Roasted Tomato Gelée What Now?

Cocktail competitions can bring out the ridiculous in any bartender.

A March 13 article in the New York Times, taking a St. Paddy's Day slant, tells of Bushmills Irish whiskey and its recent effort to join the cocktail crusade by invited various top bartenders to create...well, let me just repeat the Times' words: "cocktails based upon the traditional Irish breakfast — eggs, bacon, black and white pudding, and toast."

Um.

So, a bunch of fellas took the bait. Why not? A bit of fun, after all. I think I could work up a curious thirst for Puck Fair's Anthony Malone's mix Bushmills with cherry liqueur and orange juice, along with a whole egg—a twist on the Blood and Sand.

Jim Meehan of PDT also participated and came up with something a little more complex, employing bacon-infused Bushmills, maple syrup, orange and lemon juice and a whole egg. I would give it a try out of respect for Jim's skill and judgment.

But then there's the entry from Eben Freeman, at Tailor. I've never met Eben, but I know of his esteemed reputation and I like his bar. But bacon-infused Bushmills, roasted tomato gelée squares, a slow-poached quail egg yolk, an Irish breakfast-tea foam and crispy black-pudding bits?

Is that a drink or a dare?

The Rob Roi

I never much cared for Rob Roys. It's a decent enough drink, but if I have my druthers, I'm always going to go for the rye-based (or bourbon, if you must) Manhattan than the Scotch-based Rob Roy. It's the same basic recipe and, to my tastes, the rye just marries better with the sweet vermouth than does the Scotch.

I began to change my mind a bit, however, last fall during a trip to London. Restaurateur and mixologist Nick Strangeway introduced me to a Rob Roy made not with sweet vermouth, but with Noilly Prat "Ambre" vermouth. The Ambre, which take a bit of dry and a bit of sweet to create a flavor profile all its own, made a perfect partner to the Scotch. Its recipe includes more spices than that of the dry or sweet vermouths. Among them are orange, cinnamon and vanilla, which really come out when you sip it alone on the rocks.

After I mentioned this on Off the Presses last fall, British cocktail blogger Jay Hepburn offered to bring me some Noilly Prat Ambre upon his next trip to New York. He was as good as his word, delivering the bottle last week. Without much delay, I whipped up a Rob Roy using the stuff and Cragganmore single malt. It was as good as I remember, and I dare say, I will with henceforth find it difficult to interest myself in a Roy Roy made with sweet vermouth. First of all, there's the color. The golden color of the scotch teamed with the equally golden color of the vermouth make for a glass of almost unparalleled beauty. As for the taste, there is a similar purity there. There is a brightness and wonderful simplicity to the cocktail.

Of course, strictly speaking, this is not a Rob Roy. It's a different recipe, using a different vermouth. So it deserves a different name. Nick did not mention giving the drink a name, so I am taking it upon myself to do so. And I have hit upon one that is perfect, if I do say so myself. Roy Roi. As in king. Picture the monarch with a golden crown, sitting on a golden throne. Say it with a French accent.

Roy Roi

2 1/2 oz. scotch
3/4 oz. Noilly Prat Ambre vermouth
A dash Angostura bitters

Stir over ice. Strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with lemon twist.

Of course, I know most of you out there don't have the Ambre. Sorry. Start petitioning the French.

I Did What Gary Farrell Told Me

A few years ago, I visited the winery of vaunted Sonoma Country winemaker Gary Farrell, he of the prized and pricey pinot noirs.

Poor as usual, I could only afford to take away one bottle. I liked the taste of the Russian River label, but before deciding I asked the advice of the pour girl behind the counter of the amazingly roomy (and empty) tasting room. "Well, what do you plan to do with the wine?" she asked. "Are you planning to wait a couple years before you drink it?" She held the bottle I was interested in in her hands. Her eyes looked slightly alarmed. I had the idea that she wouldn't let me have the wine unless I agree to cellar it for at least 24 months. I said, "Yes. Of course," and I bought the bottle.

I was as good as my word. I drank the wine on Feb. 19, 2009, nearly two and a half years after I purchased it. My patience was admirable. And it was rewarded.

I'm not a big fan of the fat, heavy pinots coming out of Sonoma. And Farrell's clocks in at 14.2% alcohol. But I have to hand it to Gary; it was great drinking. It had a lovely medium rudy/brick color, and a super-fragrant nose of spice, pepper, plum and brandied cherries, with faint hints of raisin. The body was medium. There were pronounced by not harsh tannins along the edges, and a metallic mid-palate. The wine was strong but subdued, with notes of plum, cherry and cherry blossoms (if you can believe it). An elegant and complex wine.

Thanks, pour girl.

A Beer At…Paddy Reilly’s

My second installment in my new Eater series "A Bar at..." runs today. In my new pursuit of peeking my head into various of the many uncelebrated bars in New York City, I this time visited the Irish pub Paddy Reilly's in Murray Hill and was treated to some sometimes funny and sometimes unsettling foul-mouthed music. I have a feeling there are a lot of Irish bars in my future.

A Beer At...Paddy Reilly's

Murray Hill’s Paddy Reilly’s, on 2nd and 29th, knows what it likes, and that’s Guinness. “The World’s First and the Only All Draft Guinness Bar,” is how, with tortured syntax, the pub proudly bills itself. Inside, all seven of the tap pulls are given over the inky brew. If you want Harp or Smithwick or Bud, you’ll have to settle for a bottle, friend.

Everyone here seems to walk around with a Guinness in one hand and a guitar in the other. Because aside from stout, Paddy Reilly’s is known for music; it was apparently once owned by Irish folk singer Patrick “Paddy” Reilly. Wednesday night is open-mike night, when every barfly listening to the troubadour on the small stage in the back is probably also a musician. A bespectacled woman singing a squishy song “about letting someone into your life” elicited little reaction from the crowd—aside from Jimmy, who, that night, functioned as Paddy Reilly’s redneck, backward-baseball-cap version of “Cheers”’ Norm, offering an off-color hoot and holler on almost any subject. “Hot knishes, cold soda!” he bellowed, apropos of nothing.

Wayne, a hirsute young showboater with a Mike Nesmith wool cap, had better luck, bringing down the house with a hilariously profane ditty about Jesus’ womanizing, ne’er-do-well bother, Craig Christ. “B---f--- me Jesus!” screamed Jimmy with joy. Ian, a regular, was next, strumming sincerely about bouts of existential and romantic distress. Wayne and his pals visited the bathrooms, labeled “Hen House” and “Tool Shed,” and left.

And then Jimmy himself took the stage and brought the whole room down. He sang, with irreverent gusto and unvarnished candor, a song so offensive that I can’t reprint a single line here. The unsmiling female bartender—in whose mouth butter would not melt and in whose bouncer skills I have no doubt—was having none of it. She shot Jimmy a look that would sober up a frat boy at Mardi Gras. Open mike night was over. Time for another Guinness.
—Robert Simonson

Some Bars

The fine people at Time Out asked me to contribute to their latest bar issue, coming up with six examples of four categories of New York tavern: The After Work Bar; The Men's Bar; The Women's Bar; and The 80s Bar. I agreed readily enough. Going to a lot of bars is hardly a hardship.

After many nights wandering Manhattan and Brooklyn's streets looking for watering holes that fit the bill, and drinking a number of drinks (I kept that to a minimum—I was working after all), I wrote up the below account.

I also learned a few things. One, there are a lot of crappy bars in New York that I never want to see again. That's to be expected; there are too many bars in the city for them all to be good. Two, Men's Bars tend to be old bars, like Farrell's out in Windsor Terrace, and Holland Cocktail Lounge, the midtown dive. I was happy to visit those places; for me, the older the bar, the better. Three, Women's Bars don't seem to really exist as an important genre, unless you're talking about lesbian bars; where women are drinking, so are men, and vice versa. (UPDATE: Knowledgeable women have since contacted me to correct me on this account, insisting there are women bars.) Four, the 80s trend is not as healthy as it once was in NYC.

Still, I found plenty of great places, and those are the places I wrote up:

Spring bar guide

It’s 5pm: Booze away your boss-induced rage

Annie Moore's
Picture this: a cheery Irish pub about 100 paces from Grand Central Terminal. A surprising abundance of elbow room. A chatty crowd. It’s no surprise that this is the choice of hundreds of workers looking to down a couple before catching the 6:02. 50 E 43rd St at Vanderbilt Ave (212-986-7826, anniemooresnyc.com). Average drink: $6.

P.J. Clarke’s
Working stiffs from all corners of the city make a 5pm beeline to one of the city’s most honored (and oldest—it goes back 127 years) brass rails. The bar is typically three deep and the talk loud and ebullient. 915 Third Ave between 55th St and 56th Sts (212-317-1616). Average drink: $6.

Bar Centrale
Theater folk work too—their day just ends later. After the curtain falls on Broadway, actors, producers, critics and press agents head to this sleek quasi-speakeasy. The talk is bitchy, the cocktails standard but elegant, and the star-gawking abundant. 324 W 46th St between Eighth and Ninth Aves (212-581-3130). Average drink: $14.

D.B.A.
This dimly lit treasure trove of international beers and single-malt Scotches brims with humanity every single night, and—though is situated in slacker central—some of the patrons must be just coming off work. If noise and crowds and zero elbow room spell life at its best to you, this is the joint. 41 First Ave between 2nd and 3rd Sts (212-475-5097, drinkgoodstuff.com). Average drink: $7.

Ulysses
Picturesque, Belgian-bricked Stone Street leads weary Wall Streeters to this stylish dark-wood pub, where numerous nooks and glass dividers allow sippers to be part of the crowd, but also keep to themselves. 58 Stone St at William St (212-482-0400). Average drink: $7.

It may be a man’s world…

Holland Cocktail Lounge
This hallowed dive was nearly eighty-sixed last year, but the owner has brought it back. Though the place has been sheared of much of the detritus that once hugged the walls, the population of overwhelmingly male barflies has since restuck itself to its favorite glue strip. 532 Ninth Ave at 39th St (212-502-4609). Average drink: $4.

Farrell’s Bar and Grill
Men never stopped being men at this Windsor Terrace landmark. The collars are blue (like the language) and the drinks simple (Buds served in a 32-ounce Styrofoam cup). Shirley MacLaine was the first woman to ever be served solo here—and while that was back in the 1970s, few have followed her example. 215 Prospect Park West at 16th St, Windsor Terrace, Brooklyn (718-788-8779). Average drink: $4.

Blind Pig
With nine huge television screens tracking the night’s sporting action, more than a dozen beers on tap and an unmistakably Y-chromosome-inspired soundtrack, there’s little for NYU’s male population not to like here. The name is a 1920s term for a speakeasy, but it also might refer to what some drunks become after 2am. 233 E 14th St between Second and Third Aves (212-209-1573, blindpigbar.com). Average drink: $6.

Winnie’s
This curious dive may have become an unlikely magnet for drunken, karaoke-loving hipsters, but it also remains the domain of sports-watching, dice-playing, beer-drinking Asian men. 104 Bayard St at Baxter St (212-732-2384). Average drink: $6.

Apothéke
Putting aside widescreen TVs and foosball tables, the pyrotechnic antics that go on behind the ornate bar of this neospeakeasy are catnip to the would-be-mixologist clientele. These guys like sports, sure, but may enjoy cool drinks you set on fire (like the patented homemade absinthe) even better. 9 Doyers St at Bowery (212-406-0400, apothekenyc.com). Average drink: $15.

BULL and BEAR
Middle-aged businessmen doff their blazers at this classic high-end watering hole, where tables ring an undulating mahogany bar, and the testosterone’s so abundant you can almost smell it. The Waldorf-Astoria, 301 Park Ave between 49th and 50th Sts (212-872-4900, bullandbearsteakhouse.com). Average drink: $8.

…but women really rule

Beauty Bar
We’re all for male pampering, but a free drink with every $10 manicure is a concept made for the ladies. If you’re a dude, expect to feel like a husband dragged through the lingerie department at this converted beauty parlor. With a drink in hand, that really isn’t so bad. 231 E 14th St between Second and Third Aves (212-539-1389). Average drink: $7.

FLUTE
Pink and pricey, with pillow-strewn, curtain-concealed seating nooks, a fireplace and dozens of bubblies by the glass to tickle the nose, Flute is as feminine as a bar can get. It’s the perfect backdrop for female friends to dress up, catch up and drop $100. 40 E 20th St at Park Ave South (212-529-7870, flutebar.com). Average drink: $14. Additional location: 205 W 54th St between Seventh Ave and Broadway.

Flatiron Lounge
Julie Reiner’s swank cocktail den attracts both genders, but the fairer sex—attracted by the sophisticated atmosphere, deferential service and expertly prepared drinks (try the deliciously sweet-tart New York Sour)—tends to dominate. 37 W 19th St between Fifth and Sixth Aves (212-727-7741). Average drink: $13.

Cubbyhole
This tiny, lesbian-favored West Village bar gets praise for welcoming folks of all persuasions. Everyone can find a place under the crowded ceiling, which fairly drips with a sea of playful toys and bric-a-brac. Cheap drinks ($2 margaritas on Tuesdays!) don’t hurt either. 281 W 12th St at 4th St (212-243-9041, cubbyholebar.com). Average drink: $6.

Terroir
Argue all you like but no genre of drinking establishment quite attracts women like the wine bar. The folks behind Hearth opened a romantic, stylish one with a prime location and an inventive, expansive drinks list (including free sherry before 6pm). 413 E 12th St between First and Second Aves (646-602-1300). Average drink: $11.

Everybody loves the ’80s

Ace Bar
There’s enough retro culture here to make any ’80s-minded soul sentimental, including Hüsker Dü and the Pogues on the juke, and a vintage lunchbox collection, with tin renditions of The Fall Guy and The Empire Strikes Back. Drown your nostalgia in one, or 12, of the draft beers. 531 E 5th St between First Ave and Ave A (212-979-8476). Average drink: $5.

Suspenders Bar & Restaurant
Leather banquettes, stained glass, brass rails and mirrored walls make Suspenders a Cheers facsimile. It’s just as comforting and yes, maybe a tad depressing, with regular-folk patrons and staff to match. 111 Broadway at Thames Sts (212-732-5005, suspendersbar.com). Average drink: $7.

Barcade
Classic stand-up arcade games root this hipster den securely in the Reagan era with as many machines as there are microbrews (Donkey Kong, Frogger, Punch-Out!!). It’s as if home computers never happened. 388 Union Ave at Ainslie St, Williamsburg, Brooklyn (718-302-6464). Average drink: $5.

Odeon
There are no traces left of the literary brat pack that made this brasserie its home in the 1980s, but after your third martini at the still-stylish bar, you might start to imagine Jay McInerney and Bret Easton Ellis waiting in the bathroom with Bolivian marching powder. 145 West Broadway at Thomas St (212-233-0507, theodeonrestaurant.com). Average drink: $11.

Alphabet Lounge
On Fridays and Saturdays, this small, dimly lit and often crowded club immerses itself in new wave and Madonna. For better or worse, the crowd is usually a few decades younger than the artists they’re dancing to. 104 Ave C between 6th and 7th Sts (212-780-0202, alphabetnyc.com). Average drink: $8.

More on Circular Ice

Because you asked for it? No. Because I wanted to write more about it! Here's a piece just published in Time Out New York that elaborates on my initial posting for the TONY drink blog about the round ice being made at PDT.

Sphere of Influence

The cocktail world has always been a stylish one. From the glasses to the garnishes, a drink’s look is almost as vital as its taste. The latest in cool cocktail accessories can be found floating in the Lower East Side Globe Trotter ($13) at PDT (113 St. Marks Pl between First Ave and Ave A, 212-614-0386). This elegant, citrusy blend of rye, cognac, Creole Shrubb and Bénédictine—the creation of Jean Georges pastry chef and part-time barkeep Johnny Iuzzini—is a vehicle for PDT’s latest foray into specialty ice. Each Globe Trotter is cooled not by a cube—that’s totally squaresville, man!—but a huge sphere made with a coveted Taisin Japanese ice press. The Taisin uses only the natural forces of gravity and temperature to turn frozen chunks into perfect spheres. The globe is a good match for the Trotter—this sipping drink benefits from its steady chill. Since each ball takes a couple of minutes to form, the prep happens pre-service. Sorry, gadget geeks: no demonstrations of the press. You’ll have to order a drink to orbit this globe.—Robert Simonson

"How Do You Take Your Chewing Gun?"

My son had, of late, developed a taste for Orbit gum. He's buy a pack here, a pack there, and I became intrigued as to how many flavors there were of this sugar-free Wrigley's brand. Most gums traffic in one, two or three flavors, tops. Orbit, as far as I can tell, has 200.

Seriously, it's more like two dozen. But that's a lot! Peppermint, Spearmint, Wintermint, Bubblemint, Cinnamint, Sweet Mint, Citrus Mint, Crystal Mint, Raspberry Mine, Maui Melon Mint—and that's just some of the mint flavors.

But what really makes my mind whir are the liquor flavors. Yes, liquor flavors. Sangria Fresca; Mint Mojito; Fabulous Frutini. There's no liquor in them, of course, but the taste is designed to resemble these refreshing drinks. (The Frutini is a little vague, I admit.)

What is the intention here? Gum, to my mind, is a product primarily devoured by children. Though the Wrigley company may have been aiming at the adult market by coming up with these flavors, the colorful packages are no less attractive to my son. He love Sangria and Mojito flavors. But he doesn't recognize the names as being flavors in the Kiddie canon. This poses some tricky situations for me when he asked me what a Mojito is. Why should a kid be chewing a mock Mojito?

It's interesting that the three flavors I mentioned are only available in the U.S. India gets Clove. Israel is given Lemonade. Bulgaria has something called Fruit for Kids. But America gets booze! We want candy and liquor together. That says a lot about our country. And a lot about the cynical motivations of the Wrigley corporation.