A Beer At...Nitecaps

My latest candidate for "A Beer At...," the regular feature I write for Eater, is this lonely, rather foreboding bar on Coney Island Avenue in Brooklyn. It looks like a kind of an outpost in a barren desert of decaying industry. Not a tree or bush in sight. Just miles of traffic and auto shops to fix those cars when they break. Yet Nightcaps doesn't have much competition. Much of Midwood is Orthodox Jewish, so there's no a lot of call for drinking establishments.

Midwood: There’s not much to look at on the Midwood stretch of Coney Island Avenue. But that doesn’t stop the denizens of Nitecaps from periodically emerging from their drinking den to take a gander at the four-lane traffic and un-beautiful industrial landscape. Once back inside, they have to wait another ten minutes for their eyes to adjust. For Nitecaps, which is near Avenue H, is a dark bar. Dark like a cave. Dark like a mineshift.

Wait a while and your eyes slowly begin to discern shapes of things you didn’t know were there. There, in the corner: an old metal coat rack. On a shelf below it: forgotten piles of New York phone books. Behind the bar: a small fish tank housing a solitary fish. And there, tucked in a space to the right of the door: two neatly kept dart boards, with just enough space in front of them to hold a game.

Those dart boards are not just dart boards. They are Nitecaps' heart and soul. In the cement-and-pavement center of Brooklyn, there are certain bars known as Dart Pubs, and Nitecaps is one of them. The joint is on the Gotham City Darts League circuit, and competitive games go down there on Mondays and Tuesdays. The tavern has frequently emerged victorious. Large, odd trophies, with gold dart boards at their crests, line the back of the bar. The bartender said the owner has many more in her office. (Pool is also popular here, but it takes a back seat to darts.)

A patron told me the bar is at least 20 years old, but—judging from the old, warped, wooden bar, and the aging appearance of the rest room doors—I’d add at least 20 more years to that estimate. From the outside, it looks like a kind of fortress, with a rugged gray façade and two small windows that emit no light. Large words on the front promise “Food” and “Spirits.” But this is a beer place; the available brands are written in magic marker on a piece of white paper taped to the wall; only two are on tap. There are spirits, but it’s doubtful that any but a few of the bottles stir from their shelves. And the food on offer is limited to Cheetos. (However, I do hear there’s a big spread on dart nights.)

A strange face is likely to get a friendly grilling here. One imagines few people other than extreme locals and dart lovers seek out the protecting walls of Nitecaps. Then again, who knows? After Coney Island Avenue shuts down for the night, this lonely bar is about the only game in town, darts or no.
— Robert Simonson

Your $10 Recession Wine of the Week: Chateau du Rouet Cotes de Provence Rose 2008

The wife brought this one home, as a treat for herself on Mother's Day. And a nice choice it was, at $11.

It's a blend of Grenache, Cinsault and Syrah with real chracter. The color was extremely pale, a faded rose or, almost, peach. The emphasis is not on fruit, though there is fruit there, but on other characteristics: acidity, floral and herbal notes, stones. Very elegant and to the point. Would go best with delicate dishes.

New York City Wineries

My first article for Decanter magazine appears in the June issue of the London-based publication. It's about a couple of the new New York City-based wineries, the scruffy Angels' Share in Red Hook, Brooklyn, and the tony City Winery in SoHo. Both places now have their own wine out. Can't wait to taste both.

Here's the article:

Few labels surprise wine-savvy New Yorkers. A Chardonnay from Virginia? Had it. A Cabernet Sauvignon–Shiraz blend from India? That too. But this year more than a few eyebrows may cock at the sight of bottles that read ‘Made in Manhattan’, or ‘Made in Brooklyn’.
The locavore trend, which has infected every part of the New Yorker’s diet from greens to cheese to beer, has finally hit the cellar. Urban wineries have arrived, in places as far flung as San Francisco, Kansas City and, now, New York. Former music impresario Michael Dorf has erected the sleek City Winery in Tribeca. And Mark Snyder, another music industry refugee (he designed sound for acts like Billy Joel before becoming a wine distributor), has created the more rustic Angels’ Share in Brooklyn’s desolate Red Hook district.

‘It’s very timely,’ said Leslie Townsend, former director of Astor Center, the liquor education institute connected to Manhattan’s Astor Wine & Spirits. ‘People want to reconnect with the things they’re consuming.’

LeNell Smothers, owner of LeNell’s, a liquor store near Angel’s Share often identified as the best in New York, also believes urban wineries are viable propositions. ‘The whole eat and drink local slow-food movement has become part of New York City fashion,’ said Smothers, who bottles and sells her own rye whiskey. ‘It’s sexy to support local projects.’ She plans to carry Angel’s Share wines at her store, as does the celebrated nearby restaurant The Good Fork.

While often lumped together, City Winery and Angels’ Share are as different in character as the neighbourhoods they call home. Snyder sources grapes solely from the nearby North Fork of Long Island, and has enlisted the skills of Californian winemakers Abe Schoener and Robert Foley to create idiosyncratic wines in a drafty, bare-bones warehouse near the Brooklyn Waterfront. The wines will be made available to the public through restaurants and wine stores. Snyder hopes they will serve as examples of what can be done with Long Island fruit.

Michael Dorf’s approach is as much about wine lifestyle as wine. Subscribing to the ‘wines are made in the vineyard’ theory, he has trucked in grapes from California, Oregon and elsewhere. Barrels are privately owned by winery members who pay $5,000/£2,025, plus fruit and barrel costs. Moreover, the winery is part of a larger complex that includes a coffee bar, cheese case, restaurant and music stage. A music line-up will feature artists drawn from Dorf’s connections as former director of the downtown Manhattan concert venue The Knitting Factory. A fifth of the wine stock will be available to customers by the glass and bottle. Snyder expects his first bottling in April (perhaps a rosé or Sauvignon Blanc); Dorf in May. Both men are hazy on prices, but pledge to price ‘competitively’, to introduce people to the wines.

But New York City wines have a hook beyond low cost and local appeal, according to Belinda Chang, sommelier at The Modern, a wine-destination restaurant in the Museum of Modern Art. ‘90% of a wine sale is what you can tell the guest about the wine, and these have a pretty great story. If the quality is there, people will definitely want to try them.’

What to Do With the Astoria

I was at Dutch Kills, Sasha Petraske's new joint in Long Island City, Queens, where they feature various Queens-themed drinks, including the Astoria, which was invented back in the 1930s.

"Yeah," I said to the bartender, "basically a Martini with orange bitters, right?" (More like it than you might think. Some experts think the original Martini sported orange bitters, actually.)

"Except we do ours 1 to 1, gin to dry vermouth," he replied.

Oh, I thought. Interesting. Might give me a reason to order it. Some other time. But I had to run that night.

Later, I went home and thought of mixing up an Astoria for myself.

I first looked in Harry McElhone's "Barflies and Cocktails." It was there, but asked for 2/3 gin and 1/3 dry vermouth. Hm. The Savoy Cocktail Book asked for the same ratio. So I looked in the Waldorf-Astoria Bar Book. It asked for the opposite: 2/3 dry vermouth and 1/3 gin. Old Tom gin, actually. What the heck? Is Dutch Kills just trying to split the difference between warring recipes with their 50/50 mix?

Anyway, I mixed one up according to the DK formula, using Dolin vermouth and Beefeater. Not bad. Not great. All said and done, I'd rather have a Martini. Which I sorta did. But not quite.

A California Chard I Like

The words "California" and "Chardonnay" in one sentence do not naturally excite my interest. I imagine a big, oaky, butterball; wince; and then reach for the Riesling.

Shafer's 2007 Red Shoulder Ranch Chardonnay, however, is an impressive exception. The white by the famed Napa producer of Cabernet is hardly low-key: it clocks in at 14.9% alcohol. And it's got plenty of oak; the wine spent 14 months in 75% new-oak barrels, of which 85% were French and 15% American. (The overall barrel regime includes 25% stainless steel barrels.)

But there are some important deviations in the viticulture and vinification that make all the difference. The wine is drawn from small-clustered clones selected for low yields. The juice matures on the lees for the entire 14 months, resulted in more varied and profound flavors. But most importantly, the wine undergoes no malolactic fermentation. I believe the lack of malolactic allows the Chard to keep a lot of its natural acidity, and prevents it from combining with the effect of the wood to become too smooth, too buttery and slick.

The color is sunshiney, yellow crossed with green. It's a full nose: yeast, some butter, and grass in equal amounts, with touches of tropical fruit, guava and ginko. The palate has melon, tangerine, green apple and white flowers, and it all stands up straight due to the wonderful acidity. It's a great wine with outstanding structure and solidity. Almost worth the $48 it costs to buy a bottle. Bring it down to $35 and I'd call it a bargain.

Sweetener Flexibility Is Everywhere

Anyone who follows the cocktail scene knows that mixologists fixate on the proper sweetener for each individual drink. Sugar? Demerara sugar? Organic sugar? Simple syrup (1 to 1 sugar to water ratio? 2 to 1?)? Agave syrup? Honey? Maple syrup? They'll experiment until they feel they have it "right."

Well, this obsession is apparently not limited to the alcohol world. I was getting an iced coffee at the new Coffee Peddlar high end java joint in Cobble Hill, and noticed that my choices of sweetener were many—including even simple sugar and agave syrup! Can this really make any difference in coffee? We certainly are becoming specific in our gourmandism, aren't we?

A Beer at... Shelley's

For my latest "A Beer At..." column for Eater, I ventured out to Queens, to Woodside, a former stomping ground on mine. One has no problem finding a bar in Woodside, though if you're looking for something other than an Irish Pub, you may run into difficulties. The one I prowled, Shelley's, was exceedingly pleasant.

A Beer At...Shelley's

At Shelley’s, perhaps the most non-descript of the many Irish Pubs that dot Woodside, Queens, there is a free buffet every day at 5 PM. One recent evening, it consisted of a single tray of rigatoni with sausage and peppers. It was gone by 6 PM.

The pasta was inhaled by a dozen or so middle-aged and older working-class men who, judging by their watery blue eyes and pinky complexions, can call the Emerald Isle their motherland. Shelley’s is a welcoming place that appreciates its patrons, and the free dinner is only one way it tries to entice and excite the barflies. “Kegs & Eggs” are offered on Sunday mornings, with $2 Bloody Marys. A hand-written sign reads, “You must leave ID to play beer pong.” Betting pools are offered for every sporting event. One chart tracking the 2008 baseball season was graffitied with the epithet “Phuck the Phillies.”

On May 16, Shelley’s will hold its first annual pig roast. It will take place on a cement patio, in the rear of the bar, just past a room containing a pool table and a dartboard. It’s a bleak place that looks like the back of someone’s tool shed. Old men in baseball caps retreat there to sit in white plastic chairs and smoke cigarettes. The attractive and cheerful blonde bartendress said they had to go to New England to find a grill in which to roast the hog.

The barmaid treats the men at the bar—some slowly sipping their Buds and cranberry-and-vodkas into gradual oblivion—with care and a smile. She likes to travel and wistfully mentioned Prague as her next destination. A quartet of visiting Scots and Brits give her a nice tip when they learn she’s of Scottish origin. “They’re staying in Woodside,” she says with a shrug. “They haven’t been to New York yet.”

There are a number of framed old photographs of 19th century Woodside on the walls—tepid competition to the six television screens atop the back of the bar. The black-and-white pictures make the neighborhood look like something desolate and hardscrabble, a Wild West town. Not a scrap of that Woodside remains outside Shelley’s door. Even Shelley’s isn’t the same Shelley’s. The bar was called K.C. Moore’s not long ago. But, before that, it again apparently went by Shelley’s for some time. It was owned then by a well-known local figure, Ed Fowley, who bought it in 1965. It was named Shelley’s when he bought it. For all that, it feels nicely broken in.
—Robert Simonson