Gin Blossom in Brooklyn

I was passing by LeNell's, the idiosyncratic and well-worth-visiting wine and liquor store in Red Hook, the other day when I was accosted by a man in wool pants, white shirt, suspenders and wool cap, beckoning to me in a put-on English accent to come in and try some Hendrick's Gin. The pitch was hokey, to say say the least, and not at all the sort of style one associates with LeNell's, which is a reserved, fairly serious shop. But, I thought, what the hey: free Gin.

Inside, serving up two different Hendrick's based cocktails, was none other than Charlotte Voisey, the famous (in her circle), award-winning London bartendress who recently move to New York and now represents a variety of name liquors including Glenfiddich, Milagro Tequila and Henrick's. Depsite her many achievements, it is perhaps fair to say that, in addition to her mixology skills, Voisey is also well known for being extremely pretty. LeNell's advertised the event as being hosted by the "gorgeous Charlotte Voisey" and the hawker outside the shop said "come in and meet the beautiful Charlotte Voisey." What can you say? She is attractive. But she is also unfailingly polite and just plain nice, making her quite approachable. And she knows her drinks, no question.

Both drinks she mixed up were good, but the more memorable was the Cucumber Collins, a take on a Tom Collins which brought out the cucumber flavorings in Hendrick's.

Voisey will be hosting several events at the upcoming Tales of the Cocktail spirits convention in New Orleans this July, including one in which she will be joined on the dais by the southern-born, tough-talking Tonya "LeNell" Smothers. Two more different women I can not imagine. Should make for a fun panel. I look forward to attending.

LeNell's own Red Hook Rye is back in stock, by the way. I missed it last time around, but intend to buy a bottle this year, if I can scrape up the necessary jack. Small batch spirits do not come cheap.

The Search for Rosé

I love Rosé. Everybody loves Rosé. Particularly in the summer, when it lends refreshment, zip and a dash of color to every occasion.

So why is it so hard to find a decent one? Few things fill me with as much a sense a fun as an errand to buy a bottle Rosé, but once I get to the wine shop and face the row of pink wines, I'm filled with dread and trepidation. Rosé's recent rise in popularity has led to a wider selection of wines, but not much of a rise in quality. Too many Rosés are mediocre and without distinction, regardless of what grape is used (and, these days, it seems every grape is used, from Pinot Noir to Grenache to Tempranillo). It's as if the winemakers think that once they get the red grapes into their brief contact with their skins, the job is over. The result is a lot of anonymously brisk wines, with a rather sharp edge of tannin, and all tasting of strawberry.

It was a happy day, then, when I drank Domaine Tempier's 2006 Rosé. The Bandol maker is well known for the quality of its wines, and they don't fall down with their pink brew. Here is a Rosé that is balanced, all its elements—acidity, fruit and tannin—integrated. It's a joy from first sip to final swallow. It has length and character, and tastes of roses, white raspberries and a touche of cream. It's fun and enjoyable without being airheaded. The grape, or course, is Mourvedre, so the wine is fairly alcoholic and strong. Probably will do well with any dish.

Only drawback is the price: $35. People like to get their Rosé for a song (and so do I). Still, it's worth a splurge once or twice a summer.

Monkey Gland Commercially Sold

I was seized the other night by the desire to have someone other than myself serve me up a Monkey Gland, the 100-year-old cocktail that is currently my favorite drink. So I headed to the Pegu Club on Houston Street, where I knew they would be honor-bound to create one.

I was right. The bartender was new to the job. And, true, he had to look up the recipe. But he made it—gin, orange juice, grenadine, dash of Pernod—mixed it up nice and served it in a handsome, egg-cup-like Martini glass with an orange twist. It was delicious.

The bartender, who was English, was flabbergasted by my odd request. "How do you guys come up with these drinks?," he asked in sincere curiosity. I merely replied that all you had to do was thumb through an old cocktail book and do some trial and error, throwing out the drinks that don't appeal, keeping the lost treasures that do.

For added proof that a Monkey Gland can be bought for ready money in Manhattan I present the bill below. $13 too much for a Monkey Gland? Well, yes. Too much for any drink in my book. But the experience was priceless.

White Nebbiolo

Yes, you heard me right. The other night I enjoyed a white wine made from the grape that is at the base of all Barolos and Barbarescos. OK, OK, the Nebbiolo made up only five percent of the mix; the other 95 percent was Chardonnay. But still, it's unusual, particularly since the Nebbiolo was vinified without contact with the skins, and thus didn't render the resulting potion a rose.

The wine, called Solea, came from the respected Piedmont producer Roagna. I can't always afford their Barbarescos, so when I saw this Roagna priced reasonably at $19, I couldn't resist. What also made the wine interesting, and more of a bargain, was the vintage: 2000. Solea is held back for three years before release. What this bottle was doing the other four, I don't know, but Chamber Street Wines had just gotten it in when I tried it.

How to describe it? Well, it's unusual and doesn't really win you over at first. It packs a wallop, like a white red. It's medium-full bodied. There's little fruit. Minerality and petrol dominate. After a glass or two, though, it really impresses, the way an old white Rioja does. It has great presence. I haven't figured out what food it would go well with, but that's OK. It's quite fine on its own.

Nice Try

Here's a nice item on Gothamist.com. It's urging us to save New York's bartenders from their life of boredom by ordering complex drinks. It reads in part:

For just pennies a day you could save a bartender from a horrible life of boredom. Everyday in bars, just like the ones in your backyard, bartenders are forced to make vodka sodas - one after another - with little or no break for creativity. Long gone are the days where people ordered Rusty Nails, Harvey Wallbangers and other cocktails with personality. Where the thin layer of frost, amassed on the body of the cocktail shaker, indicated the flavorful, mouth-watering elixir was ready to drink. We have become a culture of ____ and tonic.

Nice try. If only bartenders were actually waiting anxiously for drinkers with challenging orders. But such ain't the case. They're rather stay bored. Trust me.

Here's a more interesting exercise: let's sneak into bars, steal all the vodka and see how long it takes before the bartenders become jibbering idiots.

Cocktail Competency: Eleven Madison Park

As a follow-up to my recent item that a good cocktail is hard to find in Manhattan, let me proclaim that competent bartenders can be found at Eleven Madison Park, Danny Meyer's elegant place in the Met Life building.

My waitress didn't even need to check behind the bar: she know they had rye, Herbsaint and Peychaud's bitters, and that the bartender had been schooled in how to make a Sazerac. The drink is listed under their "classic cocktails" list. By my mind, if they know how to make a Sazerac, they can make them all.

Sazerac fans, take note.

The New York Cocktail Idiocracy Strikes Again

A very kind friend invited me out to dinner the other night. The place was 44th and 10th, a swank joint in midtown Manhattan. I asked if they made good cocktails. He said yes, definitely, they made great cocktails. He told me he'd be a bit late, but to go ahead and order a cocktail while I wait.

I asked the waiter, a very friendly young man, "Is your bartender skilled? Does he know how to make many cocktails?" I was told yes, very skilled. I asked if he could make a Sazerac—always my test of a talented, knowledgeable bartender. No, he can't, I was told, mainly because the bar isn't equipped with Peychaud's bitters or Herbsaint. OK. I guess I was in a mood to mess with the waiter after that, because I asked for a Monkey's Gland, a cocktail from a century ago with gin, orange juice and grenadine. Of course, the bartender didn't know how to make this either.

So, I gave up and resorted to a Manhattan. But with rye, I specified. The waiter came back. They had run out of rye. Sigh. OK, a Gibson then, with Bombay. Finally, that they could make.

Now, I ask you, are bartenders required to be anything else but good-looking anymore?