DIY Bitters in Brooklyn

The current issue of the ever-handsome-looking Edible Brooklyn has the first article I've written for the publication. Topic: folks who take their cocktail drinking into their own hands by making homemade bitters. Take a glance:

Sweet on Bitters

By Robert Simonson

 Mixologist Damon Boelte first saw the tall pear tree behind Frankies Spuntino in 2008 when the Carroll Gardens restaurant's owners, Frank Castronovo and Frank Falcinelli (known collectively as the Franks), hired him as a cocktail consultant.

"The first string of meetings, it was summertime and we were sitting in the backyard talking about what we would do," recalls Boelte. "I looked over and saw the tree, and said, ‘Oh, cool-pears! Let's do that!' "

By "that," he meant: make bitters. By the time the Franks opened the bar at Prime Meats, two doors down from Frankies, Boelte had cooked up custom pear bitters made from the fruit of that inspirational tree. His take on the Old-Fashioned forsook the bottled Angostura bitters for which that classic cocktail calls, and instead featured his handcrafted backyard bitters.

"I do the so-called ‘garbage'-style Old-Fashioneds, with muddled orange and cherry," explains Boelte, a lean, easygoing Oklahoma native with thick, dark glasses, "but I really liked the way the pear worked with the rye." So did customers: His iteration of the libation proved an early favorite at the perennially packed Court Street watering hole.

An 1806 article in an upstate newspaper, often cited as the first printed definition of the cocktail, described the beverage as "a stimulating liquor, composed of spirit, sugar, water and bitters." Those first three need no introduction. More mysterious are the intensely flavored, sparingly used, magic elixirs known as bitters. Everyone's heard of at least one-Angostura, the concoction made in Trinidad for 186 years, is an essential ingredient in the Manhattan and other favorites. But these days DIY drinkers are rediscovering the potent potions, and what happens when a tiny, dark drop of the stuff kisses your liquor.

Simply deconstructed, bitters are made by infusing alcohol- typically neutral spirit-with various botanicals, and then letting the result age. Ingredients can include citrus, herbs and spices, and "bittering agents" such as gentian and tree barks like cassia or angostura. (Curiously, Angostura bitters do not contain angostura bark. The product got its name because it was first produced in the town of Angostura.)

Solo, they taste vaguely medicinal-indeed, many of the original bitters were portioned out as health restorers. Throughout the 19th century and into the 20th, bitters were as essential to a functioning bar as a jigger. But as the art of cocktail making declined in the 1960s and 1970s, once-famous bitters makers (Stoughton, Boker's, Hostetter's) died one by one until only a couple-Angostura and the New Orleans-born Sazerac essential, Peychaud's-were left standing.

Then came the cocktail renaissance of the last decade. The demand for defunct bitters to recreate classic libations, as well as a drive to devise new drinks, has resulted in a bitters boom. Longstanding professionals like the Rochester-based Fee Brothers expanded production, while newbies like Germany's the Bitter Truth flooded the market with a sea of little bottles. But home enthusiasts got cracking as well. And Brooklyn-where citizens are known to churn their own butter and cure their own bacon- began to build better bitters, too.

The kitchen window of Louis Smeby's top-floor South Slope apartment gets great eastern exposure. The sun finds a clear path over the nearby, low-slung roofs. On a recent morning, just inside the window sat a tray of thin slices of kaffir limes drying in the sunlight. They'd been there for five days, following a spell in the oven, and Smeby plans to use them in an upcoming bitters experiment. Current experiments can be found steeping in large glass jars throughout his home, giving the one-bedroom the air of a laboratory. A tall wine refrigerator and a shelving unit groan with liquor bottles. Near the door sits a pile of mail parcels. Some, addressed to Smeby, contain ingredients sent from across the nation and overseas. Others are addressed to bars and individuals who have ordered bottles of his finished product.

Smeby, who was born in Minnesota and learned the restaurant biz through stints in Paris, Alsace and New York-he is currently a waiter at the Modern-takes a decidedly hands-on approach to alcohol. He learned beer by working at Sixpoint and soon began brewing his own. To understand bourbon, he bought 30 or 40 bottles and tasted his way through them. Soon he was making his own cordials, too. "Bitters just happened to be something that I hadn't taken on," he recalls, while pouring single-malt scotch over a custom-curated potpourri of dried orange zest, camomile flow ers, coriander, gentian, whole cloves and cassia bark for a batch of his Highland Heather bitters.

Over the past year, he's cooked up 60 batches and created about 20 flavors. Two years ago, the beverage director at the Modern began using them in some of the restaurant's cocktails. But Smeby's big break came in early 2009, when he slipped a few bottles to drinks deity Jim Meehan of PDT fame; before you could say "Skol!" the elixirs found their way into cocktail shakers at Gotham Bar & Grill, the Vanderbilt, Buttermilk Channel, Quarter bar and White Star, among others. They're also available online (absmebybitteringco.com) sold in 2-ounce bottles for $10 under the business name of A. B. Smeby Bittering Company. (A. B. is Louis's grandfather, a hearty cocktail drinker know as "Big Al.") Smeby ships as many as 70 bottles a month to places as far flung as Los Angeles, Eugene, Oregon, Denmark, the Netherlands and Germany. He hopes to make the bitters available in specialty stores soon.

It's a safe guess that some of Smeby's flavor combinations- licorice-nectarine, cherry vanilla, lemon verbena, rose hibiscus and black-and-white bitters, which taste like New York's iconic black-and-white cookies-have never been attempted before. "I love the idea of putting eclectic flavors together that really work," he says. "You see chefs doing it all the time. To do it in liquid is a little more interesting."

Smeby sources nectarines from a nearby farm and verbena from Long Island, cranberries from Wisconsin, and clementines from a West Coast orchard. Sometimes he takes a quick trip to Sunset Park, where Mexican vendors carry chamomile flowers, hibiscus, Puebla-made chocolate and the raw cinnamon known as cassia.

Matt Madden, who lives in Sunset Park, knows those vendors well. "In this neighborhood, all the grocery stores have a lot of Mexican and Caribbean products," he says, "typically the sour oranges that you need to make orange bitters." Madden is not a bartender or even a member of the food industry; he's a cartoonist. But he loves bitters. "They're one of that class of modifying ingredients that makes a cocktail. It's that little extra touch of something that makes the drink special."

Orange bitters are an obvious starting point for the home enthusiast. Once one of the most common types available (historians think the original Martini, circa 1880s, featured orange bitters), the category was virtually extinct by the end of the 20thcentury. Newly available brands of orange bitters like those from Fee's, Regan's and Angostura's were not available when Madden began cooking up infusions in his kitchen five years ago-in fact he could hardly find information online.

"When I first started making orange bitters, I did a lot of researching before I found a version of an old Jerry Thomas recipe." (Thomas, a 19th-century bartender who published the first known guide to mixology, is revered in cocktail circles.) Madden's tastes lean toward classics like the Sazerac, Martini and Rob Roy, but found his homemade bitters also came in handy when his wife was pregnant. "That's a great way to teetotal-put a little bitters in seltzer."

Madden has since expanded his repertoire to include crème de cassis liqueur using black currants that grow in his backyard, and, last year, inspired by the Chinese goods on nearby Eighth Avenue, he created a five-spice bitters, based on the traditional Chinese flavor combination. His particular quintet included star anise, fresh ginger, clove, cinnamon and Szechuan pepper, which he soaked in grain alcohol for three weeks before straining.

Think bitters with Szechuan pepper sounds a bit out there? That's nothing. When it comes to home bitters these days, anything goes. When Clif Travers, a bartender at Bar Celona in Williamsburg, wanted something with an intense bite, he concocted a rum-andtequila-based bitters infused with jalapeño and habanero peppers; today he's working on a bourbon-based cherry bitters. Mark Buettler, who worked at the Dressler in Williamsburg and lives in Bushwick, made a Sriracha bitters based on his own homemade version of the cult-favorite hot sauce. And Toby Cecchini, a wellknown mixologist and cocktail journalist who lives in Cobble Hill, recently made the acquaintance of the pomelo, a large, sweet citrus native to Southeast Asia, when he witnessed two women excitedly fondling the huge orbs at a Court Street grocer. "I bought five of them without any idea what to do with them," he says. Soon, he decided they were ripe for bittering.

And perhaps no other place in America could produce not one but two Buddha's hand bitters. Buddha's hand is a bizarre citron variety that looks like a yellow, waxen squid. Both Boetle and Smeby were inspired by the unlikely fruit. Boelte first encountered it at Fairway, when working at LeNell's, the sinceshuttered liquor shop that once brought drinks enthusiasts from far and wide to Red Hook. "I thought ‘This was one of the weirdest, coolest things ever.... I'd always liked my Manhattans with a twist. So I always used a lemon bitters or orange bitters." He now uses his Buddha's hand bitters in Prime Meats' house Manhattan.

Both Smeby and Boetle favor seasonal ingredients, so keeping some bitters in stock is not always easy. The window to secure Buddha's hands from California is only three or four weeks long. "I ordered five cases to start," says Boelte. "It's a hell of a process making that. You have to peel all those tentacles to get the skin off in between. It was me, another bartender and one of the owners of Frankies upstairs, everyone with cases of Buddha's hand, peeling, and saying ‘Hurry, put it in vodka!'"

Prime Meats Takes Home the Gold

I reported last year that Prime Meats, the Carroll Gardens bar and restaurant, had achieved the strange distinction of selling more of the teeny tiny German bitters Underberg than any other establishment in the U.S. At the time, they served the herbal, after-dinner digestif out of specialized, long-stemmed glasses provided by the German makers of the elixir.

Well, Prime Meats has graduated to the big time now. They've sold so much Underberg that the company has rewarded them with a set of gold, long-stemmed glasses. (Not real gold; just gold colored, and metal.) Neat! And totally weird.

Personally, I like the glass ones better. You can see the drink.

Top of the Morning to You!

Sometimes my job treats me very well.

For a recent article in the New York Times, I was forced to explore at various bars in Brooklyn and Manhattan the world of morning and afternoon cocktails. I drank Clover Clubs and Ramos Gin Fizzes and Bourbon Milk Punches and Corpse Revivers and many another drink you've never heard of, all while munching of various comestibles, which only rarely didn't feature bacon. Decadence was never so civilized.

It's been a pleasure in recent months seeing some of the best cocktails bars in New York City throw open their doors before the sun goes down. And it's been a convenient pleasure, since more of the trailblazers in this movement—Clover Club, Ft. Defiance, Prime Meats—are an easy walk from my home.

Here's the article:

The Final Frontier? It’s an Eye-Opener

By Robert Simonson

ON a recent Sunday, at Clover Club, six young women giddily compared impressions of their mixed drinks. Nothing unusual in that. People come to this tavern in Cobble Hill, Brooklyn, expressly to indulge in finely honed cocktails. But the sun, slanting brightly through the front windows, glinted off the iced glasses. And at the next table a young couple coddled their newborn. It was noon.

Drinking at brunch is nothing new, of course. But brunching at places where people go mainly to drink is.

Clover Club is one of several bars known for alcoholic alchemy that are exploring daylight drinks that go beyond the bloody mary and the mimosa.

At Fort Defiance in Red Hook, Brooklyn, you can begin your weekend with a New Orleans-style bourbon milk punch. A meal baptized with a Breakfast Cocktail, made of Old Tom gin, dry vermouth and orange marmalade, is available at noon Saturday and Sunday at Henry Public in Cobble Hill. And Mayahuel of the East Village has decided that many of its tequila and mezcal-based concoctions are well suited for brunch.

Among the bars letting the sunshine in out West are the Alembic in San Francisco and the Hungry Cat in Los Angeles. At both you are on sound footing ordering the ornate Ramos Gin Fizz, arguably the most storied of the forgotten morning drinks and certainly the most complicated (it has eight ingredients, including orange flower water).

“I found that cocktail-wise, there was a lack of variety” during the day, said the Clover Club’s owner, Julie Reiner, whose trailblazing brunch is a favorite of brownstone dwellers as well as bartenders. “People focused on having a great bloody mary, but other than that, there wasn’t much.”

The shift in hours has been driven by both passion and necessity. “Everybody always talked about brunch as a reason to go drink early on Sunday,” said Phil Ward, owner of Mayahuel. “But most places I’ve ever been, they’ve never had anything I wanted to drink.” Mr. Ward conceded, however, that he had another motivation. “The more you’re open, the more profit you make.”

Establishing a brunch trade often requires a few new hires because most bartenders, like vampires, are not morning people. “My night staff, heaven forbid they should ever have to work brunch,” Ms. Reiner said, laughing.

The notion of sunrise tipples is an old one. In the 19th century, it was not unusual for a gentleman to begin his day with a bracer at a tavern. “You always read about these ‘eye-openers,’ ‘fog-cutters,’ ‘phlegm-cutters,’ ‘morning glories,’ ” said St. John Frizell, who owns Fort Defiance. “They were arguably more popular than cocktails at night.”

But as the 20th century rolled along, a stigma was attached to daytime drinking. Perhaps because of this, “eye-openers” are among the last classic drinks to be resurrected by the current cocktail renaissance. “It’s kind of the last frontier for cocktails,” Mr. Frizell said.

What makes a morning drink? The category can be divided into two families: the nutritional and the effervescent — these drinks either feed you or wake you up. The nutritional contain ingredients associated with breakfast, like eggs (the Ramos Gin Fizz), milk (Bourbon Milk Punch), coffee (Irish Coffee) or juice (the bloody mary). The wake-ups take on a dose of Champagne (the mimosa or French 75) or cava (used in Phil Ward’s Agridulce Royale), or just plain seltzer (as in the Italian Fizz — a Fernet-Branca and sweet vermouth mixture — at Prime Meats in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn). Otherwise, said Ms. Reiner, daytime drinks veer toward “lighter liquors,” like gin, or “lighter flavors,” like lemon juice.

As bar owners loosen their twilight image, so are their customers loosening their inhibitions. “They don’t feel that there is any taboo anymore,” said Tim Staehling, the general manager of The Hungry Cat, which also has a bar in Santa Barbara, Calif. “It’s ‘Bring it on.’ ”

While the revolution has begun, the old guard hangs in. Most bar owners admit that half their daytime drinks are bloody marys, although they offer three or four versions. The mimosa, though, has been blackballed. “The thing with a Champagne drink in the morning is the effervescence of the wine helps to clean out your mouth of that layer of gunk from the night before.” Mr. Frizell said. “When you add orange juice, you’re just adding a new layer of gunk.”

A Distinction of Sorts

When I first noticed a couple months ago that the Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn, bar Prime Meats had begun to serve Underberg Bitters by the bottle and by the glass, I thought, "There's a quirky little gimmick. It will probably catch on with a few dozen liquor geeks such as myself." After all, a medicinal, German-made concoction of aromatic herbs with a distinctly 19th-century vibe?—how wide could its appeal be?

Well, apparently, pretty wide. I stopped by to pick up a few of the individually sized bottles the other day (for post-Thanksgiving imbibing), and the barkeep, Damon Boelte, told me an astounding fact: Prime Meats now sells more Underberg Bitters than any other establishment in the entire United States! Not just New York City, but the whole U.S. of A.

The stuff has really caught on. Prime Meats goes through six cases a week. Damon couldn't tell me how many bottles were in a case, but, since the bottles are small, there are a lot! "The Underberg people are very happy with us," he said, with a droll smile.

Underberg Enjoyed By the Glass in Brooklyn

I don't know whether it's a nod to its dedication to German cuisine, or classic cocktails, or both, but Prime Meats, the Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn, bar and restaurant, has taken to serving Underberg bitters by the glass.

You know Underberg. It's that little tiny bottle in the green and white label. It comes from Germany, where it's been manufactured as a digestif and curative since 1846. The bottles are single serving only and meant to be downed in one gulp at the end of the meal. The potion is made from a selection of the aromatic herbs from 43 countries, and definitely puts the "bitter" in bitters.

Underberg's a kooky little company. They've got their one product and their ride it hard. Promotional literature reads like something you might taken away from an evangelist's tent. (I love how they harp on the fact that it will make you feel "bright and alert," like some 19th century Bavarian schoolchild. Other gems: it works "pleasantly, with a calming effect; as a relaxant in stressful situations"; "The Underberg herbs are a gift of nature.") All of its elements, including shape of the bottle, colour, packaging and the Underberg name are trade marked and copyrighted.

And there's tons of paraphernalia. You can buy an Underberg belt, a Wild West-like item that has holes all around it not for bullets, but little Underberg bottles. When Prime Meats signed on to the Underberg bandwagen, they were given a circular iron rack to rest the bottles in, sort of like the old wire racks that used to hold hard-boiled eggs at some taverns. They were also given a ton of dedicated Underberg glassware. This is an incredibly tall, thin, aperitif glass. It was created by the founder Hubert Underberg, together with glass blowers from Murano, and first displayed at the 1867 World Exposition in Paris. That was a good move by Hubert. There's no mistaking who's enjoying a glass of Underberg at a restaurant. Those beakers stand out a mile.

I watched one diner at Prime Meats order his after-dinner Underberg. The waiter served the towering crystal with care, pouring the black bitter liquid in the small cavity near the top. The patron—it seemed to me—solemnly contemplated the glass for a good 30 seconds, not moving or saying a word. He then seized it by its stem, downed it quickly, and returned the glass to its place. After dabbing his lips with a napkin, he left.

It was impressive, and vaguely continental. It could catch on, folks.

The Best Old Fashioned in Town

I like to sample different bars' takes on the Old Fashioned. These days, seeing an Old Fashioned on a cocktail menu is not an unusual occurance. In fact, it's becoming commonplace. To name a few: at the new East Village bar, Elsa, they make their Old Fashioned with Old Overholt rye, muddled brown sugar and no muddled fruit. At Jack the Horse in Brooklyn Heights they use Rittenhouse rye, vanilla pear syrup, a homemade aromatic tincture, and an orange twist. At White Slab Palace on the Lower East Side they employ, uh, Maker's Mark, blood orange and cherry liqueur. (Haven't tried that last one; I may not.)

But the best rendition of the classic I have encountered is at Prime Meats, a new bar in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn. It is simplicity itself, with one significant, world-changing alteration. There's the Rittenhouse rye, there's the sugar. But no Angostura. Instead, bartender Damon Braces has created his own bartlett pear bitters made from a pear tree in the backyard of the bar. In the backyard of the bar. Then, to better match the character of the bitters, the drink is garnished with a big lemon peel, as opposed the more common orange peel.

This is a fantastic Old Fashioned, and I'm rather obsessed with it. I don't know if I've ever enjoyed drinking an Old Fashioned as much as I like drinking this one (and I enjoy my Old Fashioneds). It's so bright in taste, it's sparkles in your nose and on your tongue. Instead of heavy and earthboard, its light and airy. It's the first Old Fashioned I've ever had that I'd thought could be an ideal summer drink. Plus, it is beautiful to look at. Golden.

Strictly speaking, this is not an Old Fashioned because of the change in bitters. But it falls closely enough within the drink model for me to think of it as the best Old Fashioned in New York. Hyperbole, I know.

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?