Cocktail Resolutions
by India DeLashmutt
We‘re only two weeks into January, but so far 2009 has me wishing for the immediate invention of a time machine to zip me back to 2008. What happens on New Year’s Eve? Why does everyone suddenly become dull? Promises from friends to “get together after the New Year!” are producing sheepish emails and phone calls declaring resolutely their efforts “to try to be good,” which we all know translates to eating steamed edamame at home for every meal and drinking detoxifying water.
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Choose from a long list of bloodies at Prune |
And I call these people friends?
But no matter. Until they roll over and give up in a week and a half, I’ve resolved to go out often – I’m not a lush just a social beast – and I know what spot is best for each day of the week.
Sunday While believers across the nation give praise to the big guy (or gal) upstairs, New Yorkers bow down to their own version of God: the Brunch Hostess. She is almighty, she is powerful, and she alone determines how long you must suffer in purgatory before being seated to eat your waffles. Who knew Hell would smell of maple syrup? Today, I might even bypass the meal and go straight for the real reason we all enjoy brunch: the Bloody Mary.
That means you’ll find me at the Village shoebox known as Prune (54 East 4th Street, 212 677 6221). Their esoteric brunch is made even more famous by the epic wait for a seat. I finesse that torture by choosing a stool at the bar and ordering the Classic from their extensive Bloody Mary rollcall, ranging from the Caesar with gin, clam juice and a pickled egg to the vodka-based Green Lake with wasabi and a spear of beef jerky. The Classic, with its delicate spice balance lets me feel the heat but no need to wag my tongue to cool down. It is delivered with a shot of beer, the perfect accessory to prolong the pleasure of the perfect Bloody Mary. Praise the Lord.
Monday Others dread Mondays. I revel in them as a chance for serenity at what would be the perfect storm on Saturday night: the cyclone of a hot new restaurant with a full press of drones alerted by eater. com That’s why Monday is ideal to hit the new Macao Trading Company (311 Church Street, 212 431 8750).
I might start with Yellow Fever: Rittenhouse Rye, Benedictine, lemon juice & egg white shaken and poured over Cherry Herring. Rye is the darling of the cocktail world at the moment and the egg white gives it body and a sooth finish. Then since Monday’s can be harsh, I might have the Drunken Dragon’s Milk as a chaser: Charbay Green Tea Vodka shaken with young coconut puree, Thai basil and Macao Five-Spice Bitters (ginger, cinnamon, clove, anise and Sichuan peppercorns). It’s practically nutritious and powerful enough to make me forget what day it is.
Tuesday I must be easy to read, because last time I went to Apotheke (9 Doyers Street, 212 406 0400) on a weekend night one of the bartenders leaned over the bar (it was really the only way to be heard in the clamor) and suggested that weeknights are the times to visit. I found it hard to ignore doctors orders, considering these dapper young men slinging liquor and fire behind the marble counter are dressed in lab coats strikingly similar to the uniform my pediatrician wore.
A warm shot of Gluwein, Austria’s version of mulled wine, with spiced rum, cinnamon and shaved nutmeg, is a house welcome. I follow with another spiced tipple the Winter Harvest, with cinnamon infused Bourbon, winter spices, cider, muddled apples and lime. The lime gives it a tart bite to mellow the sugars. The cinnamon really shines through as I reach the bottom of my glass, a bit like apple pie with a twist.
Wednesday Midweek calls for a change of scenery from downtown hip, a retreat that shows it aristocratic bones. Bemelmans Bar (35 East 76th Street, 212 744 1600) in the Carlyle Hotel serves cocktails with authentic panache and a style that is only imitated downtown where bartenders sport curly-cue moustaches and three-piece suits with out the credential.
I always ask for the Old Cuban, a “Champagne Mojito” with aged rum, green flecks of muddled mint, lime juice, angostura bitters and champagne on top. Its Cuba and Paris in a martini glass, shimmering and slightly effervescent. At twenty bucks a pop, I’ll make mine last.
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The Pig can be the quietest, coziest room in town. Photo: India DeLashmutt |
Thursday
After the last few nights on mass transit, I’m happy to walk to my local, The Spotted Pig (314 W 11th Street, 212 620 0393) for the best mulled wine in town. By reputation it is monstrously crowded, but I start my cocktail hour at 5 p.m. when the dust has settled from the night before and the Pig is about the coziest, quietest room in the city.On chilling nights like these, the brew bubbles away quietly behind the bar till it’s ladled into an ale mug. Even with chili and black pepper added to the usual cinnamon, allspice and clove, plus brandy and a Courvoisier finish, I can still taste the wine. And boy is it potent. The arctic tundra is far away. I hug the bar, happily defrosted, watching the crowd file in behind me, as eager to belong as I am.
Friday Since it seems like most of Brooklyn heads to Manhattan on weekend nights, I do the reverse commute and take the F train out to Cobble Hill with two places on my agenda.
At Char No. 4 (196 Smith Street, 718 643 2106) custom-made lampshades made of paper bathe the bar in a warm glow, but I’m seeking a warm glow in my belly so I grab a menu and order a 1 ounce taste of Michter’s Rye, aged ten years. Why? I have no idea. The menu is an dauntingly long list of every hard brown alcohol (with prices ranging up to $200 for two ounces) I don’t really know. But the Rye is smooth and tweedy, certainly stronger than a cocktail and at $10, i a good bang for my buck.
Clover Club (210 Smith Street, 718 855 7939) is decidedly more feminine, with low tufted settees, chandeliers and oriental rugs. The extensive menu is a doozey as well, divided into Collins and Fizzes, Juleps and Smashes. I order a most ladylike French 75 made simply of gin, lemon, sugar and champagne. With my high winged chair pulled up next to the crackling fireplace, I’m siping one of the best drinks of the week.
Saturday The bar is full and people are standing, but in darkly lit Employees Only (510 Hudson Street, 212 242 3021) with art deco décor and that speakeasy feel, it feels more intimate than overrun.This is a place where a crowd never feels like a crowd but like a chic party instead. Here I order the Ruby Tuesday: Wild Turkey Rye, shaken with Benedictine, lemon juice and pureed black cherries. The kick of the rye is still present, but it’s masked and mellowed by the cherry puree, which is in turn cut by the lemon. Its sweet, tart, strong and a gorgeous deep purple.
It’s getting late and I think about heading home, but instead I order my second Ruby Tuesday because hey, it’s been a long week and I deserve it.
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