhattan hotels. Not my style, but there it is. One takes an elevator to the mezzanine, where there are an arrangement of precious chairs, tables and couches, and gigantic coffee table art books. There's no bar. You have to take a seat and be served by a waiter to get a drink, which makes everything a lot more formal than I'd like.

I'm a great fan of the drinks Lee devised for the Momofuku Ssam Bar in the East Village, particularly the Celery & Nori. He has a way with eastern flavors and ingredients that leads to unique libation. So I was excited to try the Ma Peche creations. I didn't opt for the Sesame Old Fashioned, mainly because I knew that I'd like it, if that makes sense. I wanted to try the drinks I wasn't sure of.

I started with the 7 Spice Sour, which was a winner. Its base is a togarashi-infused momofuku "private label" honjozo. Added are yuzu/lime juice and simple syrup. As I understand it, togarashi is a common Japanese spice mixture made of—yes—seven ingredients: chili pepper; madarin orange peel; sesame seed; poppy seed; hemp seed; nori; and ground sansho. I do not know for sure if this is the mixture that Lee used. The drink had a nice bite to it, owning to those spices, which plays well with the sourness of the citrus.

I then moved on to the Pikesville Mule, which, I'm sorry to say, did not come off well. The cocktail is made of Rittenhouse rye, lemon juice, ginger syrup and Peychaud’s bitters—apparently an unhappy marriage of ingredients. There was too much lemon in the mix, making the drink too sour, and the ginger syrup was more spicy than sweet. Plus, Peychaud's seemed to be the wrong bitters for this mix. The aftertaste was acrid and bitter. Perhaps I should have gone with the Old-Fashioned after all, which includes toasted sesame infused Hennessy VSOP, caramelized simple syrup and Angostura bitters. Ah well. A reason to return.

The Situation at Summit

The new East Village cocktail bar Summit has gotten a lot of press in the few months it's been open. I'm going to give it a little more.

I paid my first visit a few days ago and was waited upon by owner Greg Seider himself, a friendly fellow with a laid-back mein who eschews arm garters and vests for a white t-shirt. The debut menu was still be handed out to customers, but Greg informed me that the winter menu would be unveiled the next night. Though I was a day early, he gave me a sneak sip of two coming attractions. I am writing this post because one of the drinks was incredibly good, simply one of the best new cocktails I've had all year.

It's called, queerly enough, the Situation, and one could be in worse situations. It sits upon a base of raisin-infused Rittenhouse rye. To that is added caraway seed-infused agave syrup. (Seider swears by agave as his sweetener of choice.), lemon juice, Fee's whiskey barrel bitters, and a combo of Fee's and Regan's orange bitters. It's shaken and poured over ice. To this frothy end are added a sprinkling of rye-saturated golden raisins, which makes for a nice little dessert at the bottom of the glass.

Now think about those ingredients: rye, caraway seeds, raisins. What do they remind you of? That's right. Raisin rye bread. That's the idea Seider began with. Not that the drink tastes like something you want to wrap around a piece of pastrami. But it's an ideal, warming winter drink. It's goes down like a dream, no flavor out of place. Seider admitted is was one of the favorite drinks he had ever come up with.

The other drink was called She Loves Me, She Loves Me not. Unsurprisingly, rose petals play a part. They're muddled into the Pisco-based cocktail, which is served up and topped with a couple edible pedals. It was a sight to see Greg pull out a plastic contained filled with fresh rose petals from the fridge. Now there's an ingredient you don't see every day. And he had buckets of them, in different shades, too. The petals give the drink a pink hue, which will undoubtably appeal to the ladies. Folks, your Valentine's Day cocktail has already arrived.

I'd like to also say that it's nice to see a New York bar owner actually behind the bar for a change.

A Visit to the Breslin Bar

Sizzling hot new scenes usually make me ill. The inevitable hoard of trendy, 20-something nocturnal bar rats; the deafening soup of chatter and too-loud music; and the inattentive, sloppy service born of of-the-moment hubris. Still, I try to enter every new bar with an open mind. And so I did with the Breslin Bar, the au courant drinking den inside Murray Hill's Ace Hotel, which will soon be joined by a sure-to-be-beloved April Bloomfield (The Spotted Pig) restaurant.


It's big, to begin with. High ceilings, bisected by pillars. There's the by-now requisite taxidermy. (Thank you, Freeman's and PDT.) There was a DJ spinning tunes off his laptop. (Is it me, or can anybody be this kind of DJ?) Lots of couches, a big long farmer's table in the center. Wood paneling, bookcases, a huge American flag on the back wall. And a small corner bar in the back corner servicing the enormous space; it easily needs to be twice as big to do the job.

I took up a stool at the bar and perused the drink menu. I had plenty of time to do this. It was easily 10 minutes before anyone at the bar made eye contact with me, let alone take my order, even though I was barely two feet away from the bartenders. They weren't unoccupied. They were constantly distracted by questions from kitchen staff and waitstaff. Table orders were clearly taking precedent over bar orders. Still, a man next to me, who waited as long as I did to order, told me he came up to the bar because his party had been sitting for 20 minutes on the floor without seeing a waiter.

It was decent drink list. Good selections in every liquor category, aperitif and digestif sections, limited but decent wines, including a Friuli rose from Bastianich. The cocktails were five in number and not particularly inspiring. Hound on Fire is just vodka with some grapefruit juice and chili salt. The Starling, with St. Germain, Lillet White and orange peel, seemed a little light weight and two-dimensional.

Since they were bold enough to name their Old Fashioned after the Ace hotel, I asked for one, thinking they were proud of it. The drink substitutes reposado tequila for the whiskey and agave nectar for the sugar, plus orange bitters and brandied cherries (one muddled and one as garnish). It was a good, satisfying drink, smooth and potent. And I would have been fairly impressed with it if it weren't a nearly complete rip-off of Phil Ward's Oaxaca Old Fashioned, long available at Death & Co.

A Visit to the Seelbach Bar

The Seelbach Bar, located just to the right of the soaring lobby in Louisville's grand old downtown Seelbach Hotel, has two claims to fame that make it a worthy visit for the tavern collector. One: F. Scott Fitzgerald supposedly frequented it before he found fame. He found enough favor with the bar that he gave the hotel a solitary mention in "The Great Gatsby." (In the novel, it's where Tom and Daisy Buchanan got married.) The owners of the Seelbach play up this slim connection to literary notoriety shamelessly. There's even a suite named after Fitzgerald.

The Fitzgerald link may be true, but the problem is the Seelbach Bar of today looks nothing like the Seelbach Bar Fitzgerald knew. His bar was opulent and grand, with a lot of white marble along and behind the bar. The marble was all removed during prohibition. Today's Seelbach Bar is a homey, wood-laden cove; welcoming, certainly, and with a curious bi-level charm, some tables placed on a wraparound mezzanine that looks down a mere six feet on the tables in the center. It has a vaguely maritime feel to it. I don't know if I'd call it one of "The 50 Best Bars in the World," as the Independent of London did, but it's appealing enough. Certainly a step or two above most hotel bars.

The Seelbach Bar's second claim to fame is the Seelbach Cocktail, a drink invented in 1917, just before the clock struck midnight and Prohibition began. According to Ted Haigh's book "Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails" (recently rereleased), the libation would be lost today if not for the exertions of cocktail historian Gary Regan. In 1995, the hotel's restaurant director Adam Seger found the recipe for the forgotten drink, and decided to start making it again. Seger intended to keep the formula a secret (always a blueprint for disaster; note all the work Jeff Berry had to go through to discover all the secret recipes to the great tiki drinks of old), but Regan convinced him to let him published it in his 1997 book "New Classic Cocktails."

A Seelbach is made of bourbon, Cointreau, Angostura and Peychaud's bitters, and five whopping ounces of Champagne. I did not order a Seelbach Cocktail, perhaps foolishly, though I did taste one. My fellow journalist Liza Weisstuch was drinking one and gave me a sip. I was rather unimpressed, finding it a bit insipid and weak. I suspect the Champagne was of low quality.

I decided, instead, to spend my money on straight bourbon. Like most of the top bars in Louisville, the Seelbach touts its bourbon selection. And it is a lengthy and impressively list. Proof, another bar down the road, had an even more impressive list. But I was perpetually frustrated upon visiting Louisville bars. When I travel, I like to search out the drink, the liquor, the dish that I can't get anywhere else. I'm obsessed with the regional delicacy, the local poison. But, try as I might, I could not find a bourbon in Louisville that I could not easily get (not just by the bottle, but by the glass) in New York. The bartender at Proof suggested Noah's Mill as a whisky unobtainable in Gotham. No. I could think of three places in my neighborhood alone where I could order a dram. He offered a couple other idea. No, and no. Every name was familiar to me.

Getting past my irritation, I settled on Old Forester Birthday Bourbon and was pleased.

The Rathskeller

The U.S. is filled with places that call themselves rathskellers. You can't visit a college town without finding one. But an actual rathskeller, a cellar beer hall patterned unironically after the German model? Those are harder to find.

One breathtaking survivor of this genre of drinking hole sits, relatively unused but perfectly preserved, in the basement of the old Seelbach Hotel in downtown Louisville, Kentucky. The hotel was founded by the German Seelbach brothers in 1886. In 1907, they expanded to include the Rathskeller. Beautiful and cavernous (it could swallow up a party of 1,000 easily), it is decorated with rare, beautifully colored Rookwood Pottery from Cincinnati, which render the room a work of art in itself. The grandly arched ceiling are help up by a series of columns ringed by Rookwood pelicans. (Pelicans were a sign of good luck.) Tile designs on the Rathskeller's walls depict walled cities in the Rhenish region of Germany, where the Seelbach brothers, Otto and Louis, were born. Above the oak bar is a ceiling made of fine-tooled leather and painted in a heraldic design with the twelve signs of the zodiac.

The space had to be closed during Prohibition. It reopened in 1934 and was a USO during World War II. Legend has F. Scott Fitzgerald visiting the place. Currently, it is used for private functions and doesn't operate regularly as a bar. This, to me, seems a crying shame. I have rarely seen a bar of more unique character. It would be more than a pleasure to drink under its tiled ceilings. It would be a transporting experience.

A Visit to Sazerac Bar

For me, the main source of excitement at this year's Tales of the Cocktail convention in New Orleans was that I would finally get to see the famed Sazerac Bar in the Roosevelt Hotel. The celebrated lodging place and its more celebrated watering hole had been shuttered since Hurricane Katrina, and, since I had never set foot in New Orleans until 2006, I never laid eyes on what was once the most famous place in the world to order that most wonderful and New Orleanian of drinks, the Sazerac.

Therefore, I was dumbfounded when, asking various folks at the convention if they had seen the Sazerac Bar yet, I was routinely greeting by non-computing expressions and answers like "No. Why?" Few seemed to understand what a fantastic and historical bar has been resurrected.


The historic downtown New Orleans property is now part of the Waldorf=Astoria. It opened in 1893 as the Grunewald. In 1923, it was rebranded The Roosevelt in honor of President Theodore Roosevelt. It kept that name until 1965 when it was bought and rechristened with the infinitely duller name of The Fairmont. Thank God someone came to their senses and brought back the old label. (Grunewald just doesn't have the same majestic ring, does it?)

From the 1930s to the 1960s, the hotel's Blue Room and Sazerac Bar were the places to go in New Orleans to find and converse with the powerful, the elite and the everyman. The bar was nearly as famous for its Ramos Gin Fizzes as it was for its Sazeracs. The former was the favorite of one of the bar's most steady patrons, demagogue Huey P. Long.


The bar is one of the most beautiful Art Deco spaces I have ever seen, from the tile floors to the long, American walnut L-shaped bar, from the illuminated, etched glass panel situated at the center of the mirrored back bar to the Paul Ninas murals that punctuate the walls. The combined effect of the decor and the atmosphere of gay sophistication elevates civilization just that little bit more. Drinking at that bar, you feel like a swell, a mensch, a man a culture, a hail fellow well met, a member of the Family of Man, someone who's doing the best he can and deserves a drink.


Having not seen the bar before the renovation, I had no idea how faithful the revamp had been. But Jeff Berry, who had paid a call on the bar just days before Katrina, assured me: the only thing that was changee was that the television had been removed.



I've never seen so many Sazeracs made as I did during my two visits to the bar. There is never a time when a barman is not making that drink. The house version uses Sazerac Rye and Herbsaint, in addition to the requisite Peychaud's bitters and sugar. I'd prefer a different rye and a brand of absinthe, but to each his own. I did have to caution the bartender not to make the drink too sweet, however. All in all, a good Sazerac, but I've had better.

More care seems to be taken with the Ramos Gin Fizz. I watched my man prepare mine, and he couldn't have been more careful if he had been a jeweler in Antwerp. The result was beautiful. Quite simply the best Ramos Gin Fizz I have ever had.

The drink menu is quite simple. I was told that the bar reached out all the way to New York to put it together, bringing in Julie Reiner (Flatiron Lounge, Clover Club) as a consultant. She wisely focused on the classics, with a couple originals tossed in.

The menu was a damn sight more complicated in the past, as the picture below illustrates. This is just one page of what was a lengthy drink menu.

A Visit to Cure

Cure has been open for only six months, and is in an out-of-the-way New Orleans neighborhood called Freret. I didn't have high hopes upon visiting on a recent Friday. Three hours and four cocktails later, however, I was ready to call Cure the best cocktail bar in the city, and one of the best in the country.

I met the co-owner and head bartender, Neal Bodenheimer, briefly. He's a native New Orleanian who lived in New York for several years and came home after Hurricane Katrina. Cure lives inside an old firehouse and is as slick and swank as any night spot in Manhattan, though the lonely intersection it anchors gives it the feel of a frontier outpost.

The website says, "Inspired by the historical period when cocktails grew out of medicine and home remedies, our idea at Cure is to reintroduce our guests to another time where the experience of having a cocktail and a bite to eat was both healthful and enjoyable."

This view in born out in the cocktail list, which is one of the more unusual and inventive I have seen. Cure is serious about bitters and Italian amari and believes they should play starring, not supporting, roles in drinks. One drink uses Peychaud's bitters as its base, another is built on Angostura. I tried the former. It was brisk, biting and delicious, not to mention a gorgeous color. Similarly, you'll find many drinks utilizing Averna, Cynar, Aperol and similar products.

I first tried a special called The Art of Choke, which featured Cynar, Flor de Cana 4 rum, lime juice, green Chartreuse, mint and demerara sugar, serves on the rocks. This is one of the best uses I've seen Cynar put to, simultaneously herbal and sweet, with the rum offering a nice earthiness in which to plant those greens. From there I went to a kind of amari-based Sazerac called the Black & Bluegrass. In it, Sazerac rye, was joined by Averna, Aperol, Peychaud’s bitters, Angostura bitters and a grapefruit twist. Couldn't have been better. Looking at the ingredients of some of these drinks, it's hard to believe they work. But Cure's bartenders somehow find the right agents to count the astringent characteristics of the amari.

A Praha Punch came next: Evan Williams single barrel bourbon, Tiffon VSOP, fresh lemon juice, raw apple cider vinegar, soda, St. Elizabeth's allspice dram. Deceptively simple and absolutely refreshing. The only misstep of the evening was the Defend Arrack, which tried to sell an Arrack base through the drafting of Marie Brizzard Apry, lime juice and allspice dram. The effect was interesting, but ultimately acrid and offputting.

Others at my table, meanwhile, were raving about the Start & Finish, a combo of Averna, Lillet, Obsello absinthe, Noilly Prat dry vermouth and orange bitters serves on the rocks. A took a sip. It was dry and deep and dark. A fascinating drink you could get lost in.

I wish I had had time to visit again and make my way through some additional selections. Cure is making a name for itself by exploring the lower, darker end of the cocktail keyboard. There are some surprising bright chords down there.

A Visit to Napoleon House

I am never long in New Orleans before a pay a call on Napoleon House and order a Pimm's Cup. I love an old bar with history. And I dearly love an old bar with history that is also known for one particular drink.

At the Napoleon House, it's the Pimm's Cup. A peculiar drink for such a manly bar to be famous for, but there you have it. The bartenders here doll them out by the dozens. I would wager that hundreds are sold every day and that the bar has the biggest Pimm's account in the U.S.

However, the past couple years I have grown dissatisfied with the Napoleon House's Pimm's Cups. I remember being wowed the first time I sipped from this superbly refreshing mixture of Pimm's No. 1, lemonade and cucumber slice. But last year, the drink fell flat on my taste buds.

This may be because fresh-made lemonade is a bit of labor to make, so I tend to make my Pimm's Cups with ginger ale. This is a perfectly acceptable variation on the drink, and I have come to love it. Now, when I get a Pimm's made with lemonade, I'm always a bit let down. Ginger ale add more zip to the drink to my mind, whereas lemonade just sits there.

I have other problems with the Napoleon House Pimm's Cup. Their "house-made lemonade" sits in giant jugs until it's needed for the drink. So it's lost a bit of freshness before it's poured in the glass. The same goes for the cucumber slices, which I imagine are all cut up in the morning, and look a bit sad by mid-afternoon. It's not too much to ask for a fresh slice of cucumber to be cut with each drink.

Then there's the execution. A Napoleon House bartender will typically get an order for three or four Pimm's Cups at a time. He'll set the glasses up, one by one next to each other, then grip the Pimm's bottle in one fist and the lemonade jug in the other and star pouring away, filling up one glass, then the next, then the next. It's a very imprecise pour, so there's a fair amount of inconsistency to their Pimm's Cups.

Recently, I bellied up to the Napoleon bar and asks for a Pimm's Cup and specified ginger ale. The bartender said "OK," but them promptly forgot and made my with lemonade. It was passable at best.

A Visit to Tujague's

So, when recently in New Orleans, I went to Tujague's, one of the oldest continually operating bars in the United States. It's been on its corner of Decatur Street facing the French Market since 1856. I always meant to pay a visit, but somehow, during past visits, the chance always escaped me. So I made a point of it this time around.

The neon signage is peerless. The ceilings are high. The mirror behind the old bar is as big as an elephant, and was 100 years old already when it was shipped from France in the mid-1900s. It's a rare bar that has a brass rail, but no stools at all. So you stand there, one foot on the rail, like those suited, mustachioed ruffians seen in old photos of yesteryear.

In various glass cabinets are numerous mini-bottle of every liquor and liqueur you can name, some old, some new. They are a reminder of how Tujague's got through Prohibition; bartenders kept dozens of such little receptacles in their aprons, ready to dispense liquid illegality into waiting cups.


The bar area is not huge. 30 people would fill it up. But there were only a handful of locals when I visited. I ordered a Sazerac, my usual drink when testing the waters at a New Orleans bar. Big Easy taverns tend to reach automatically for the Herbsaint when this drink is mentioned, even though original ingredient absinthe is now available. I guess old habits, and local brand loyalty, die hard.

I was a pain, and asked for absinthe. I also said "not too sweet," because everyone lays on the simple syrup these days. I didn't think I needed to give specific instructions on the Peychaud's Bitters. Maybe I should have. Because I was handed the reddest Sazerac I've ever seen. It was fine. Nothing special. And still too sweet. I wish people took more care when making this drink. It's not like the bartender was busy.

Someone next to me order a Grasshopper. Somewhere down the line, the idea became established that this is a signature drink at Tujague's. But the locals at the other end of the bar, upon spying the mint green mixture, said "What's that?" So that sort of put the lie to that bit of conventional wisdom.

I wandered around the dining rooms with my drink and found more cabinets full of small bottles. I also found a few interesting frames artifacts. Among the more amazing: a signed photograph of Julian Eltinge, now unknown, but during the early 20th century the most famous female impersonator in American, and a Broadway star; and a sheet from an old register proving that young Cole Porter and his family from Peru, Indiana, were frequent guests during a visit in 1902.

The Mexican and the Dutch

New York City has seen two major cocktail bar openings in the the past month: Phil Ward's Mayahuel in the East Village and Sasha Petraske's Dutch Kills, in Long Island City. Both are excellent and merit a visit, and both trailblaze in their way. With Mayahuel, Ward brings the cocktail revolution to tequila, and, with Dutch Kills, Petraske brings the cocktail revolution to, well, Queens.

Both worlds had long been underserved by the minds of today's mixologists. Sure, bartenders respected tequila and all, but who was really going out of their way to create a new raft of cocktails using the South-of-the-Border liquor as their base? Few, really, aside from Ward, who made the Oaxaca Old Fashioned a staple over at his previous perch, Death & Co. Gin and whiskey were the ones getting the major workouts, with rum put to the task here and there.

Petraske, meanwhile, is a geographical frontiersman. The business formula he employs at Dutch Kills is basically the same one found at his Little Branch, Milk & Honey and White Star (Old World vibe, gentlemanly bartenders, classic cocktails), but it's set in Queens, which has been completely ignored by the mixed drinks renaissance until now. (The Bronx and Staten Island remain ignored, but that's another issue.)

Dutch Kills is located on Jackson Avenue, a lonely desolate boulevard in lonely, desolate (at least at night, but pretty much in the day, too) Long Island City, the westernmost nabe in Queens. The ugly, industrial facade has been untouched. There's a larger than usual (for Sasha) neon "Bar" sign outside, so kudos for visibility! Inside, there's room to spare. The high-ceilinged, dark-wood place goes back, back, back, past a multitude of booths, past the back, ended in a sawdust-strewn room with benches and a piano. It may be my favorite of Petraske's always beautifully designed spaces. It's pleasant to be in a bar large enough that not everybody in the place knows you're there.


For his opening menu, Petraske has kept it simple and straightforward, pushing cocktails with a Queens theme. These include libations only a cocktail geek would know have been around for 75 years: the Astoria (basically a Martini with orange bitters); the Flushing (a Manhattan with Cognac); and the Queens Park Swizzle (a beauty with rum, lime, mint, bitters and plenty of ice).


Mayahuel, names after an Aztec god, is a cozy place more typical of the cocktail dens of our time. It's in the thick of Cocktail Central—the East Village, that is—on E. 6th, and takes up two floors of a former Moroccan restaurant. The floors are quite different in character. The top is all cushions and luxury; perfect for executive types who like to spend money, and couples on dates. The bottom floor, which lies down a couple steps from the entrance, is more to my taste: a tight little bar, two inviting arches wooden booths, a couple hidden stools in back, and a cantina feel lent by a profusion of lovely tilework. I may like the space better than any other EV bar. It just feels right.

I'm treating my visits to Mayahuel as part of a continuing education course in tequila. It's a spirit I need to learn more about, and there are few who have more to teach that Ward. He's very specific about the kind of tequila he puts in each cocktail, from Blanco to Reposads to Anejo, as well as which brand of each category to use. Mezcal is put to work as well. Dozens of tequilas are also offered straight up—golden opportunities to try various liquors that are not usually available by the pour. And, for those who'd rather pass on tequila, there are sangrias, beer-based cocktails and the usual back bar. (As a perverse gesture, I'm tempted to order Martini here at some point.)

A Visit to Prime Meat's Tap Room

It took five tries to score the Brooklyn restaurant Frankies 457 on a night when the speakeasy of their new venue, Prime Meats, was actually open for business. Prime Meats is just a few doors down from Frankies on Court Street. When open, it will contain a dining room, retail outlet and bar. For now, however, only the bar, called the "tap room," is open to the public, and only on select nights.

To get to the tap room, you have to pass through Frankies into its backyard garden space. You then turn right and enter a large kitchen space (below).


And walking across the kitchen, you climb a short flight of stairs at the far end of the room.


Finally, you push open this ornate wooden door, with its frosted, beveled glass, into a tavern from another century, where lights are low, furnishings are made of heavy dark wood, the bar is sculpted, the punch bowls are chiseled, the wallpaper is painted and chandeliers hang from the ceiling.



Apparently, the saloon is mainly being used by Frankies to park its patrons as they wait for a table. I was an oddity, wanting, as I did, to only visit the bar and have a drink or two. But they readily accommodated me.

The tap room is doing a number of things right already. By keeping the cocktails $9, they're undercutting much of the competition, even in Brooklyn, where elite mixed drinks usually start at $10 or more. (A previous tap room menu I've seen had cocktails at $8, so the price may have already gone up since the tap room's soft "opening.") Additionally, the owners are keeping things simple, not overwhelming the buyer with too many choices. There's a short list of classic cocktails that everyone can recognize, including the Manhattan, Old Fashioned, Champagne Cocktail and Martinez. Then there's a page of seven or so new inventions.

I was surprised to see Damon, a former employee at LeNell's liquor shop behind the bar. A tall, blonde guy with a friendly air, he said he was the author of the new drinks, as well as the homemade bitters used in many of the drinks. He let me try a couple of these bitters. The Buddha's Hand Bitters have more of an edge the most people expect from their bitters. They pack a serious acidic, bitter bite. I suspected the bitters might easily have their way with a Manhattan, and I was right. The change in bitters dominates the flavor of the drink. I can't say whether I loved the alteration; the bitters are somewhat bullying. But they certainly make the drink stand at attention, and you pay attention, too. (I also tasted the homemade Bartlett pear bitters, which were equally strong.)

It's cool to be able to order a glass of punch in a bar. There is one offering, at $6 a glass. (Places like Clover Club and Death & Co. offer punch, too, but only by the bowl.) It wasn't the most delicious punch I've ever had, but it was a delight to watch the bartender ladle out a helping from the crystal punch bowl behind the bar, and to then drink it out of a antique punch glass.

Of the originals, the popular favorite seemed to be the Loganberry Scramble, which derives its personality from Loganberry liqueur, a cordial made in Oregon from the little-known Loganberry. The berry's flavor—a combination of deep sweetness, bitter edge and nutty notes—dominated the cocktail, which is based on rum and is filled with lots of crushed ice.

A few other drinks on the menu looked interesting. I have an objection to the Fourth Degree, a simple libation made of gin, vermouth and absinthe. Last time I checked, that was called an Obituary Cocktail. (The proportions could be wildly different in the Fourth Degree, however.) And, as much as I am not sold on absinthe, I'm curious about the Absinthe Crusta.

The crowd was young and fascinated with the drink-making process, as people who frequent such places usually are. Conclusion: another nice new drinking place in South Brooklyn. Now, can someone just open one on my side of the BQE?

Two More London Bars

One more post regarding my recent trip to London town. While there, I had the chance to sample London cocktail culture. Not as much as I'd like, but some. I've already blogged about Dukes Hotel and Hawksmoor. I also found time to visit the Connaught Hotel's new Connaught Bar, and the Dorchester Hotel's bar.

As we stepped out of our London cab onto the posh, spotless streets of Mayfair outside the Connaught, I commented to Camper English, "Ah, the hushed sounds of wealth being enjoyed." The Connaught Bar beats anything in American for poshness. It used to be called the American Bar but was recently remodeled. (What? Are Americans that unpopular over there now?) It sparkles and shines and glitters. And that's just the clientele! The space is divided into three sections, the innermost containing the bar, an alcoholic dream in silver and glass.


Ago Perrone is in charge. Ago, Ago, Ago, that's all I heard from the time I told people I was going to London. Go see Ago. Some sort of London bartending god, is he. He served us personally, suave as could be. For the life of me, I can't remember the first two palate refreshers that were foisted on us, but they were good. I remember being brought a superlative Gin & Tonic made with Beefeater 24. That was followed up by a series of Martinis made with various bitters: grapefruit, ginger, cardomon, coriander, vanilla, lavender and licorice. I was doubtful of the potential of these whimsical ointments, and was proved right, I'm sorry to say. The licorice was downright unpleasant, the lavender too floral, the cardamom too spicy, masking all over flavors in the drink. The ginger seemed to work best.


During the last hours of my final night in London, I went on my own to the Dorchester, which was a few blocks along Hyde Park from my hotel. This is where mixologist Charlotte Voisey got her start, I'm told. Sleek and modern, its swerving, curving bar matches equally sloping lines in the seating and in the patterns on the floor and ceiling. No walking a straight line here. The bar is black, as is much of the decor, accented by pointy red glass stalagmites. Mirrors behind the bar and on top of some tables. It was relatively uncrowded when I arrived near closing time, the action at the bar dominated by a well-clad silver-haired old fox and his game, clingy, loud, young blonde girlfriend.

There were many classics on the menu, including the Blood and Sand, Martinez, Mary Pickford, and Brooklyn; some "Twinklers," drinks with Champagne or Prosecco; and Classics Revisited, new spins on old recipes. I had time for only one drink, so I chose from this page the Bourbon Cobbler: Makers Mark, bitters, absinthe, passion fruit and orange juice. It was excellent. A beautiful, refreshing drink. Fourteen pounds, yes (meaning $25), but what can you do? London has New York's hotel bar scene beat solid.