Mad Men and Drinking, Season Two, Part II

For anyone who watches the AMC series "Mad Men" partly to enjoy the way the characters heedlessly enjoy themselves, Season 2 was a difficult one. The men and woman still smoked and drank and caroused with abandon, but this time around the bill came due and it was a whopper.

This was particularly true of the characters' drinking. The cocktails were still classic. The glassware and ice buckets were beautiful. The bars were atmospheric. But, beyond that, little else was pretty.

Last year, Roger Sterling, one of the partners in the Madison Avenue ad agency Sterling Cooper, was the man who paid the price for his lifestyle, suffering two coronaries after one too many cigarettes, one too many Martinis and one too many chippies on the side. This year, the much younger Don Draper learned you can't do whatever you want to do and get away with it. The first episode of the season finds a doctor telling Don to slow down, for his health's sake. Typically, Don takes no head. By episode 5, "The New Girl," he's gotten involved with the wife of a comedian, Bobbi Barrett. While on a night ride to a trysting place, Don, drinking from a bottle while at the wheel, totals the car and nearly kills himself and Bobbi. He is forced to turn to his former secretary Peggy Olson to bail them out, give Bobbi a place to hide while she heals, and lie to his wife about the accident. In the series to date, this is the most humiliating situation the otherwise in-control Don has ever found himself in. On the surface, he seems to learn nothing from it.

Since Draper is good at covering his tracks (and holding his liquor), he gets away with this malefaction (for the time being). The easygoing, feckless and guileless Freddie Rumsen is not so lucky (that's him above, in the brown hat). Freddie is a senior copywriter and an outright lush. His years of drinking show on his bloated, red face. Yet, he's a harmless drunk, amiable, and fairly decent at his job.

Freddie's career ends in the excellent episode 9, "Six Month Leave," when, having drunk too many Bourbons just before a presentation for Samsonite, he unconsciously pisses his pants and then passes out. It's a hilarious and horrifying scene. In the world of "Mad Men," this would have been forgiven and forgotten, but jealous tattletale Pete Campbell rats on Freddie to controlling, teetotaler Head of Accounts Herman "Duck" Phillips, who insists Freddie be fired.

Don resists, but has no choice when Roger sides with Duck. We learn a lot of Sterling Cooper's history during Roger and Don's kiss-off lunch with Freddie. Apparently, Roger's father (presumedly the original Sterling of Sterling Cooper) drank more than Roger and Don put together, and used to come in in the morning with his shirt on inside-out.

Perversely, after telling Freddie he needs to go somewhere and dry out, Roger and Don try to console him by taking him out on a goodbye bender. What kind of mixed message is that? It's that sort of jumbled men's code that ultimately led to Rumsen's doom.

As for Duck, he falls off the wagon soon afterwards, when he finds out he shouldn't expect to be made a partner at Sterling Cooper. The effect is not attractive. After downing two straight Martinis in a lunch with a couple old London colleagues, Duck begin to plot his takeover of Sterling Cooper via a merger with a London agency.

Meanwhile, through all this, Don's wife Betty, lonely and depressed, drinks more and more red wine in solitude.

The overall message: drinking is a lot of fun, until it stops being a lot of fun.

A Beer at...O'Keefe's Bar & Grill

My latest in the "A Beer At..." series that I write for Eater takes me to downtown Brooklyn to a bar that looks so simply like a bar a picture of it should be next to the word "bar" in the dictionary.

A Beer At...O'Keefe's Bar & Grill

There may be better taverns in New York than O'Keefe's Bar & Grill on Court Street in downtown Brooklyn, but few have better signs. The large red neon "Bar" and "Grill" above the entrance possesses a powerfully anonymous urban iconography rarely seen outside of film. (The only place it says O'Keefe's on the facade is in small, dark letters on the glass doors.) Curiously, though a bar called O'Keefe's has been at 64 Court for 90 years, the sign was not originally theirs. It once hung over a bar called the Savoy at 41st and 9th in Manhattan. "The owner thought it would be the perfect sign" explained a bartender.

O'Keefe's unbeatable location—just steps from Borough Hall—lends it an amazing tidal pull on the working professionals in the area. Come quitting time, the lawyers and politicos and jurors quickly file in, one by one. The place is spacious, deep, clean and airy, which helps to dissipate the claustrophobic effect of the 10 large televisions. Most of these are devoted to sports. But two are diplomatically set on CNN and Fox, so as to present both political persuasions of the folks doing work on nearby Adams Street. On a recent night, Silver-bearded Wolf Blitzer solemnly weighed the threat of the Swine Flu outbreak, while bug-eyed Glenn Beck mocked Obama's first 100 days by holding a swirling red siren aloft.

Most of the seats at the long wooden bar are occupied by 5:30 p.m The two sweet, wholesome-looking young barmaids huddle in their bus station, taking turns making smiling passes through the long room. An older woman sips red wine and reads a book. Three young louts dressed entirely in grey sweats put their feet up. Four blue-shirt-gray-pants defuse over beers. A woman with her child heads to the table furthest back to celebrate a birthday. A limping grifter tries (and fails) to exchange a roll of quarters for a $10 bill. The driver of the B75 parks his bus outside and slowly strolls in to use the restroom. O'Keefe's is an outlet for myriad neighborhood needs. It also has a small reputation for buffalo wings, which can be had for the low price of 40 cents per on Mondays. Apparently, they used to be 30 cents apiece. The economy hits you everywhere.
—Robert Simonson

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When It's Julep Time in Gotham

I wrote up a short little piece for Time Out recently targeting good places to grab a tasty Mint Julep on Derby Day (this coming Saturday, FYI). I focused to two sorts of Derby destinations: the ones where you can find a benchmark rendition of the Derby’s official drink, where the shaved ice is plentiful, the mint is fresh and your drink will be served in the traditional silver cup; and places where you'll find lesser Juleps, but appropriate house-party atmosphere. For the former, I would add to the places listed below Brooklyn's Clover Club.

Bar Hop

Q Where can I get mint juleps on Derby Day?
—Tara Lewy, West Village

A According to lore, the mint julep—a mix of bourbon, sugar, mint and crushed ice—became the Kentucky Derby’s official drink in 1938, when Churchill Downs started selling it in souvenir glasses for 75¢. The price may have gone up since then, but the $10-and-up renditions at Greenwich Village’s Little Branch (20–22 Seventh Ave South at Leroy St, 212-929-4360) and Death & Company (433 E 6th St between First Ave and Ave A, 212-388-0882) in the East Village are textbook. For a different kind of authenticity, try Floyd, NY (131 Atlantic Ave between Clinton and Henry Sts, Cobble Hill, Brooklyn; 718-858-5810) or Union Hall (702 Union St at Fifth Ave, Park Slope, Brooklyn; 718-638-4400), both owned by Kentuckians. On race day, Saturday 2, visit Union Hall for live bluegrass and $3 Maker’s Mark mint juleps. At Floyd, you’ll find free snacks, like pimento-cheese sandwiches, in addition to juleps. And the race. Don’t forget that.—Robert Simonson

Mad Men and Drinking, Season Two, Part I

I've finally gotten around to taking in season two of "Mad Men," the AMC series which has fascinated me not only because it's set in a time period that captures my imagination—Postwar New York City from 1945 to the mid-1960s—but because it so meticulously tracks the drinking habits of the time. That era was the last hurrah for serious cocktail drinking in American until the art of the mixed drink, and the culture that surrounds it, was retrieved from the grave during the last decade. There are no silly drinks in "Mad Men." Martinis and Old Fashioneds and Gimlet still reign supreme. Rye is still available. Vodka has not yet taken over. And a certain dignified ritual still surrounds the world of the cocktail shaker and the ice bucket.

That said, drinking is a much darker force in the second season of this show. All told, it ends up leading to a car accident, the destruction of one man's career, another man's falling off the wagon and initiating a none-too-pretty power play, the alienation of a lonely housewife, and plenty of bad decisions.

The second season jumps in time from fall 1960 to Valentine's Day 1962. Roger Sterling, one of the principals at the Manhattan ad agency Sterling Cooper, hasn't learned much from the two coronaries he had in season one. He still drinks fairly much, bums cigarettes off friends, and carries on with ladies who are not his wife. Martinis are still his poison, though he goes for a Gibson just as often. In Episode 9, "Six Month Leave," he states philosophically, “See, I think if I still with the clear liquors, vodka, gin, I know where I stand.” His friend Don Draper—the secretive creative director at Cooper Sterling and the focus of the program—answers, with typical cryptic opacity, "I'm the opposite."

Don still drinks Old Fashioneds, with muddled fruit—the way the drink was typically served in his day. Canadian Club "rye" is his go-to liquor. He keeps a bottle on the side board in his office. In Episode 9, when Roger, Don, and associate Freddie Rumsen visit an underground gambling den, Roger places the order—for Don, himself and Freddie, respectively—"Canadian rye neat; Will Schmidt Gibson; Grand Dad rocks."

Very few liquors beyond rye, gin and vodka make appearances on "Mad Men," but there were some interesting cameos this second season. In Episode 6, "Maidenform," accounts executive Pete Campbell served J&B Scotch whiskey to his brother Bud. Bud makes a face and asks, "What is this?" "J&B," says Pete. "They sent me a case." "This is why I don't own a TV," replies Bud. J&B made inroads in America all through the 1950s.

In Episode 13, "Meditations in an Emergency," accounts head Herman "Duck" Phillips drinks Glenlivet. As far as I can tell, this is the first appearance of single malt Scotch in "Mad Men." Duck used to work in London, and it's likely he picked up his Scotch habit there. In Episode 11, "The Jet Set," Duck is sent a case of Tanqueray by his London pals, the first time that famous brand appears in the series.

Also in Episode 11, Don is in California, where a character of exotic origins has a Campari and Soda—possibly to indicate the globe-trotting nature of the character. In Episode 12, "The Mountain King," the stock-holding sister of eccentric Sterling Cooper partner Bert Cooper indulges in Sweet Vermouth straight.

Finally, Heineken makes a showy appearance when the agency tries to collect some of the beer company's business. We learn that the Dutch beer is still not widely known or drunk in the early '60s. Draper thinks this could easily be changed. "To housewives, Holland is Paris," he argues. "They can proudly carry this sophisticated beer into the kitchen instead of hiding it in the garage." He instructs his staff to put Heineken at the end of the aisle at selected A&Ps, "away from the other beers, with some cheese and crakers and toothpicks with cellophane tips."

Responds Pete, "Housewives love green."

Memories of the Leilani

Growing up in Milwaukee, my sole exposure to the Tiki Drink universe was an exotic club along Blue Mound Road in the suburb of Brookfield, called The Leilani Motel. By the time I remember passing it by while in the back seat of my parents' station wagon, in the early 70s, the place was horribly old-fashioned. Even to my young sensibilities, I knew it belonged to the past.

When it opened, however, it was supremely hip and romantic. I was told that Frank Sinatra would entertain there.

Jeff "Beachbum" Berry forwarded me the following article, which appeared in the Waukesha Freeman (Waukesha is a small city to the west of Milwaukee) in 1961. I feel an extra twinge in my heart reading it, because the Freeman was my first professional gig as a journalist.

Tiki' Taking Shape in Front of Motels; They're Made of Lava

By Tom Barber
Freeman Staff

BROOKFIELD - A German sculptor carved South Sea island stone idols for a Polynesian restaurant in Brookfield today.

It all happened at The Leilani motel, 18615 W. Blue Mound Road, whose owners are in the midst of a $750,000 expansion program.

The motel is being doubled in size. But of more interest to most passers-by is a steep roofed supper club under construction just east of the motel.

Sculptor Gerhard E. Kroll, Milwaukee, is at work on the lawn in front of the restaurant fashioning large Hawaiian "tiki"– stone images of a religious significance in primitive South Pacific cultures.

The tiki will be used to decorate five dining rooms and two cocktail lounges in the restaurant. A large one will be placed outdoors.

Kroll has resided in Milwaukee for about two years. He studied art at the University of Wisconsin there.

The lightweight rock he is using actually is lava. Its porosity makes it easy to work. Saws, axes and knives replace the traditional hammer and chisel. Kroll expects to work a large pile of the stones into figures in about two weeks.

Along with Krolls sculpture the restaurant will be docorated with fireproof thatch ceilings, tabletops of monkey pod wood, monkey pod and coconut carvings, Hawaiian lighting fixtures and tropical plants.

Outside there will be live palm trees (to be stored indoors during the winter), fountains, and a sign illuminated with jets of fire.

Owner Paul Fecher said waitresses in the restaurant and the Malahini and Homaka cocktail lounges will wear sarongs. He hopes to hire a Hawaiian-born chef and a group of Tahitian dancers and singers to perform at the restaurant's opening about Sept. 1.

The menu will be "about 60 percent Polynesian food and 40 percent American," Fechner predicted. Dining rooms will seat 275. Banquet rooms below will be large enough for 500 to 600 persons. An automobile manufacturer will have a display downstairs.

The sharply gabled roof over the new restaurant carries out the style of the nearby motel. Both were designed by Milwaukeean Alan Wiederman. The motel addition is a two story wing attached to the south of the existing building.

Fechner has elaborate plans for future additions at "Leilani Village." East of the restaurant, on land formerly occupied by a competing motel which the Leilani bought, a heliport will be built.

Nine acres of land south of the motel have been purchased for a nine hole pitch-and-put golf course. A pond on the tract will be enlarged. The purchase of 12 to 14 more acres, where an Olympic sized pool and cabana club will be constructed.

The golf course and pool are on the agenda for next year. Sometime later, Fechner said, he hopes to build several town houses along the south edge of the golf course. They would be rented for longer periods of time than the motel units.

The Leilani was torn down in 1996. The horror of its destruction is depicted below. Wonder what ever happened to those Tikis sculpted out of lava. Returned to the volcano?

Martinez Rediscovered,

I'm learning a lot about some cocktails I thought I knew via the collection of Dolin vermouths I recently acquired. Dolin is a traditional French vermouth company. It's about 200 years old, but newly available in certain U.S. markets via Eric Seed's import company in Minnesota. They make dry, rouge and blanc versions of vermouth, and they are overall a much more subtler, gentler product that the commonly available vermouth brands, such as Martini & Rossi and Noilly Prat. Dolin is among the few remaining independent producers of Vermouth and the last producing Vermouth de Chambéry.

Using them in some classics, I've come to reevaluate my opinion of certain drinks and how they should taste. I've been used to a certain edge in Martinis that I haven't always liked, but usually attributed to a natural rawness in the gin. Now, I've begun to wonder if that unwelcome bite was in the vermouth. When I mix up a Martini with Dolin dry, it's a much smoother drink, a calmer drink, a more elegant drink.

I had similar experiences with the Manhattan, Negroni and other classics.

Last night, I tried the vermouths in a Martinez. I have always had a problem with the Martinez. I know I'm supposed to respect this drink, because its ages old and may be the precursor of the Martini and all. But, to me, it's never been a favorite. I just don't think it tastes good, with its lopsided 2 to 1 ratio of sweet vermouth to gin. I also found the drink's color, an unputting ruddy, rust-like hue, disagreeable. I never find myself thinking, "Hm, I'm really in the mood for a Martinez."

I thought perhaps the Dolin could remedy this situation. So I built a Martinez (1 oz. gin, 2 oz. sweet vermouth, a dash orange bitters, 2 dashes Maraschino liqueur) used Dolin Rouge. Aha! A much better drink. Not so rough and sickly sweet, heavy and nastily herbal.

Then I had an idea. What if I made a Martinez with the Dolin Blanc, which has the clear color of the Dry, with some of the sweetness of the Rouge. What do you know? A superior drink, smooth as ice, with an understated sweetness. Refreshing and civilizing, a genuine treat. True, a bit dull to look at (utterly clear), but, then, so is a Martini, when you think of it.

A Beer At...The Blue Room

My fourth in a new series at Eater, The Blue Room was perhaps the most pleasant encounter to date, a laid-back place with just the right amount of character. I'll visit again when in the neighborhood. And that bartendress was something.

A Beer At...The Blue Room

If you never looked out the window at the Blue Room, you might swear that it was on some grey corner in an outlying Chicago neighborhood, so unpretentious and unstudied is the vibe in the Upper East Side tavern. Laughs come easy and loud. T-shirts and sweatshirts hold in beer bellies. Jagermeister shots are lined up on the bar. Cell phones are pocketed and forgotten. Nobody looks like they make more than $40,000 year—or knows anybody who does.

But New York is full of curious juxtapositions. Step outside the bar, which holds down the northeast of 60th and Second Avenue, and the backdrop is unmistakably New York. A few yards away lie the beginnings of the Queensboro Bridge; above float the trams en route to Roosevelt Island. The bar’s positioning is positively cinematic.

No one’s waxing that romantic about views inside, however. The here and now is good enough, because here and now you’ve got pool in the back; you’ve got Buffalo wings from the Atomic Wings that’s found a home inside the bar; you’ve got karaoke on Tuesdays; guest bartenders on Wednesdays and Saturdays. And you’ve got Linda behind the bar, who, on one recent night, may have been partially responsible for the quasi-Midwestern atmosphere. Linda’s a dancer, and a recent transplant from the Windy City. She wore an unaffected smile and a form-fitting, cut-off “I Love New York” t-shirt—both without irony. A bottle opener was held in place on her forearm with a rubber band.

One might think from the odd assemblage of framed posters on the wall—“Blue Velvet,” “The Blue Lagoon,” “Big Blue” and Madonna’s “True Blue” album—that the bar dates from the 1980s. But the place in only five years old, and those pictures are part of the joint’s somewhat simplistic theme—the color blue. The felt on the pool table is blue. The curtains, the ceiling over the bar, all blue. Even the owner, Bob, wore denim head to foot. Me, I ordered a Blue Point.
—Robert Simonson

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