February 4, 2014

Ward 8

February 4, 2014

In a city that has seen its share of colorful political figures, Martin M. Lomasney may lack the name recognition of a Kennedy or the notoriety of a James Michael Curley. Maybe that’s because, despite a 50-year career in which he did hold a number of public offices, his substantial political clout was largely cultivated in his unofficial capacity – as a ward boss.

A ward boss was the de facto leader of a political machine, a fixture of municipal politics in America’s Gilded Age. Political machines were organizations that influenced elections and dominated other local affairs through a system of political favors and patronage. Unsurprisingly, allegations of corruption and voter fraud were frequent and widespread.

But in a political system vulnerable to abuse, Lomasney was widely respected for his integrity and generally revered by his constituency. Unlike other ward bosses, Lomasney was quick to embrace immigrants, even greeting them on the docks upon their arrival in Boston. Granted, this was more about political expediency than genuine benevolence. But in a climate of fierce nativism, he treated immigrants in his ward the same as he did his other constituents (provided they could vote, of course).

Not that Lomasney should be considered for sainthood. Plenty of his methods were ethically questionable, and his motives may have been entirely self-serving. But the fact remains that while many political bosses were rightly accused of cronyism and graft, Lomasney is remembered for fostering a sense of community. Nowhere was this more evident than in the old West End neighborhood he presided over – known on the Boston voting map as Ward 8.

Political bosses are a thing of the past, and the boundaries of Ward 8 have been redrawn multiple times since Lomasney’s day. But more than 80 years after his death, Lomasney’s legacy of community building lives on in a new bar that honors the old name of his district.

“This area needed a neighborhood place,” owner Nick Frattaroli tells me. “So many people work around here, and you see them pouring out of their offices at 5.”

He’s right – Ward 8, which opened last December, sits on the outskirts of the North End, a block or two from the TD Garden. Populated mostly by office buildings, it’s an area people tend to pass through en route to Italian restaurants or sports pubs.

But for Nick, “neighborhood” is more about attitude than geography. “I wanted a place with neighborhood energy,” he explains. “Approachable” is a word he uses often, and his desire to engender a friendly, welcoming atmosphere is evident throughout Ward 8, from the menu to the reasonable prices – even the infrastructure. “That’s why we have a 30-seat bar,” he says of the large, wraparound rectangular bar that is the focal point of the restaurant. “People can see each other and talk; they’re not looking at bottles and labels.”

The gorgeous marble bar is a modern touch in a room that evokes vintage Boston. The hardwood floor and subway-tile columns have a throwback look, and the exposed brick wall, with “Ward 8” painted in floor-to-ceiling characters, is visually striking. A set of tables look out onto the street, and a separate dining area offers a quieter alternative to the bar.

The dim, candlelit ambience may recall intimate North End dining, while the plaid-clad staff and lively crowd give it the casual vibe of a Canal Street sports bar. But Ward 8’s menu offers thoughtful alternatives to both Italian food and typical pub fare. Described by Nick as “approachable, with a twist,” there’s a raw bar and selection of mouthwatering starters like butternut squash bisque and lamb meatballs. Comfort food staples like a burger, lobster roll, and mac and cheese are all given a modern spin by executive chef Kenny Schweizer. But the “Snacks & Sharing” menu is where you’ll find one of Ward 8’s most popular dishes – maple chili duck wings.

Delicious but absurdly messy, the wings are sweet, spicy, and tender, with meat falling right off the bone. You might want to ask for a few (hundred) extra napkins, but they’re worth the trouble.

The bacon cashew caramel corn is just as good as it sounds. Sweet, nutty, and smoky, this is pure stick-to-your-teeth decadence.

But the food menu isn’t the only thing that distinguishes Ward 8 from its nearby peers. “There aren’t a lot of places around here with this kind of cocktail program,” Nick notes.

That cocktail program is headed by bar manager Mike Wyatt, late of Eastern Standard. His drink menu is mostly arranged by type of spirit – Agave, Gin/Vodka, Rum, Whiskey, and Brandy. Beneath each heading is a mix of what Mike calls classics and modern classics. “We wanted to start with a foundation of classic drinks,” he explains. “Some places make all these crazy ‘craft cocktails’ but can’t make a Manhattan. We teach the bartenders to make the classics.”

Cocktails that date back to the Gilded Age share space with tiki drinks and more contemporary concoctions. The Corpse Reviver, a blend of cognac, Calvados apple brandy, and sweet vermouth, is strong and smooth, with a mild bitterness.

The Painkiller is fruity and potent. A mix of Pusser’s rum, pineapple juice, cream of coconut, and orange juice poured over crushed ice, it's served in a ceramic coconut cup and topped with a dusting of nutmeg.

The Maharaja’s Revenge combines Old Monk rum, Apry (an apricot brandy), and fresh lime juice. With the vanilla flavor from the rum, the apricot, and the zing from the lime, this modern tiki drink is at home among the classics.

The cocktails have their share of twists and innovations, but Mike uses Nick’s word to describe them: approachable. “It’s not like we’re making Martinezes or anything,” he says, referring to the bitter gin-based cocktail that has yet to enjoy the same resurgence in popularity as martinis and Manhattans.

And yet the biggest hits are the drinks that might be considered the most daring. “The egg drinks are flying out of here,” Mike notes with surprise, referring specifically to the Pisco Sour and the Rye Flip. The Pisco Sour seems to be increasingly in vogue in Boston bars, and it’s easy to see why. Ward 8’s version, which combines Macchu Pisco, lemon juice, sugar, and egg white, is sweet, tangy, and creamy. Angostura bitters are decoratively swirled on the foamy top.

The Rye Flip, made with Bulleit rye whiskey, a whole egg, sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg, is perfect for a cold winter night. With a creamy texture from the egg, a little bite from the rye, and seasonal spices, all that’s missing is a roaring fire.

Customers’ willingness to try uncommon cocktails may be due in part to the approachability of the bar staff and the emphasis on presentation. “A lot of these drinks spark interest,” Mike says. “We use glass mixing jars, so people can see things like the egg cracking. They ask about the ingredients.”

Few drinks elicit more conversation and questions than the Oaxahan Old Fashioned, which offers an exciting twist on one of the oldest drinks in the book. Ward 8’s version, based on a recipe by Death & Co., trades whiskey for a combination of tequila and mezcal, making for a strong, smoky drink. “Some people don’t even know how to pronounce it,” Mike says. “But they ask, and it sparks conversation. People ask about the difference between mezcal and tequila. And they really like the flaming orange,” he admits, referring to the match-lit orange peel garnish, which contributes a smoky citrus essence (I lament not capturing the momentarily flaming peel, but I was too mesmerized to operate the camera).

The Moscow Mules, unfortunately, inspire not just conversation but larceny – the traditional copper cups they’re served in tend to disappear. “We got hit pretty hard last weekend,” he says with a sigh.

If you're in the market for some copper mugs, Amazon.com is a good place to start. With buying options to fit any budget, there’s no need to pilfer Ward 8’s inventory.

A small selection of House Cocktails is separate from the spirit-driven categories, but the plan is to eventually have a single, unified list. I’d say the original concoctions are already strong enough to stand alongside the traditional favorites. The Il Pompelmo is bright, tangy, and sour, with its combination of No. 3 gin, Campari, St. Germain, and grapefruit bitters.

The New England Daiquiri, as its name would suggest, interprets the traditional Caribbean cocktail with regional ingredients – Berkshire Mountain Distillers rum and Vermont maple syrup. A mere half-teaspoon of syrup means the maple flavor doesn’t dominate the rum, allowing for a fairly restrained sweetness.

And of course, no exploratory venture to Ward 8 would be complete without trying its namesake cocktail. The story behind the drink named for Lomasney’s neighborhood is a blend of history and legend, and its accuracy is subject to debate. But the generally accepted version goes something like this: on the eve of Lomasney’s 1898 election to the state legislature, his supporters, assured of their candidate’s victory, gathered at the Locke-Ober restaurant to celebrate. They asked the bartender to create a drink to commemorate the occasion. The resulting cocktail, a mix of rye whiskey, grenadine, lemon juice, and orange juice, was named for the district that ultimately tipped the election in Lomasney’s favor – Ward 8 – and was the signature cocktail of the Locke-Ober until it closed its doors in 2012.

So how does Ward 8’s version stack up to the original? Mike responds with a now familiar refrain: “It’s more approachable.” The most obvious difference is swapping out the traditional, spicy rye for the softer bourbon, but other changes are more subtle. “We use freshly squeezed juice and a house-made grenadine,” he explains. “It might not seem like a big deal, but we make [the grenadine] here and it’s not as sweet.” The result, he says, is a bit closer to a whiskey sour. “It’s fruity, not too tart. You don’t have to be a whiskey fan to enjoy it.”

That’s especially fitting for a neighborhood bar built on the concept of approachability. Inclusiveness for Martin Lomasney may have been little more than a means of shoring up votes and securing political advantage, but Nick’s intentions seem genuine. “Anyone can come here,” he proclaims. “Foodies, sports fans, cocktail drinkers. There’s something for everyone.”

Last Call

Ward 8’s excellent cocktail list is not static; I’ve seen several additions and subtractions just in the past few weeks. But if you get attached to a particular drink and it goes missing from the menu, don’t fret – Mike assures me that the small crew of well-trained bartenders can still make it for you.

If cocktails aren’t your bag, there’s also a respectable offering of microbrews on draft and more in bottles. The draft options, like this smooth Left Hand Milk Stout on nitro, are served in chilled beer steins.

And true to Nick’s word, there is indeed something for everyone.

Prices are eminently reasonable. Drinks will run you $10 to $12, which is pretty standard for craft cocktails. Entrees range between $15 and $24, and there are plenty of good deals on the Snacks & Sharing menu.

The bar can get a little loud, particularly in the after-work hours. But then again, Ward 8 is a place that’s supposed to have neighborhood energy. And who’d want to live in a dull neighborhood?

Address: 90 N. Washington Street, Boston

Website:http://www.ward8.com/

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January 17, 2014

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, BOSTON, Spirits in Focus

Downeast Cider House

January 17, 2014

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, BOSTON, Spirits in Focus

I cannot precisely recall the first time I tried apple cider, but I’m almost certain it was at a Thanksgiving dinner when I was a kid. For my family, cider was a turkey day staple, complementing the food on our table while reflecting all the wonderful flavors of autumn in New England.

The first time I tried hard cider? That I remember vividly – and not a little bit fondly.

Sometime in the late 1990s, I was introduced to Cider Jack, which at the time was one of few commercial hard ciders widely available in the United States. As a beer drinker, I was no fan of “malternatives.” But I figured, hey, it’s cider, right? How bad could it be?

Turns out, it could be pretty bad.

Cider Jack was a scratchy, artificially flavored, sharply carbonated beverage that bore scant resemblance to the thick, fresh juice that heralded the holiday season. You know how leaving the cap off a bottle of apple juice for a week or so will supposedly cause it to ferment? I imagine the result would taste something like the now defunct Cider Jack.

If there was one benefit to Cider Jack’s inexplicable popularity, it was that it helped open the door for other – and much better – hard ciders. Eventually my harsh opinion mellowed a bit; I learned to appreciate an occasional Magners and later developed a genuine fondness for Harpoon’s cider, which at least tasted like actual apples had made an appearance in the brewing process. But I never loved it, and I resigned myself to the depressing reality that the chasm between non-alcoholic apple cider and industrial hard cider would never be bridged.

And then, on a summer night in 2012, something happened that forever altered my understanding of hard cider.

I was enjoying drinks in Cambridge’s Central Square with a few fellow barhoppers, and when it came time to change locations, my friend Jen lobbied for a trip to Kendall Square’s Meadhall. Her reason? They had a cider on draft that she really liked. Now as much as I enjoy Meadhall, it hadn’t really been on that evening’s agenda; and going there specifically for a hard cider was hardly incentive. But Jen was persistent, so we headed to Kendall. Upon arriving at Meadhall, Jen ordered her precious drink – something called Downeast Cider – and offered me a sip of the much-ballyhooed beverage.

And that, dear readers, is when I first fell in love with hard cider.

If there was one obvious distinction between Downeast and every other hard cider I’d tried, it was this – Downeast resembled actual apple cider. As in, the stuff I always drank in November (but with alcohol!). Not too sweet, not overly carbonated, and – unlike every other hard cider on the market – not filtered. Whereas you could read a newspaper through a glass of most hard ciders, this unfiltered brew had a cloudy complexion, more akin to that of genuine cider – not to mention a rich, natural flavor.

After that I became something of a Downeast evangelist, talking it up to anyone who would listen and dragging people to Meadhall to try it. Not that Downeast needed my help – their cult following was quickly growing into a regional phenomenon. More bars began offering it on draft, and eventually a canned version appeared on store shelves. In February 2013, Downeast co-founders Tyler Mosher and Ross Brockman moved their operation from Leominster to Charlestown; last December, they hosted a big launch party to officially christen their Downeast Cider House and formally announce their Boston presence. And just this past month, Tyler and Ross were included on Forbes' annual “30 under 30” list. Not bad for a couple of Bates College grads with no prior brewing experience.

A few days before their launch party, I met with Tyler for a tour of the new digs and an education on all things cider.

While Downeast is the sexy choice among ciders these days, the place where the magic happens is more functional than fashionable. The Downeast Cider House, which sits in the shadow of the Tobin Bridge, is a large industrial space filled with brewing tanks, canning equipment, kegs waiting to be filled, and cases of cider ready to be shipped.

The gray, concrete floor is strewn with hoses; electrical cables hang from steel beams on the ceiling; puddles of water await a mop. The only splash of color comes from a huge apple tree painted on the back wall.

A few tables constitute a makeshift office, and that’s where Tyler, Ross, and Ross’s brother Matt deal with the business of making, selling, and distributing cider. And while those matters take up increasing amounts of their time, Tyler and Ross’s typical day is still consumed with making their cider – including the drudgery of cleaning tanks and canning their product. It’s an honest, elbow-grease approach that isn’t too far removed from their earliest days of brewing cider in the basement of their college dorm.

The Downeast story begins in Maine. Tyler and Ross became friends while attending Bates and discussed the notion of starting a business together someday. Cider wasn’t in their plans yet, but after a few overseas trips, they noticed the popularity of hard cider in other countries; the U.S. market was comparatively dry. Another thing they noticed? That most hard cider was “cider” in name only. “It was a real bummer,” Tyler says, “not finding any ciders that were made from freshly pressed apples.”

So when they graduated, they started putting their plans into action. A complete lack of cider-making experience might have given other would-be brewers pause, but Tyler and Ross were undaunted. “We were in college, and we were young and cocky,” Tyler admits with a laugh. But they had a friend whose family owned an apple orchard and an apple press, so that helped. And after eight months of trial and error, they also had a recipe. Before long, the two cider-making novices would be bringing their new product to market. “We had this blind confidence,” Tyler says. “We didn’t know how hard it could be.” They would soon find out.

Downeast set up shop in Waterville, Maine, and began distributing their cider on a relatively small scale. As Tyler recounts, “We made a few kegs, sold them locally, and thought ‘Wow, this is sweet – making and selling our own cider!’” Then a sales trip to Massachusetts resulted in five new accounts – and their first professional crisis. “We got four times the order that we were expecting. We didn’t have enough kegs, didn’t have enough cider.” It didn’t help that it was a bad year for apples, and their supplier ran out.

That led to some tough decisions. Fill the order with an inferior product? Call their new customers back and say “uh, sorry, we’re out of cider”? Of course not. Tyler and Ross ultimately managed to find a new supplier, but it meant moving their home base to Leominster, Massachusetts. Their departure from Maine may have been unceremonious, but it was clear, even then, that the pair were unwilling to compromise the integrity of their product. That “no shortcuts” philosophy remains central to their current vision – and the outcome is a consistently enjoyable craft hard cider.

As we toured the facility, Tyler expounded on what distinguishes Downeast from so many other brands. The cider is made with locally grown, freshly pressed apples – a blend of Red Delicious, McIntosh, Cortland, and Gala. The velvety consistency comes from the type of yeast. “Ale yeast gives it that smoothness,” he explains. “Most ciders use champagne or white wine yeast.” Tannins, known more commonly for their use in wine, provide mouthfeel and body. (In an episode I won’t soon forget, Tyler encouraged me try some dry tannins – which taste roughly like cigarette ash. Apparently something good happens once they make it into the brew. Gentleman that he is, Tyler also submitted to tasting the tannins to share in my misery.)

But if there’s one thing that people immediately notice about Downeast, it’s that the cider is unfiltered. Compared to most commercial hard ciders, Downeast has a darker, richer complexion. “It’s hard to do,” Tyler admits. “When we started, everyone told us we had to filter it.” But filtering affects more than just the cider’s appearance. “We tried a filtered version, but it just stripped all the taste away. We said, ‘we can’t do this to our cider.’”

The process may be more complicated, but the result is a cider with a full-bodied flavor and smooth texture, free of concentrated juices and artificial sweeteners. Other ciders literally pale by comparison.

My tour of the Cider House is illuminating, and not just because of the glimpse at how cider is made. Seeing a business that’s still evolving is just as fascinating. Clearly visible are the vestiges of a young company accustomed to operating on a shoestring budget. There’s the Chinese-made canner Tyler and Ross bought because it was cheap; it didn’t work and they ended up having to buy another one. There’s the pasteurizer that they built themselves, because commercial ones are so expensive.

Tyler still seems astonished by the cost of kegs. And the Downeast workforce is little more than a skeleton crew; aside from Tyler, Ross, and Matt, there are two sales reps and a couple of guys who help with the packing and kegging.

It’s a small operation, but it’s easy to see that bigger things are on the way. Their cider is in ever-increasing demand, and their product line is expanding. Downeast already offers a cranberry cider, an alternative to their original blend. A bit more risky are a couple of non-cider products slated to hit the shelves this year. Tyler seems a tad uncertain about how customers will react to Downeast branching out – a far cry from the “blind confidence” that fueled his and Ross’s earlier ambitions. I’d say there’s little cause for concern; as long as they maintain their dedication to quality and a “no shortcuts” mantra, it’s hard to imagine any of Downeast’s offerings falling flat.

But Downeast’s expansion plans are unlikely to distract Tyler and Ross from their flagship product. And that’s a good thing, because their success is bound to spawn imitators. You can be sure that the market is well aware of Downeast’s popularity, and it’s only a matter of time before an upstart brewery – or even one of the big guys – comes out with their own unfiltered craft cider. It’s a likelihood Tyler is well aware of. “The only way to avoid competition hindering our business is to stay ahead of it.”

I’d say they’ve got a pretty good head start.

******

If you’re a Downeast devotee and are looking to visit the command center, be patient – the Downeast Cider House isn’t officially open for tours yet. That will be changing, though, possibly as soon as next month. In the meantime, to learn more about the cider, check out the website. You’ll find plenty of amusing stories about Tyler, Ross, and the whole Downeast crew. They even offer cider-based cocktail recipes; I found the recipe for “Downeast on the Rocks” particularly compelling.

Website:http://www.downeastcider.com/

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December 23, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Other Stuff

The Second Annual Boston BarHopper Christmas Special

December 23, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Other Stuff

This is the season of special occasions.

This is the time for sentimental old films, songs you only listen to once a year, and claymation TV specials that offer a portal to your childhood. It’s a time when the very landscape is transformed – from the snow that blankets the ground to the lights, wreaths, and bright red bows that adorn street lamps and shop windows.

It’s the time of year when we gleefully endure subzero temperatures so we can stroll through a colorfully illuminated city.

If you’ve been watching your waistline all year, this is when you look the other way. This is the month for wearing comically garish sweaters. It’s a time for decorating trees, attending parties, and taking a chance under the mistletoe.

This is the most wonderful time of the year. And while it’s famous for flying reindeer and brown paper packages tied up with string, the holiday season also brings out some of the best cocktails known to man. The winter weather inspires all manner of fortifying beverages, but holiday-themed drinks occupy a special class all to themselves.

A cup of cheer can be very simple – just dust off that rarely used bottle of peppermint schnapps, pour some in a mug of hot cocoa, and you’ll be rockin’ around the Christmas tree in no time at all. It’s also possible to go overboard, and I’ve had holiday cocktails made with unnaturally sweet spirits, dyed with artificial coloring, ornamented with candy canes and chocolates, and served in brightly tinted glasses.

But like a carefully decorated house that you make a point to drive by when the calendar turns to December, the best yuletide drinks are artful, well thought out, and beautifully presented. They call for more effort than spiking some store-bought eggnog with whiskey or rum, but they’re also not overdone to Griswoldian proportions. These libations may reflect the colors of the season, but more importantly, they evoke its essence. They capture the aromas of an all-day baking session, the warmth of an open fire, the coziness of a snowy night. They are an annual indulgence as unique as the season itself.

With that in mind, I asked three of Boston’s top mixologists if they’d be each willing to devise an original cocktail for this year’s Boston BarHopper Christmas Special. The drinks they responded with were festive, imaginative, and fully imbued with the holiday spirit.

Our first stop is in Somerville, where Union Square is tastefully lit up and decked out for the holidays. Not that the extra lighting makes Backbar any easier to find. This hidden bar might be a tad challenging to locate if you don’t know where to look, but for some of the best cocktails in the Boston area, it’s worth a little confusion.

Principal bartender Joe Cammarata has been working at Backbar since it opened two years ago. I met him during my first visit a few months back and was immediately impressed with the way he went about his work. No matter how crowded the bar got – and this small space can get busy – Joe never seemed frazzled, making drinks according to his own unflappable tempo. He always found time to inquire about his customers’ spirit preferences, offer suggestions, and explain the nuances of a recipe – all while consistently mixing up the sort of top-notch drinks that have made Backbar such a renowned destination for cocktail enthusiasts.

I stopped by on a recent Saturday evening, and before Joe unveiled his yuletide concoction, he presented me with a fun Backbar original – a Root Beer Float Milk Punch.

The flavors of root beer and ice cream may seem best suited to summer, but this milk punch, made with rum, amaretto, and citrus falernum, had a creamy texture and notes of vanilla that were right at home on a cold winter’s night. And yet this was only a prelude to the main event.

“When you emailed me,” Joe said, “the first thing I thought of was turning a Mai Tai into an eggnog.”

I was stunned. Mai Tai? Eggnog? These are a few of my favorite things, but the citrusy sweetness of a Mai Tai and the rich, dairy base of eggnog sounded even less compatible than the Snow Miser and Heat Miser. What I didn’t realize, though, is that the drinks have more than just rum in common.

“There are a lot of spices in tiki drinks that remind me of Christmas,” Joe explained, as he began making a cocktail that combined the best of two very different worlds. He started by shaking a whole egg and heavy cream before adding a couple of house-made syrups – orgeat and falernum. Then came the booze – orange liqueur, Clément VSOP rum, and Bacardi 8-year rum.

“It wouldn’t be eggnog without nutmeg,” he said, grating a fresh clove of nutmeg over the creamy concoction. “And it wouldn’t be a Mai Tai without a little bit of lime.”

The Nog Mai Tai – a working title, Joe said at the time – was a unique, masterful mix of ingredients that evoked snowy days and tropical nights in equal measure. The almond flavor of the orgeat syrup, an essential component of a genuine Mai Tai, is exactly the sort of warm nuttiness found in all manner of holiday treats. Likewise, the falernum syrup, common to many tiki drinks, combines the flavors you might find in Christmas cookies and pumpkin pies – cloves, ginger, allspice, and vanilla. The Clément added a touch of coconut and caramel.

This was fantastic – clever, unexpected, and representative of the innovative spirit that gives Backbar its impeccable reputation. With notes of molasses and vanilla, balanced by hints of lime and coconut, this full-flavored cocktail conjured the odd image of sipping a cold-weather classic in the land where palm trees sway.

For our second drink we head into downtown Boston, where Boston Common and the Public Garden both sparkle with holiday splendor. The huge Christmas tree, a gift from our friends in Nova Scotia, is celebrated with an annual lighting ceremony that officially ushers in the holiday season.

An illuminated footbridge offers a majestic path through the Public Garden.

Trees all throughout the Common are adorned with festive lights. If you don’t mind the cold, strap on some skates and take a whirl on the Frog Pond.

But when Jack Frost starts nipping at your nose, there’s no better place to warm up than at nearby Stoddard’s.

With an excellent beer selection, a universally lauded Moscow Mule, and an impressive list of old-school craft cocktails, it’s no wonder Stoddard’s is one of Boston’s most popular drinking establishments. It draws a strong after-work crowd that’s never in a hurry to leave, and if you score a seat at the bar before 7 p.m., consider yourself lucky. But no matter how busy or noisy Stoddard’s gets, you’ll probably hear the voice of Jamie Walsh above the din.

As Stoddard’s’ drink coordinator and bar manager, “Walshie” usually looks pretty busy, bouncing between the main bar and a second one downstairs. But he still finds time to mix up a few drinks while talking and laughing with customers.

My first meeting with Jamie was a memorable one. I was at Stoddard’s on a rare quiet evening, working on a piece about the bar. Jamie introduced himself and offered me a sample of Founders Breakfast Stout, an imperial stout that he characterized as “a mouthful of awesomeness.” He immediately struck me as a good-natured fellow whose knowledge of his craft was exceeded only by his enthusiasm.

For the BBH Christmas Special, Jamie offered Stoddard’s’ Downtown Flip. “It’s our play on an eggnog,” he told me. This was a more traditional eggnog than the one I had at Backbar – no lime zest or falernum here – but it was no less inventive and complex. Jamie adds a whole egg, Old Monk 7-year rum, Drambuie, a house-made cinnamon syrup, and Aztec chocolate bitters to a shaker. “This is called a ‘dry’ shake and will help incorporate all the ingredients,” he explained. “It also helps make a more frothy drink.” After that he adds ice, shakes it again, and strains it into a coupe glass.

With a thick consistency akin to that of a milk shake, and tiny shards of ice that added texture and a deep chill, this exquisite drink paid tribute to the holiday season’s quintessential beverage while giving it a few creative, modern twists. The flavor from the chocolate bitters was subtle but unmistakable, while the cinnamon syrup blended with the honey and spices of the Drambuie to create a beverage worthy of being sipped in front of a roaring fire.

When I asked Walshie if he had anything else of the seasonal variety, he responded with a drink called Paradise and Purgatory. This variation of a Manhattan combined rye whiskey, Benedictine, green chartreuse, absinthe, and three dashes of Fernet Branca.

With all those bitter ingredients, I was expecting the cocktail equivalent of coal in my stocking. But I was surprised by the complex, herbal base, and none of individual components were overly assertive. The Paradise and Purgatory isn’t necessarily a holiday drink, but it will surely surely reinvigorate you after hours of walking in a winter wonderland.

Our final stop is in Central Square. Gritty, Bohemian, and alternative as it may be, this Cambridge neighborhood still dons its gay apparel in December.

Now if you’re a regular reader of mine, you could be forgiven for wondering whether I’m secretly on Moksa’s payroll. True, this Pan-Asian restaurant and cocktail bar has featured prominently in my 2013 posts, from bartender battles to evenings spent watching the Three Amigos. But Moksa regularly hosts fun, creative events; and when Noon Summers’ cocktails are at the center of them, I find it hard to stay away.

Noon is the beverage coordinator at Moksa and a brilliant mixologist. She’s had her work featured in Imbibe magazine, has designed cocktails for numerous events around the city, and makes a mean Manischewitz punch.

For this project, Noon came up with a fresh, highly original cocktail called a Holiday Collins. Made entirely with local ingredients, it’s versatile enough to accompany any holiday dinner.

“Collins” might make you think of gin, but the base liquor in Noon’s cocktail is Bully Boy whiskey.

In place of soda water, she uses Lambise – a Champagne-like “cocktail beer” produced in Belgium and currently sold only in Boston.

To that she adds lemon juice and a special house cordial made from herbs given to her by the guys from the Bully Boy, who grew them right on their own farm. “I call it a farmhouse cordial,” she told me. “It works well with the lambic, which is known as a farmhouse beer.”

Finally, this beauty was ornamented with a sprig of sage (also from the Bully Boy farm), an orange twist, and a playfully festive straw.

Strong, complex, but mellow overall, this was an easy-drinking cocktail designed to complement a winter feast. “It’s food-friendly,” Noon explained. “There’s so much food on your table at the holidays; what goes with it all?” She’s right; think of all the strong flavors competing for your attention on Christmas Day – roasted turkey, ham, cranberries, figgy pudding. “You need an aromatic cocktail, something easy to drink.”

Potent but smooth, and not overpowering, the Holiday Collins was a pleasure to drink. As soon as I lifted the glass, I was met with the unmistakable scent of sage. The Lambise provided effervescence and a subtle tartness. But the farmhouse cordial, a blend of sage, thyme, rosemary, and two types of basil, was the most dramatic component. “You find all these herbs on your table,” Noon noted, “and this drink goes with all of them.”

For me, the flavor brought back one of my most visceral holiday memories: stepping into my aunt and uncle’s house on Christmas Day and being greeted with the savory aromas of fresh herbs and spices wafting toward me from the kitchen.

Before I left, Noon’s bar manager, Tyler, offered me one more surprise – a sip of candy-cane-infused rum. Colorful and sweet, it tasted exactly like a liquid, adults-only candy cane.

Since I’m pretty certain they made this by soaking candy canes in a bottle of Bacardi, it was an ironic follow-up to the artistry of Joe’s Nog Mai Tai, Jamie’s Downtown Flip, and Noon’s own Holiday Collins.

“We were just having fun there,” Noon confessed, a little sheepishly.

But its sweetness and simplicity evoked the holiday season in a different and no less poignant way. Our ability to appreciate the depth and complexity of a well-crafted cocktail is a product of the same maturity and sense of awareness that inevitably diminishes the mystery and majesty of the holiday season.

Now we know how the presents got under the tree and how much they cost. We understand that glowing lights and cheerful songs can make some people feel terribly lonely.

We realize that spending the holiday with our loved ones is a blessing, and yet our hearts note the absence of those who are missing from our celebration. That’s all on top of crowded malls, complicated logistics, and family politics.

We are far removed from the days when our year-end responsibilities included drafting a letter to Santa and trying to evade the naughty list. But sometimes all it takes is the flavor of a candy cane – whether it’s wrapped in plastic or soaking in rum – to bring back the thrill of running downstairs on Christmas morning. And if that renews your ability to believe in magic, even for a moment, then this will always be the most wonderful time of the year.

******

The holiday season is hurtling toward its epic conclusion, but there’s still plenty of time for a cup of cheer. Check out these fine establishments when you need a break from last-minute shopping or are just looking to celebrate the season:

Backbar: 7 Sanborn Court, Union Square, Somerville

http://backbarunion.com/

Stoddard’s: 48 Temple Place, Boston

http://stoddardsfoodandale.com/

Moksa: 450 Massachusetts Avenue, Central Square, Cambridge

http://www.moksarestaurant.com/

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December 13, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Somerville, Spirits in Focus, Events

An Evening With Montelobos Mezcal...and the Three Amigos

December 13, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Somerville, Spirits in Focus, Events

The year is 1916. The rural village of Santo Poco, Mexico, is being extorted by a cruel bandit and his obsequious cohorts. The people of the village have long since abandoned hope and resigned themselves to their plight. But when one of the villagers, a young woman named Carmen, sees a silent film depicting the exploits of three wealthy Spanish landowners who fight for justice and the good of the common man, she hatches a desperate plot to save Santo Poco. Unaware that the on-screen heroes are merely actors, not true crusaders, Carmen dispatches a telegram requesting their help and promising a handsome reward. The telegram reaches the actors, who have recently been fired by their studio over a salary dispute. Interpreting the telegram as an invitation to stage a performance, the three eagerly accept and head to Santo Poco – not realizing they are walking into a real-life battle with a group of ruthless thugs led by the notorious outlaw El Guapo.

This, my friends, is the premise for that enduring classic of 1980s cinema, the ¡Three Amigos!, a film I was fortunate to become reacquainted with last week when Cambridge’s Moksa screened it as part of a promotional event for Montelobos Mezcal. And while it would be difficult to upstage the hijinks and heroics of Lucky Day (Steve Martin), Dusty Bottoms (Chevy Chase), and Ned Nederlander (Martin Short), the true stars of the evening were bartenders Curtis McMillan, Brian Mantz, and Tyler Wolters.

First, a few words about mezcal. Just as the Amigos are wrongly perceived as valiant crusaders, mezcal often suffers from a case of mistaken identity. Many people think the spirit is a type of tequila, when in fact, tequila is a type of mezcal. True, both are made in Mexico and originate from the agave plant, but the similarities end there. For starters, they are largely produced in different regions of Mexico. And tequila, by law, is made solely from the blue agave plant, while mezcal can be made from a plethora of agave plants.

But the most obvious difference between the two spirits is the flavor profile. Mezcal is famous – or infamous – for its distinctive smoky essence. This comes from roasting the piña, which is the heart of the agave plant. The traditional production method involves roasting the piñas in an underground pit lined with volcanic rock and wood, covered with earth and logs. The piñas get smoked over the course of a few days before being mashed, fermented, and distilled. It’s a process that has been industrialized over the years, but smaller, craft distilleries, like Montelobos, have returned to this time-honored, handcrafted approach.

The result is a spirit that nicely balances bitter and sweet flavors, with notes of vanilla, pepper, agave, even citrus. The signature smoky essence is milder and more natural than I’ve encountered in other mezcals; not harsh or overpowering.

Although mezcal is typically consumed neat in Mexico, mixed drinks were the order of the night at Moksa. Each of the three featured cocktails, with names inspired by the evening’s film, was designed by one of the sombrero- and poncho-clad amigos working behind the bar.

First up was “Son of a Motherless Goat,” made by Moksa’s bar manager, Tyler Wolters. This mix of Montelobos, Byrrh (a quinine-flavored, fortified wine), Montenegro, maraschino liqueur, and coffee bitters, finished with a twist of orange, was like a spicy, smoky Manhattan. The coffee bitters added a subtle anise flavor, while the orange peel contributed some bitterness and citrus notes.

Brian Mantz is the bar manager at Carrie Nation, and his “Plethora of Piñatas” combined Montelobos, Lillet Blanc, a grapefruit cordial, and lime. Light and refreshing, it was like a lemonade with a subtle, smoky bite.

As Vice President at the Boston chapter of the United States Bartending Guild, you could say Curtis McMillan knows a thing or two about cocktails. This whole event, incidentally, was his brainchild, part of the local launch for Montelobos. Curtis’s “Invisible Swordsman” cocktail may have been the most complex of the night, with Montelobos, Cherry Heering, Solerno blood orange liqueur, grapefruit, agave, and allspice. Despite combining so many boldly flavored ingredients, it was well balanced, with a big sweetness up front.

While the hombres behind the bar whipped up some potent bebidas, the rest of us watched the tense drama unfold on screen. When the Three Amigos ride into Santo Poco, the villagers aren’t sure what to make of their flashy, would-be saviors. But the trio is lionized after an apparent victory over El Guapo’s bemused minions, and a night-long fiesta ensues. The celebration is short-lived, however, and so is the villagers’ adulation. El Guapo himself arrives the next day; unmoved by the Amigos’ histrionics, he exposes the heroes as frauds, sacks Santo Poco, and kidnaps the beautiful Carmen.

Disgraced, the Amigos are met with a choice – return to Hollywood and try to win back their acting jobs; or, in a richly ironic example of life imitating art, become the valiant crusaders they once portrayed. Facing impossible odds, and hampered by their own bumbling ineptitude and dearth of real-life combat skills, the Amigos make a pact to rescue the girl, save the village, and restore their lost dignity.

No Mexican-themed event would be complete without the spicy food for which our neighbor to the south is so well known, and Moksa’s menu consisted of a few small plates of traditional Mexican cuisine with an Asian flair. First up was a delicious tamale stuffed with ground pork and kimchi, topped with Kochujang, a Korean pepper sauce.

Even the Three Amigos never got tacos like this – spicy tuna, served in nori (seaweed) chips and topped with guacamole and a tangy mango salsa.

Rice and beans are traditional staples of Mexican cuisine, but Moksa’s version spiced them up with curry.

There was even dessert – a bite-size hors d’oeuvre of pineapple, cherry, and cheese, three elements that worked surprisingly well together.

You know what else works well together? Comedy and alcohol (who knew?). I hadn’t seen the ¡Three Amigos! in years, but I think it holds up pretty well. Whether the drinks colored my opinion at all, I can’t say.

And while I was pleased to revisit this classic 80s farce, I was happier still to discover the merits of an artisinal mezcal. I confess, I’d always thought of mezcal as liquefied smoke that may or may not have a worm floating around in it (that’s a whole other topic; and no, you definitely won’t find one in Montelobos). But each of the evening’s cocktails was distinct in its flavor and complexity, and together they demonstrated mezcal’s surprising versatility.

Mezcal has a long way to go before it approaches anything close to the popularity of its distant cousin, tequila. But as Lucky Day wisely explained to the Santo Pocoans, “All of us have an El Guapo to face.” Small-batch mezcals like Montelobos are helping the spirit gain new respect and broader recognition; the support of a major distributor like William Grant & Sons doesn’t hurt, either. It’s already becoming a chic alternative to tequila, and as mezcal finds its way into well-conceived cocktails, its appeal may become as strong as its legendary smoky flavor.

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December 3, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, BOSTON

Carrie Nation Cocktail Club

December 3, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, BOSTON

She was about the last person you’d ever want to see walking toward your bar. An anti-booze crusader with a hatchet in hand and the Lord at her side (or so she insisted), Carrie Nation made a fearsome name for herself in the early 20th century by terrorizing saloon owners and promoting the message of the Women’s Christian Temperance Union through high-profile acts of vandalism and at least 30 arrests.

From about 1900 to 1910, this imposing, six-foot-tall Kansas woman brought the temperance movement to violent, radical heights by storming into bars and smashing fixtures and liquor bottles with a hatchet. Her initial targets were saloons that violated local laws prohibiting the sale of alcohol, but Carrie’s “hatchetations” expanded to any establishment selling liquor, legally or not.

She might not seem like the most obvious figure to name your bar after. But apparently the Carrie Nation Cocktail Club appreciates history and irony in equal measure.

Having opened in Beacon Hill this past spring, Carrie Nation (the bar) is everything that Carrie Nation (the person) would have abhorred. With its flapper-era drink list and opulent décor, Carrie Nation is a modern-day tribute to the 1920s – an era that would have inspired both celebration and consternation in its namesake.

No doubt, Carrie would have applauded the ratification of the 18th Amendment, had she lived to see the day (she died 9 years before Prohibition went into effect). But there weren’t enough hatchets in the world to destroy all the illegal bars that sprung up in its wake. And not even Carrie herself possessed enough self-righteousness to shame all the cops who accepted bribes that allowed such establishments to operate, or the judges and politicians who benefited by looking the other way.

Carrie sells a would-be drinker on the merits of an ice cream cone.

But Carrie Nation isn’t just another Prohibition-themed bar serving up old-school cocktails. It captures the Roaring Twenties in all its glitz, glamour, and legendary style.

The notion of drinking in the 1920s may provoke images of makeshift, backroom speakeasies, but Carrie Nation, with its mammoth size, evokes the palatial luxury hotels and dining establishments that reflected the decade’s gaudy extravagance.

There’s a large, open dining room with round tables and comfortable leather booths.

Long, red velvet drapes and a handsome dark brown and cream color scheme hearkens back to a time when people donned their finest duds for a civilized night out on the town. Ornate hanging lamps cast a warm glow over the whole area.

The Beacon Room, a second dining area, is separate and smaller, but still spacious and grand.

A long, beautiful bar – an improbable sight in the 1920s – seats 17, while five tables round out the bar area.

While the décor offers a glimpse of the gleaming luxury of the Jazz Age, Carrie Nation’s cocktail list largely recalls the unsavory side of the 1920s. The drinks are categorized under headings like Drys & Wets, Politicians & Power, and Enforcers & Instigators, conjuring images of Treasury raids, gangland hits, and crooked cops. Yet Carrie Nation’s cocktails are garnished with a distinct local flair – many are named for early 20th-century-era Boston icons, and drinking your way through the list is like stumbling into the grittier corners of the city’s history.

And Boston certainly had its share of drink-worthy figures, as I discovered a few weeks back when I stopped into Carrie Nation with a handful of coworkers. With me were my friends Andy, Jen, Keena, Jen, John, Katie, and a few others (there won’t be a quiz).

In the annals of Boston history, it would be difficult to find a more colorful and controversial character than four-term mayor and one-term governor James Michael Curley. Few Boston politicians are so equally identified for their popularity and corruption – he even won an election while serving a prison term. Curley was known as the Rascal King, and the drink bearing his unflattering epithet combined spiced rum, brandy, peach schnapps, and lemon. Peach was the dominant flavor in this one, but the brandy gave it depth and the rum provided some bite.

Martin Michael Lomasney didn’t have Curley’s reputation for graft, but his political clout remains unrivaled in Boston politics. The boss of Boston’s Ward 8 for nearly 50 years, Lomasney was nicknamed “the mahatma” for his influence over all matters affecting the old West End. The Boston Mahatma is Carrie Nation’s take on a Rob Roy, combining Glenfiddich, Punt e Mes, Maraschino liqueur, and Angostura bitters. A little heavy on the Punt e Mes, this one was too bitter for my liking.

Of course, politicians weren’t the only public figures known to loosely interpret or even outright break the law. Boston police officer Oliver Garrett, whose lavish lifestyle far exceeded his $40 a week salary, was known as the Million Dollar Cop. Garrett was widely suspected of padding his regular income by accepting bribes from the speakeasies and brothels he was supposed to be shutting down, though he was never charged with a crime. Katie ordered the drink named in his honor, a mix of Hendrick’s gin, lemon, Chambord, egg, raspberries, and champagne.

By far the prettiest drink of the night, the Million Dollar Cop was rich in its own way – bursting with raspberry flavor, the egg gave it a creamy texture, and the bubbles added a sense of luxury that Garrett no doubt would have appreciated.

Al Capone was the most notorious gangster of the 1920s, and even now, his name is synonymous with organized crime. But Boston had its own big-time mob boss – Charles “King” Solomon. A prominent nightclub owner, Solomon was also a racketeer who controlled bootlegging, gambling, and narcotics rings in and around the city. Carrie Nation’s King Solomon, ordered by Andy, was a vibrant mix of barrel-aged tequila, house-made limoncello, mint, and ginger.

With an up-front honey essence and a strong tequila bite, Andy described it as “explosive,” which seems appropriate for a drink named after a mob kingpin.

Tempting as it might be condemn the actions of an underworld boss, we all know who keeps those guys in business – and in the 1920s, that was anyone wanting a drink. We were, as historian Ken Burns noted in his PBS Prohibition series, a “Nation of Scofflaws.” The term scofflaw, incidentally, was coined after the Boston Herald sponsored a contest to give a name to this new class of common criminal (two Boston residents came up with “scofflaw” and split the $200 prize). The Nation of Scofflaws cocktail combined rye whiskey, Lillet Blanc, pomegranate grenadine, and lemon. The pomegranate grenadine was a little intense, but it was good overall.

While the 18th Amendment banned the production and sale of intoxicating liquors, it was the Volstead Act that specified which liquors would be prohibited, which would be allowed, and how the law would be enforced. How appropriate, then, that the Volstead cocktail was difficult to swallow. Made with extra dry rum, yellow chartreuse, maraschino, a house lemon cordial, and grapefruit bitters, it was dry and sour – a lot like Prohibition. The bitters doubled down on the grapefruit, making this one a little tough on the palate.

Not all of Carrie Nation’s drinks are inspired by those who flouted the law. The Archers Evening Law, in contrast, pays tribute to the founder of nearby Suffolk Law School. When Gleason Archer, Sr., opened Suffolk in 1906, it was one of the only law schools in the country to offer night classes. Jen ordered the drink named in his honor, a fresh and fruity mix of blueberry vodka and a house lemon cordial, garnished with a fragrant leaf of basil.

Along with their many thematic concoctions, Carrie Nation also has a selection of straightforward, time-honored cocktails. John opted for the “Old Fashioned, Old Fashion.” The name might seem redundant, but considering the ghastly incarnations this poor drink has suffered through, it’s worth pointing out that this is a traditional recipe – rye whiskey, bitters, simple syrup, and a lemon peel. No splash of soda, no graveyard of muddled fruit; just a faithful rendering of one of the oldest cocktails on record.

Keena kept the classics going with a vodka Martini. She reveled in the three huge olives while I averted my eyes (I despise olives).

While the Old Fashioned and the Martini can trace their origins to the 19th century, the Orange Blossom was actually a product of Prohibition. That’s when bartenders started employing heavier mixers to mask the horrendous taste of poor-quality, homemade spirits. Though typically made with gin, orange juice, and sweet vermouth, Carrie Nation’s Orange Blossom uses Ketel One Oranje in place of the gin and Punt e Mes for the vermouth. This one was a bit challenging; I think the orange-flavored vodka was overkill.

If none of the 20 offerings on the cocktail list appeal to you, the bartenders seem more than capable of whipping up something on the spot. One of the best drinks of the night arrived when Katie asked for advice on what to order. After inquiring about Katie’s preferred spirits, our bartender served up an excellent drink made with Hendrick’s gin, Prosecco, St. Germain, and lemon, with a cucumber garnish.

An elegant conclusion to the evening, Katie’s drink was a combination of elements you’d be hard-pressed to find in the 1920s – legal, top-shelf liquor, made with fresh ingredients by a knowledgeable bartender. It is a stunning irony that an era flush with exciting new freedoms – the mobility afforded by automobiles, the luxury of hearing a baseball game on the radio, the purchasing power of the average citizen – is remembered more for what you could not do. Big cities pulsated with dazzling sights, sounds, and diversions, and yet Americans were forced underground – often into basements and stockrooms – if they wanted a beer.

This paradox was not overlooked by the people at Carrie Nation.

While the main room is awash in Gatsby-esque splendor, you only need to turn the corner and head toward the long, burgundy curtains at the end of the hall if you want to immerse yourself in the boozy underside of the Roaring Twenties. And you don’t even need a password to get in.

Carrie Nation’s backroom “Cocktail Club” has all the glamour we associate with a speakeasy and, thankfully, little of the reality – no sawdust on the floor, no bathtub gin, no chance of getting busted.

Still, it exudes that shadowy sense of intrigue that we associate with an illicit bar, and it stands as much in contrast to the main restaurant as the illegal bars of the 20s did to their glittering surroundings. Considerably darker and more intimate than the main area, the windowless speakeasy is dimly lit with antique, tassled lamps.

There’s a smaller bar with 13 plush, burgundy chairs.

Ten stools sit opposite the bar, with plenty of shelving for your drinks if you’re hanging around and chewing the fat. Beyond that are large but cozy seating areas, handsomely outfitted with leather couches, loveseats, and chairs.

There are even two pool tables.

Slinking into the speakeasy about a week after my visit to the front room with my coworkers, I grabbed a seat at the bar and was immediately struck by the more casual, laid-back atmosphere. The old-school jazz playing in the dining room gave way to a playlist of 80s music, signaling a shift from the buttoned-down formality of an upscale eatery to the nonchalance of a neighborhood tavern. Case in point – when I declined a food menu, the bartender, Kristina, responded “Just drinks? Good; I like that.”

I could tell right away I was in good hands back here.

Returning to the “Classics” section of the cocktail list, I opted for a drink that dates back to at least 1916 – the Aviation.

"I’ve been drinking those a lot lately,” Kristina mentioned.

I was encouraged to hear this.

Even better – when I said I’d never tried one before, her response was swift and confident: “Ohhhh, I’ll make you a good one.” And that she did.

This mix of Beefeater gin, Maraschino liqueur, crème de violette, and lemon was fantastic. The crème de violette, difficult to find and thus often omitted from modern versions of the drink, was smooth and subtle, lending it a floral essence and a pale blue complexion.

I requested Kristina’s counsel on what I should order next, and she recommended one of the oldest drinks in the book – a Gin Fizz. Made with Tanqueray gin, simple syrup, lime, egg white, and soda, this was a worthy follow-up to the Aviation. The egg white gave it a creamy texture, but the soda countered with a pleasant crispness. A Luxardo cherry served as a classy garnish.

A visit to the speakeasy was the perfect way to round out my Carrie Nation experience. I’d been finding the cocktails a little uneven up until that point; some were really good, while others focused too heavily on bitter ingredients (though in all fairness, I should probably just stop ordering drinks with chartreuse and Punt E Mes, since my reaction is nearly always the same). But the best cocktails were the oldest ones; the no-frills Old Fashioned, along with the Aviation and the Gin Fizz deftly made by Kristina, prove that no matter how dizzying the heights of modern mixology, the classics are sturdy enough to endure anything – Constitutional amendments, passing fads, evolving tastes, the general passage of time.

Even hatchets.

Address: 11 Beacon Street, Boston

Website:http://www.carrienationcocktailclub.com/

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November 27, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, CAMBRIDGE, Events

Thanksgivukkah – Showdown at Sundown

November 27, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, CAMBRIDGE, Events

It is a holiday dilemma that no one in our lifetime has ever had to grapple with. At sundown on November 28, 2013, Hanukkah begins – right around the time most of us are loosening our belts after Thanksgiving dinner and eyeing the dessert table. This phenomenon, the outcome of a rare, cataclysmic convergence of the Hebrew and Gregorian calendars, has been dubbed Thanksgivukkah. And if you’re a Jewish American who observes both holidays, you’re going to have your hands full. It’s been 125 years since this last happened, so there’s really no template for how to celebrate. What’s it going to be – a long day of devouring turkey, stuffing, and pumpkin pie, followed by a night of lighting candles, spinning dreidels, and eating latkes? All while in a tryptophan-induced haze? That’s a whole lotta food, fun, and family time in one day, if you ask me.

But a double holiday doesn’t have to mean double stress; in fact, many people have embraced the idea of Thanksgivukkah, finding fun ways to combine elements of two holidays centered on reflection and giving thanks.

Of course, if you find yourself lacking the celebratory fortitude to observe two holidays at once, you can always add alcohol. And for that, you might take a page from the book of Moksa. This past Monday, the Cambridge bar and restaurant hosted Gobble Shalom, a lighthearted mashup of Thanksgiving and Hanukkah. It was an evening of seasonal small plates, holiday-inspired cocktails, and lots of people wearing sweaters.

The Thanksgivukkah mood was festive and irreverent. The bar in Moksa’s back room was decorated with grains and pumpkins, chocolates, and a mammoth dreidel full of whiskey.

OK, it's a top, not a dreidel; but you get the idea.

Guests were invited to participate in an ugly sweater contest and encouraged to drop off unwanted clothing (ugly or not) in a bin to be donated later that night. And sweater donation wasn’t the only good cause of the evening. Moksa was hosting Opus Affair, a community of local artists that occasionally sponsors fundraising events for arts-related causes with its Punch Bowl Fund. A $5 donation scored you a drink ticket, which could be redeemed for a glass of punch.

Guests could then vote to determine which of three local arts organizations – the Bridge Repertory Theater of Boston, Boston Early Music Festival, or New Center NOW – got to take home the whole pot.

The 100 or so guests seemed more than willing to drink for charity, even if the punch ingredients were a little…unorthodox. The deep purple concoction was made with Manischewitz wine, gin, and a Bonal aperitif.

Now as you are probably aware, Manischewitz doesn’t enjoy the best reputation as far as wines go. Few drink this kosher yet notoriously sweet vintage on occasions other than Jewish holidays. Using it as the base for a punch is best left to the professionals – like Noon Summers, one of Boston’s top mixologists and Moksa’s beverage director. The result was surprisingly good; the gin and aperitif dialed back the sweetness, and the result was kind of like a Hanukkah sangria, bizarre as that may sound. “I wanted something that would preserve the flavor of the Manischewitz,” Noon explained to me, with an ironic smile.

The punch was accompanied by several other cocktails that paid tribute to Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, and the fall season. First up was the Modesty “Tznius,” a mix of date-infused rye whiskey, Palm wine, and vermouth. The date flavor added a rich sweetness to this Manhattan-like cocktail, while a star anise fruit topped it off with a touch of bitterness.

The Purple Maize combined bourbon and blueberry beer, and was garnished with a kernel of purple corn. The blueberry flavor was prominent but not overpowering, making for a sweet but earthy drink.

The most intense cocktail of the night was the spicy Fire Water. Aguardiente contributed a mild anise essence to this bloody Mary, while a green chile brought the heat. Housemade cornbread croutons served as a tasty garnish.

Of course, holidays with the family are about more than just drinking.

[I’ll pause here and let you wipe up the coffee you just spat all over your screen.]

Sharing a feast is an essential part of almost any holiday, and Thanksgiving and Hanukkah are culinary heavy hitters. Moksa’s Thanksgivukkah celebration didn’t feature a full spread of food, but a small menu of bar bites cleverly combined the flavors of the season.

Thanksgiving means turkey, obviously, and these turkey lettuce wraps were topped with a delicious, spicy cranberry sauce.

Crispy potato fritters made with cottage cheese, green peas, and coated in lots of spices were a nod to traditional latkes. A rich, creamy pumpkin chutney gave them an autumnal twist.

Eventually the two punch bowls were drained, which signaled the closing of the polls that would determine which local arts organization would take home a cash prize. Emerging victorious was the Bridge Repertory Theatre. A theatre group seeking to find new ways to connect with audiences through innovative productions, the Bridge Rep will surely put its donation to good use.

As with other events Moksa has hosted, Gobble Shalom was playful and refreshingly devoid of cliché – no shots of Wild Turkey, no Adam Sandler holiday songs playing on a loop. It was an opportunity to learn about three local arts groups, eat some good food, and raise a glass to a once-in-a-lifetime holiday crossover.

But the star of the show was mixology extraordinaire Noon Summers, whose cocktails were as creative as they were drinkable. I was skeptical of combinations like bourbon and blueberry beer, but I kept coming away impressed. And it takes equal parts nerve and talent to make a respectable tasting punch out of Manischewitz wine, but she more than managed.

Whether you’re celebrating Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, or both this year, I hope it’s safe and happy. And if you are going all out and hosting Thanksgivukkah, have fun and make the most of it – the next one isn’t for another 79,000 years.

Shalom!

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November 13, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, CAMBRIDGE, Events, Spirits in Focus

Novo Fogo Cachaça

November 13, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, CAMBRIDGE, Events, Spirits in Focus

Cachaça.

It’s an odd-looking word. Most people’s first question is, How do you pronounce it? A common second question is, What is it?

The first question has an easy answer – it’s pronounced ka-SHA-sa.

The answer to the second question has long been a topic of contentious international debate that recently led to a modification of the U.S. government’s regulations concerning the import of this distilled spirit.

So what’s all the fuss about?

Cachaça is a liquor made from fermented sugar cane juice and produced exclusively in Brazil. It is best known as the key ingredient in a Caipirinha, the national cocktail of Brazil and a drink enjoyed around the globe.

It would be difficult to overstate the popularity of cachaça in Brazil; with 400 years of history, a National Cachaça Day (June 12), and upwards of 30,000 different producers of the spirit (many of whom are unlicensed), it’s safe to call cachaça the national liquor of South America’s most populous country.

Just don’t call it rum.

See, that’s where things get a little sticky. In accordance with a litany of complicated trade regulations, the U.S. government has long classified cachaça as rum; or more specifically, a “Brazilian rum.” It’s understandable, at least in the sense that both spirits are derived from sugar cane. But whereas rum is made from processed sugar cane – aka molasses – cachaça is made from fresh cane juice. The result is a spirit that might be considered a cousin of rum, but is less sweet, with a more herbal, grassy freshness.

For many years, though, the Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau (TTB) refused to acknowledge such nuance. A spirit made with sugar cane? That’s rum. What has this meant for most of us? Honestly…not much – mainly, that bottles of cachaça had to have “rum” somewhere on the label and, in compliance with the TTB’s definition of rum, had to be at least 40% ABV (whereas cachaça is traditionally 38% ABV). But what was a low-level item of arcane federal bureaucracy for the majority of American consumers became a cause célèbre among cachaça purists.

And so in 2009, a grass-roots group launched a national campaign to persuade the TTB to amend its regulations…which, surprisingly, it did. As of February 2013, the U.S. government classifies cachaça as a unique Brazilian distilled spirit – still a subclass of rum, to the continued chagrin of the devout, but no longer requiring the word rum on the label (the same way cognac doesn’t have to identify itself as brandy). Of course it’s a little more complicated and political than all that, but you get the idea.

While cachaça’s never enjoyed widespread popularity here in the United States, it hasn’t exactly been obscure. If you’ve ever had a Caipirinha, of course, you’ve probably had it. Sometimes you’ll see it in a variation of mojito.

But one by-product of this formal shift in cachaça’s designation is that the spirit has enjoyed an uptick in publicity – and yes, the reclassification campaign was driven by a cachaça distiller that sponsored promotional events all over the country. And as its popularity continues to rise here in the U.S., so does the quality of the cachaça that reaches our shores. Despite widespread production in Brazil, very little cachaça gets exported (which is a whole other story), and the brands that do are typically industrial-produced in factory-like settings. But with our ever-growing taste for small-batch spirits, craft-made cachaça is making inroads into in the U.S. market. And with that, I give you Novo Fogo.

Novo Fogo (which translates to “new fire” in Portuguese) is a microdistillery in Morretes, Brazil, with a presence in Bellevue, Washington. Their focus is on making a small-batch, organic cachaça in an environmentally friendly manner. Every step of the production process in their zero-waste facility is done by hand – from the sugar cane that they cut with machetes to the unique, handcrafted bottles, made from recycled glass, that hold the final product.

Swiped from Novo Fogo's Facebook page, entirely without permission.

The Novo Fogo folks recently stopped by Cambridge’s Moksa as part of its Bars on Fire tour to whip up cocktails and educate us on all things cachaça. I’ve had a few Caipirinhas in my day, but this was my first opportunity to get up close and personal with their key ingredient. Unlike most industrial-produced cachaça, Novo Fogo’s varieties – silver and barrel-aged – are clean, smooth, and can be easily enjoyed neat. Even with one sip of the darker, barrel-aged variety, I could see why purists would bristle at this being so crudely classified as rum. Yes, it did have a rum-like quality on account of the sugar cane, but warm notes of oak and vanilla were just as prominent. That makes sense, since it’s aged in small oak barrels, and the resulting elixir seems to have more in common with a good bourbon than rum.

Introductions aside, it was time to see how the spirit fared in cocktails.

First up, appropriately, was the standard – a Caipirinha. This was a traditional recipe made with silver cachaça, muddled limes, and sugar. Even with the mercury gradually falling outside, this tropical classic was refreshing. As a special bonus, it was “served in a mason jar so you can shake it yourself.” Wow. I mean…wow.

Next up was presumably a Novo Fogo original – the cleverly named Bossa Novo, combining silver cachaça, apricot, lime juice, and bitters. The scent of apricot was apparent even before the first sip, and it was prominent in the flavor as well. I have no doubt that my mason jar shaking added a customized dimension to this strong and fruity beverage.

I was excited about the Rio Punch because it gave me a chance to try barrel-aged cachaça in a drink, mixed with Sorel (a hibiscus-infused liqueur with hints of clove, cinnamon, and other spices), coconut water, and most intriguingly, grilled pineapple. This one didn’t quite live up to the exciting ingredients. The smoky sweetness from the grilled pineapples was pleasant, but the coconut water didn’t contribute much flavor, and even the cachaça didn’t stand out. And weirdly, there was an inexplicable bubble gum-like flavor. I didn’t see a Hubba Bubba “floater” or anything, but I’ll give them a mulligan on this one.

Things improved with the Maine Kimura, which boldly combined silver cachaça, brown butter and maple syrup, blueberry preserves, lemon juice, and “bubbles.” This one had a thick texture, almost like a smoothie. The maple and butter flavors were appropriately autumnal, and the preserves gave it a rich sweetness. It was smooth and satisfying, though I detected no bubbles.

Now what goes best with Brazilian cocktails? Why, Asian food, of course! As part of the event, Moksa was offering a menu of $1 and $2 appetizers.

First up was delicious, tender pork belly served in a soft, doughy steam bun.

I followed that with the baby back rib, which was superb. The juicy meat practically fell off the bone.

This tuna dumpling tasted as good as it looked.

My only prior visit to Moksa was for a bartender blood feud earlier this year; if this is representative of their food menu, I’ll be making a return trip.

My final drink of the night, the Prata Bolo, was also the most surprising. Made with barrel-aged cachaça, banana milk, lime juice, and nutmeg, this creamy concoction reminded me of eggnog, despite there being no egg. Maybe the dusting of nutmeg on the top was putting me in an early holiday mood. While the banana flavor was surprisingly mild, the lime added a tangy sweetness. It was one of the simplest yet most effective cocktails of the evening.

Overall, it was a fun, informative evening. It was cool to learn about cachaça’s interesting history and its versatility. But if I have one complaint, it’s that a night devoted to the national spirit of Brazil didn’t have enough…well…Brazilian spirit. Sure, a soundtrack of samba music lent a festive air, but when I think about the breadth and diversity of Brazilian culture, it seems that an event like this offers an opportunity for international cuisine, live performances, colorful costumes, that sort of thing. Maybe I’ve been spoiled byalcoholic spectacle lately, but I feel like the evening could have been infused with the Carnival-esque sounds, sights, and energy we associate with our neighbors to the south.

Granted, I don’t foot the bill for these things, I just show up and drink.

Saúde!

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

October 25, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Events, Spirits in Focus

Hendrick's Voyages Into the Unusual

October 25, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Events, Spirits in Focus

Looking back, I suppose I could have taken a few seconds and read the entire invitation instead of skipping ahead to what I thought was the most important part.

Let me back up a bit. Late last year, I attended a promotional event sponsored by Hendrick’s Gin. Called the “Delightfully Peculiar Cocktail Academy,” it was an opportunity to learn about Hendrick’s, how the spirit is made, and what distinguishes it from other types of gin. About 20 people attended, and it was held in a midsize function room at a Cambridge bar. Under the watchful eye of Brand Ambassador Jim Ryan, we learned a few cocktail recipes and made some excellent Hendrick’s-based drinks.

Overall, it was a fun, engaging, but fairly low-key evening.

So a few weeks ago, I got invited to another Hendrick’s affair. Now whereas it’s customary to familiarize oneself with the pertinent details of an event upon receiving an invitation, I just figured “free gin!”, and enthusiastically confirmed my attendance with the organizers. I assumed it was another cocktail-making class, something like that.

It wasn’t.

As soon as I stepped into the Revere Hotel’s enormous function room, known cryptically as Space 57, I realized this would be no quiet evening of cocktail instruction. But even if I’d studied every last letter of the invite, there’s no way I could have known what awaited me at the Hendrick’s “Voyages Into the Unusual.”

It was like stepping through a turnstile and into a late-19th-century traveling carnival. And not a carnival with cotton candy or ring-toss games, mind you, but the kind that mysteriously appears in an empty field overnight, unannounced. Think Something Wicked This Way Comes or The Night Circus.

No, there wasn’t anything sinister, like a supernatural carousel or a malevolent ringmaster. But there was a 20-foot-tall woman – a larger-than-life harbinger of the bizarre night that was about to ensue.

I arrived to find a troupe of costumed characters, dancers, and musicians buzzing around a gantlet of Hendrick’s-themed attractions. Some were instructive, like the botanist discussing the 11 botanicals that give Hendrick’s gin its unique flavor profile.

But the rest of it was straight out of a sideshow – two-headed skeletons, stuffed animals in glass specimen jars, and a slew of suspicious-looking apothecary bottles (the sort you’d find on the shelves of a creepy pharmacist who secretly dabbles in the occult).

On stage was a band called the White Ghost Shivers, a Vaudeville-themed septet whose mix of bluegrass, jazz, ragtime, and country music provided the score for an eerie yet upbeat atmosphere.

And eerie it was – the room was mostly dark, pierced by white spotlights that cast long, harsh shadows on the walls and floor. Seeming to have pulled into town just in time for the Halloween season, this was a spectacle bathed in the macabre.

While I never anticipated something on this scale, I was right about one thing – free drinks. Before a crowd of several hundred guests started oozing in, I was kindly handed a Hendrick’s and tonic. Even amid the spectacular scenery and a lineup of thoughtfully crafted cocktails, a standard like this is never dull.

Standing at an open table in the middle of the room, I sipped my drink and watched the dark carnival came to life. I wasn’t quite sure what to check out first: the hot air balloon with the acrobatic aviator?

The Wall of Curiosities, from which a hand would unexpectedly emerge and give you a cocktail book or a Hendrick’s newspaper?

Ultimately, I figured I’d start at the one spot where, in any environment, I can make myself at home.

The bar was called the Explorer’s Lounge, appropriately enough. I polished off my gin and tonic and moved on to the evening’s featured cocktails. First up was “On This Harvest Mule.” With crisp, autumnal flavors and a name inspired by a classic Neil Young song, this bold mix of Hendrick’s gin, pear liqueur, fresh lemon juice, ginger syrup, apple shrub, and pear-apple cider was ideally suited to the season.

I ventured away from the Explorer’s Lounge and headed over to the fearsome-looking Monster’s Box. This large, wooden crate, strewn with chains, was guarded by a keeper who, upon my arrival, knocked loudly on the front of the box. Out slithered two gray, scaly hands with long fingers and black nails – not to snatch passersby, thankfully, but to hand out drinks.

In this case it was the Traveler’s Testament – Hendrick’s, rooibos tea, lime juice, raspberry syrup, and sparkling water, deliciously topped with toasted coconut flakes. The tea was prominent but didn’t overwhelm the other ingredients, and its nutty, herbal flavor offered a contrast to the fruity elements.

From there I made my way to the Apothecary, which is a key element of Hendrick’s lore. In a nod to the days when gin was used medicinally, the distinctive Hendrick’s bottle is modeled after an old apothecary jar. There were many such jars at the Apothecary station, where the drink of choice was the Cucumber Blood Cocktail. This luminescent green potion was concocted with lemon verbena-infused gin, cucumber juice, simple syrup, and a dash of green chartreuse.

This one was a little too intense for me. I found the taste to be kind of medicinal – which, I now realize, was fairly appropriate, given that it was poured at the Apothecary. But despite the up-front cucumber flavor, which usually mellows things out, the lemon infusion was a bit much. I’m also not a big chartreuse fan, and that may have thrown the taste off for me.

It was around then that I crossed paths with Jim Ryan, the amiable Brand Ambassador who taught the cocktail class I attended last year. I asked him what his favorite drink of the night was, and he proceeded to mention every drink that included Hendrick’s. When pressed, he expressed a particular fondness for the Traveling Punch – which just so happened to be my next stop.

Hendrick’s loves its punches, as I learned at the Cocktail Academy. What we think of today as a cloyingly sweet yet economical way to get your party guests hammered on cheap vodka, punches were a centuries-old predecessor to the single-serving cocktail. Hendrick’s likes to hearken back to respectable, well-made punches, the kind that engendered a communal drinking experience.

The Traveling Punch was a robust combination of flavors meant to reflect New England’s most renowned season. It was a spicy, aromatic cocktail that conjured a vision of sitting on porch on a brisk October evening, wrapped in a blanket, sipping this mix of Hendrick’s gin, fruit tisane tea, cranberry liqueur, lemon/orange oleo-saccharum (a lemon-orange oil and sugar syrup), sparkling water, and Angostura bitters

I rounded back to the Explorer’s Lounge and ordered up the last of the evening’s featured cocktails – the Night of the Iguana. This one was pretty involved – gin, celery juice, cucumber juice, fresh lemon juice, simple syrup, a cucumber wheel, ground sea salt, and ground cubeb berry.

For all its components, it was a surprisingly mellow cocktail, softer than some of its spicy predecessors. The cubeb berry gave it a bright, peppery flavor, but a prominent cucumber essence kept all the ingredients balanced.

Having exhausted the lineup of Hendrick’s drinks, only one objective remained – get into the skirt of that really tall woman. No, I wasn’t drunk or hallucinating. There really was a 20-foot-tall woman, attended by two little fellows with beak-like masks who would choose people from the crowd and escort them through the folds of her dress. What was beyond that silk barrier? No one knew, but it was a mystery I was determined to penetrate.

Getting in would prove to be a bit of a challenge, though. Only three or four people were admitted at one time, and pretty much everyone wanted in. And the guardians, though diminutive in stature, acted as judge, jury, and bouncer – no one got by without their say-so.

Fortunately, I was among the chosen few (how that happened is another story; many thanks to those involved, you know who you are). As I slipped through the thick folds of the skirt, I suppose I shouldn’t have been entirely surprised to find a cozy living room inside.

Enveloped by the skirt’s black fabric, the room felt like a fort made of pillows and bed sheets, though it was comfortably furnished with a table, four chairs, and a tasteful area rug. Small servers doled out more Traveling Punch from a bowl perched atop a black trunk, while candles and a decorative human skull provided some ambience.

Drinking a gin-based punch served by very short men beneath the dress of a very tall woman while a string band outside plays songs in a minor key is a good place to pause and reflect on the bizarre nature of this affair.

While only the latest chapter of an innovative marketing campaign known for colorful characters, eccentric taglines, and elaborate events, “Voyages” is easily the most extravagant. The production has been traveling to major U.S. cities for the past year and a half, entertaining and educating thousands of guests and leaving them with a message that, above the din of the bells and whistles, is abundantly clear – Hendrick’s is peculiar.

The relentlessness with which Hendrick’s tries to assert its uniqueness is almost as bewildering as one of these carnival-esque events. It makes me wonder whether the folks from Beefeater or Tanqueray occasionally prank-call an overly sensitive executive at the Hendrick’s distillery and say “Uh, why is your gin so boring?”, prompting him or her to exclaim “Boring? I’ll show you...somebody get Marketing on the phone, NOW!”

Perhaps not. But the irony here is that no one needs to be persuaded that Hendrick’s is an unusual gin. The signature flavors of cucumber and rose are hard to miss, and they make for a spirit that is at once accessible and complex. In my opinion, its quality requires little fanfare (this may be one reason why I don’t work in marketing).

But hey, if Hendrick’s wants to keep hosting offbeat events like this to notify, assure, and reassure the world that its gin is unusual, then I’ll gladly keep attending.

Next time I might even read the invitation.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

October 9, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, Out of State

One for the Road – Adventures in Key West

October 9, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, Out of State

Shortly after my brother Andrew announced his engagement this past spring, I asked him a question that was sure to elicit a zinger. “Have you been thinking about what you want to do for your bachelor party?”

He didn’t disappoint.

“Yeah, since I was about 14.”

If you know my brother at all, you realize he wasn’t exaggerating.

So what was the outcome of his approximately 19 years’ worth of planning? A weekend of drunken debauchery in one of the most popular destinations in the world – Key West.

Known for its tolerant, easygoing island culture, Key West has been called home by the likes of Ernest Hemingway, whose spirit still looms large over the island, and Jimmy Buffett, who made a career and a fortune by singing about its boozy, laid-back lifestyle. A favored destination of presidents and celebrities of all stripes, the southernmost city in the United States has a lot going for it – fun tourist attractions, a long and colorful history, unique architecture, breathtaking sunsets.

At least, that’s what I hear.

My brother didn’t choose Key West for its sightseeing opportunities (actually...eh, never mind). No, this was a drinking trip, and the city’s (in)famous Duval Street boasts one of the more impressive concentration of bars in the country. The bars open early and close late, and there’s a lax open container law – meaning you can roam the streets with a drink in your hand. In Andrew’s words, “it’s like Bourbon Street in New Orleans, but clean.”

So a bunch of us piled into a van and made the four-hour trek from my brother’s place in Pompano Beach to Key West. There won’t be a quiz or anything, but just for archival purposes, the crew ultimately consisted of the following characters: Andrew and myself; our friend Paul, who was celebrating his own bachelor party; my cousins Adam and John; and Mickey, Kenny, Mike, Gary, Steve, Ryan, Kevin, Powell, and “Mayday” Malone.

What followed were two days and nights packed with all the shenanigans, nonsense, and sophomoric humor you’d expect of a proper bachelor party. We made no friends and possibly a few enemies. There were exhilarating highs and embarrassing lows (the nadir coming when one member of our group emptied a bar of its customers with his flatulence, drawing a stern reprimand from the bartender). There were also plenty of bars, needless to say, and since there’s no point in mentioning every one we hit, I thought I’d pick a couple to focus on. The two we’ll look at are complete opposites, in many respects; but both are steeped in local history, and each offers a different perspective on drinking in this splendid, quirky city.

Opinions may differ on which Key West bars are considered “must visit,” but given the illustrious clientele that Captain Tony’s Saloon has entertained over the years, you’d be hard pressed to pass this one up. More importantly, this is a bar that truly epitomizes the character of Key West – a kaleidoscopic mix of history, legend, charm, and delightful eccentricity.

Captain Tony’s is named for its longtime owner, the late Tony Tarracino. Even in a city known for its colorful characters, Tony was truly larger than life. Born in New Jersey, Tony dropped out of high school and made money as a bootlegger during Prohibition. He later graduated to gambling, but when one of his schemes burned the Mafia, the mob took him to a New Jersey dump, beat him within inches of his life, and left him for dead. He survived, though, and fled to Key West in 1948.

You might say life improved a bit for Tony upon his relocation. After a series of odd jobs such as a charter boat captain, a shrimper, and a gunrunner smuggling weapons and mercenaries to Cuba, Tony purchased the bar that still bears his name. He owned it until 1989 – when he was elected mayor. Universally lauded as one of the most popular citizens of Key West, Tony died in 2008 at the age of 92. But his legacy lives on at his namesake bar.

It seems only fitting that the history of this bar is as long and peculiar as that of its legendary owner. The building itself dates back to 1851, when it served as a morgue. In subsequent decades it became the site of a telegraph station, a cigar factory, a brothel, and during Prohibition, a series of speakeasies. It began legally serving drinks in 1933 as Sloppy Joe’s, which later moved down the street and still operates today.

Varied and unusual as the building’s past may be, the present-day incarnation is infinitely more bizarre.

Captain Tony’s is without doubt one of the strangest bars I’ve ever set foot in. The walls and ceiling are almost completely plastered with business cards, dollar bills signed by patrons, license plates from all over the country, and a collection of bras that would rival the inventory of Victoria’s Secret.

And that’s just the beginning.

You can’t help but notice the 200-year-old tree growing from beneath the floor and through the ceiling. This is known as the hanging tree – because it was used for hanging people in the 19th century. Apparently 17 people got the noose here: 16 pirates, and one local woman who murdered her family…and is rumored to haunt the bar to this day.

Indeed, there are plenty of creepy accounts of paranormal activity in the bar. And while there may or may not be a ghost in Captain Tony’s, there most certainly is a corpse.

I thought this “grave” was just for effect, but no – the remains of an actual person are under there.

The fire hydrant almost seems passé by comparison.

The rest of the décor is less grim but no less fascinating. A gallery of framed photos, news clippings, and paintings of the Captain adorn whatever wall space isn’t already occupied by dollar bills and undergarments.

There’s a good-size pool room. Right off of the pool room (you’ll need to step over the grave) is another room with a foosball table and an old Ms. Pacman arcade game.

There’s a stage in the back, which is where Jimmy Buffett got his start as a performer (he immortalized the bar and Tony in his song “Last Mango in Paris”).

And speaking of famous, check out the barstools. Each is painted with the name of a celebrity who’s visited the bar. Actors, musicians, authors, politicians, presidents, athletes; you’re drinking in pretty good company here. (I assume the owners got started on the Boston BarHopper stool shortly after I left.)

In addition to serving as a monument to its former owner, a depository of random mementos, a de facto museum of local artifacts, and a resting place for the dead and undead, Captain Tony’s also serves drinks. The beer selection is pretty standard, but the drink of choice here is the Pirate’s Punch. The recipe is a secret but, like most Key West drinks, contains plenty of rum. You get a generous portion in a commemorative cup for $7.99.

For all the things that make Captain Tony’s unusual, it is in many respects typical of the bars in the vicinity – dark, divey, and well worn. You can enjoy a mellow afternoon with some light beer, listening to the singer/guitarist as he customizes songs for the sparsely populated crowd.

By nightfall the crowd will have swelled, you’ll have downed some frozen drinks and maybe a couple of shots, and you’ll be screaming along while the cover band plays “Don’t Stop Believin’” or some other crowd-pleasing staple.

This is not, by any stretch, a bad thing.

At the same time, you can be forgiven for wanting a change of pace. While plenty of the bars on and near Duval Street cater to revelers in search of a quick and easy buzz, there are options for the more discerning cocktail crowd. And for that we head a mile or so down the road.

What is now known as the Speakeasy Inn was once the home of Raul Vasquez, another favorite son of Key West. Vasquez worked in the cigar industry until 1920, which is when Prohibition went into effect. Recognizing the entrepreneurial opportunities associated with the 18th Amendment, Vasquez set up a speakeasy behind his house and became a rumrunner, making frequent trips to Cuba to stock his illicit bar.

Of course, one of the challenges of running a hidden bar is that it’s difficult for customers to find; and you can’t exactly put up a big sign advertising your illegal products and services. Vasquez found a clever way around that problem. On one of his trips to Cuba, he purchased some elaborately carved balustrades for his house.

Tasteful and decorative, yes they are; but a closer inspection reveals liquor bottles, hearts, diamonds, clubs, and spades carved into the woodwork. These shapes served as a subtle hint to those in the know that liquor and card games could be found in the club behind the main property.

The balustrades still exist, as you can see, and the Speakeasy Inn is now a Key West landmark. It is one of the only buildings in Key West with a basement – which, of course, was used for hiding liquor. But the booze doesn’t need to be hidden anymore, and neither does the bar, which has moved to the front of the building and is now known as the Rum Bar.

This refurbished building truly feels like an old but well-maintained home. Small and cozy, its creaky hardwood flooring, wooden walls, and crown molding make for a comfortable, intimate atmosphere (though I suppose the bras in Captain Tony’s evoked a sort of intimacy in their own right). There’s an L-shaped bar with about 11 seats, and a few tables in the corners. Windows on all sides of the room let in ample sunlight, further contrasting the Rum Bar with some of the darker dives we’d been inhabiting up until that point.

It was fairly early on Saturday (“early” being a relative term at this point) when I stopped in with Andrew and Paul. The Rum Bar is, unsurprisingly, known for its expansive selection of rums, which find their way into some of the best drinks on the island thanks to the cocktail sage behind the bar – “Bahama” Bob Leonard.

I’d first heard about Bob from my brother, who makes the occasional trip to Key West even when he’s not having a bachelor party (ah, the benefits of living in South Florida). Andrew would often tell me about the great drinks he was having at the Rum Bar, urged me to follow Bob’s blog, and even sent me an autographed copy of Bob’s book of cocktail recipes and island tales (autographed by Bob, not by Andrew).

So here I was, at long last, face to face with the man, the myth, the mixologist, Bahama Bob…and I suddenly realized I needed to order something. So of course I was like….”ohhh, uhhhh, I don’t know…rum and Coke maybe?” Thankfully Paul stepped in and recommended I try one of Bob’s many specialties – the Papa Dobles. Also known as the Hemingway Daiquiri, the Papa Dobles is made to the late author’s specifications – no sugar and double the rum (hence the name, which roughly translates to “Papa’s double”). Hemingway liked his drinks strong and not too sweet, and this mix of white rum, grapefruit juice, lime juice, and Luxardo maraschino liqueur was almost like a dry daiquiri. The grapefruit added a pleasant sour essence.

With that we settled in for a round of classic island drinks. Now let’s face it – there are few scenarios in which you can order a Pina Colada at a bachelor party without enduring some heavy taunts from the rest of the group; fortunately, drinking at a rum bar in Key West is one of them. Paul took advantage of the setting and began with an exceptional Pina Colada.

Andrew went with another regional favorite in the Rum Runner. A mix of light rum, dark rum, banana, blackberry, and fruit juices, it was strong and bursting with flavor.

Next up for me was the Pain Killer – Pusser’s rum, cream of coconut, orange juice, and pineapple juice. Pusser’s rum differs from most other rums in that it’s distilled in a wooden pot still instead of a metal one, with no flavoring agents or sugars added after distillation. Rich and dark, it made for a strong, naturally sweet cocktail with a distinct rum flavor that didn’t get buried beneath the juices.

As much as we were enjoying our drinks, it was Andrew’s next choice that demonstrated what a unique place the Rum Bar can be to drink. The “Bark” and Stormy is a variation of the well-known Dark and Stormy, swapping out dark rum with something called “Bahama Bob’s Bark Juice.”

Intrigued, I had a sip of Andrew’s drink. Yes, it was reminiscent of a Dark and Stormy, but the mysterious bark juice gave it a smoother, more vibrant freshness.

The bark juice is Bob’s own innovation, and as the name suggests, it involves tree bark. In short, Bob takes different types of bark from all around the Caribbean – Key West (of course), Barbados, Antigua, St. Lucia, the Virgin Islands, and more – and infuses them with white wine and honey. After a couple of weeks he strains the mixture and adds 151-proof rum, letting the barks soak for a few more weeks.

The resulting elixir is positively exquisite. I quaffed down a generous shot, expecting the familiar burn that accompanies any straight alcohol. But this was smooth as silk – not bite whatsoever. The earthy, woodsy, herby freshness made me wish I had sipped it slowly to savor the spirit as well as the moment.

In addition to being a highly skilled mixologist, Bob is quite the genial character. As he whipped up complex cocktails for an ever-expanding crowd, he regaled us with stories about his drinks, his travels, and the island he calls home, never missing a beat or anybody’s order.

Eventually the rest of our group started trickling in, and we began discussing our next move. I opted for one more round, knowing that my chances of finding cocktails this good anywhere else on our journey were pretty slim. My final choice was the Goombay Smash – a potent mix of light rum, coconut rum, peach schnapps, orange juice, and pineapple juice.

Strong and fruity, with a prominent peach flavor, it was a satisfying conclusion to my long-awaited visit to the Rum Bar and set the tone for the rest of the day.

Which included a rum-induced nap.

Last Call

No, I didn’t make it to the Ernest Hemingway Home and Museum. Nor did I witness one of the island’s majestic sunset celebrations in Mallory Square. I didn’t smoke a cigar, eat Cuban food, or get a picture of myself at the concrete buoy marking the southernmost point in the continental United States. Not that I feel like I missed out; I just have a lot of reasons to go back.

Besides – who among a group of 14 dudes in various states of inebriation and rowdiness is going to say “Hey guys, let’s go watch the sunset!”

Local attractions or no, I definitely soaked up the Key West drinking experience. I’m sorry I don’t have a full report on bars like the Lazy Gecko (known as the nation’s southernmost Red Sox bar), Irish Kevin’s, the Green Parrot, or anywhere else we stumbled into. They all have their own style and character, but the scene is similar to what I described at Captain Tony’s – a laid-back vibe, live music, cheap drinks and lots of happy people throwing them back.

At the risk of unfairly painting all those bars with one brush stroke, I’d say they’re more about quantity than quality when it comes to drinks. Almost everywhere you look, you’ll see happy hour specials, cheap beer in plastic cups, and very basic, island-themed mixed drinks. There’s nothing wrong with a $6 cup of some brightly colored, cloyingly sweet concoction, but they can be hit or miss.

I'm pretty sure this "Mai Tai" was mostly grenadine with a splash of rum. Still, I drank it.

Fortunately, quality drinks are available if you know where to look. The Rum Bar certainly isn’t the only place where you can get expertly crafted cocktails, but with “bark juice” and a slew of house-made syrups, you’re getting original creations that you won’t find anywhere else on the island.

So whether it’s a quiet afternoon of craft cocktails with Bahama Bob or a booze-fueled Duval Street bar crawl – or both – there’s more than one way to enjoy yourself in Key West.

Finally, I’d like to congratulate my brother, who gets married next month, and Paul, who gets hitched in February.

They orchestrated an incredible weekend for 14 people, and in the haze of it all, it was sometimes easy to forget that they were the guests of honor.

Then again, on a weekend like this, it was easy to forget a lot of things.

Captain Tony’s Saloon: 428 Greene Street, Key West, Florida

Website: http://www.capttonyssaloon.com/

The Rum Bar at the Speakeasy Inn: 1117 Duval Street, Key West, Florida

Website: http://www.speakeasyinn.com/

Bahama Bob’s Rumstyles:http://bahamabobsrumstyles.blogspot.com/

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August 30, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants

Centre Street Sanctuary

August 30, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants

[Note: I'm sorry to say that Centre Street Sanctuary has closed its doors. I'm even more sorry to say that I never made it back for their brunch, which sounded incredible.] Adam Rutstein is grinning, and it’s understandable why. Emerging from the Centre Street Sanctuary’s kitchen on a recent Saturday morning, he’s been testing an updated version of one of the signature items on the brunch menu – the Elvis. The grilled peanut butter, bacon, and banana sandwich already sounds decadently delicious, but Rutstein isn’t entirely satisfied. “We use Teddie peanut butter, and it’s a little dry,” he explains, “so we added bourbon maple vanilla syrup.”

Syrup is only the latest in a long line of creative solutions Rutstein has employed in making his unique bar a reality. Wanting to open a restaurant in Jamaica Plain focused on small-plate comfort food, Rutstein shopped around for properties and found an affordable option in an unlikely spot – the former rectory of the Blessed Sacrament Church, which closed its doors in the mid-2000s.

A church rectory might not be the most conventional of settings for a bar and restaurant, but a good deal is a good deal. And instead of distancing his new venture from the building’s previous function, Rutstein doubled down – he decided to outfit his new bar with reclaimed wood and used furniture from area churches.

So where does one look for used church fixtures? The internet, of course. And in further proof that there’s a market (and a website) for everything, Rutstein found a site called usedpews.org, which connects sellers of used church furniture with prospective buyers (keep this in mind the next time you need an altar for…whatever). Thus began a months-long crusade in which he accumulated pews, stained glass, and a host of other relics from independent sellers throughout the state.

The church pews now serve as benches in the dining area.

Stained glass windows from various local churches flank the bar area. Cabinetry from a church in Charlestown was re-cut and used as shelving in and around the bar.

An old pulpit doubles as the hostess desk.

Only one thing was missing – the bar. And since most churches don’t have bars, finding one that fit the theme wasn’t an option. But in a true case of thinking “outside the box,” Rutstein’s architect spotted a choir box on one of their pilgrimages and said “there’s the bottom of your bar.” With a bit of creative carpentry, it became exactly that.

The wood from the choir box was cut into the bottom portion of the bar, complete with an angular curve that makes for a classic L-shape. For the surface of the bar, they used a couple of 800-pound oak doors found at a lumberyard. The wood was so thick, it had to be cut with a saw normally reserved for slicing cement. Wood leftover from the doors was then used for some of the tables in the bar area.

Although cobbled together from disparate parts, the resulting décor is cohesive, tied together by gleaming hardwood floors and warm, orange-brown walls. It’s an inviting atmosphere; and even though there are no confessionals, you might find yourself opening up after a few strong drinks.

The night before I met with Rutstein, I visited Centre Street Sanctuary with a good-sized crew – my sister Kelly, my cousin Adam and his girlfriend Danielle, and later my other cousin John and his friend Vanessa. We perused the cocktail menu and enjoyed a complimentary bowl of crispy, hand-cut chips.

Centre Street’s drink list is divided into three sections – Sangrias, Drinks, and Martinis and Manhattans. Danielle and Kelly began with two of the sangria options. Danielle’s Nectar of Life was made with white wine, rum, jasmine liqueur, mango puree, orange juice, cranberry juice, and ginger beer. The mango puree stole the show and lent the drink a deep yellow hue.

Kelly’s appropriately named “Short but Sweet” combined port wine, blood orange liqueur, and ginger beer. The port made it a little sweeter than your average sangria, but it was the ginger beer that gave it a truly unusual dimension.

Adam opted for the Mug o’ Grog from the Drinks section – rum, fresh lemon and lime juice, St. Germaine, peach bitters, orange juice, grapefruit juice, and soda water. The citrus components seemed to elevate the already prominent rum flavor, while the St. Germaine softened the drink and lent it a floral essence.

I, of course, headed right for the Martinis and Manhattans and ordered the one with the best moniker – the Drink From the Grave. Presumably named for its blood-like hue, this lugubrious drink was made with Angelica liqueur, Maurin Quina, brandy, triple sec, lemon juice, and bitters. The flavor was deep and complex, with forward notes of cherry and cinnamon from the Maurin and Angelica, respectively.

With the chips long gone and the alcohol gradually making its presence known, we needed a little food while we waited for John and Vanessa. First up was the modestly named “Fries and Gravy.” I say modest because Centre Street should call this what it is – poutine.

Now I don’t use that term lightly or inaccurately, especially given the many poutine imposters served throughout the Boston area. (If someone gives you “poutine” with melted cheese instead of cheese curds, you need to walk away.) But as a veteran of 15 Montreal Jazz Festivals, I feel qualified to call this version authentic. Maybe a strict poutine-ist would quibble with the bacon, but this mix of French fries, brown gravy, cheese curds, and scallions is the real deal. No need to be humble, Centre Street Sanctuary. Your poutine holds its own against the best.

As we devoured the poutine (there, I said it again), we were joined by John and Vanessa. John dove in with the boldly named Drink’s Boss – a mix of amaretto, Kina L’avoin d’or, Cynar, port, cherry bitters, and cola. Led by a powerful punch of amaretto and cherry, it was eerily reminiscent of a Dr. Pepper. A highly potent Dr. Pepper, that is.

Vanessa opted for the Hyde Square Shandy, a seasonally appropriate blend of Sam Summer, lemonade, pomegranate juice, St. Germaine, and grapefruit bitters. Perfect for a summer evening.

Finally, with all of us pew-ed up, it was time for dinner. Centre Street Sanctuary’s food menu features mostly small plates, though there are also steaks and a handful of other entrées, highlighted by a tempting seafood etouffee. Adam and Kelly went the entrée route, with Adam opting for the delicious hand-rolled gnocchi.

Continuing her uneasy truce with seafood, Kelly ordered the fish and chips, which she described as flaky and mild (she meant that as a compliment, though it sounds weak now that I’m writing it).

The rest of us stuck to the small plates. Danielle chose the rather substantial stuffed pepper, filled with quinoa, cheddar, and tomato fondue.

John got three impressive looking sliders, topped with muenster cheese and house-made bacon.

Vanessa got curried mussels, topped with peppers and onions, spiced up with cilantro and coconut milk. A slice of grilled bread on the side added a little crunch.

I went with the duck spring rolls. These were fantastic – crispy on the outside, filled with duck confit, cabbage, onion, and shaved carrot. A spicy Asian BBQ dipping sauce put it over the top.

We wrapped up dinner and ordered another round of drinks. Like Vanessa, Kelly got the Hyde Square Shandy, which was quickly emerging as the hit of the night. Danielle went with the Honey Pot Smash – honey tea bourbon, mint tea simple syrup, lemon juice, and soda water. She found it a little too sweet; no surprise, given her notoriously sour demeanor.

I closed out with the Ward 10 Manhattan – rum, Punt E Mes, simple syrup, chocolate mole bitters, and cherry bitters (they seem uncommonly fond of cherry-infused drinks here). I’d always been curious about rum-based Manhattans, and this was intense and slow-sippin’. While nothing tops a traditional Manhattan for me, I liked this as a change of pace. The chocolate mole bitters worked especially well with the rich sweetness of the rum.

When the check came, I almost expected it to show up on a collection plate. It might have been funny if it had, but one of the things I like about this place is that they don’t beat you over the head with the motif. The focus remains not on the décor but on the food and drink, as it should. I guess even an owner who’s willing to build his own bar out of a choir box knows when something is just good enough.

Closing Hymn

When I think of Jamaica Plain bars, I think small, cozy, and a little quirky. Places like Brandon Behan’s, the Haven, and Tres Gatos come to mind. Even newer entries tend to have a well-worn, neighborhood kind of feel. Centre Street Sanctuary, by contrast, is big, shiny, and new, but owner Adam Rutstein understands the essence of Jamaica Plain establishments. “We just want to be a neighborhood restaurant,” he tells me. “People might look in and think it’s pretentious. It’s not,” he insists. “There’s something on the menu for everybody.”

He’s right. Centre Street Sanctuary feels right at home in JP – good service, good food, and good prices. And any bar with church pews for seating fulfills the quirk quotient.

The drinks were pretty good, though none elicited a Hallelujah chorus. Some of them just had a little too much going on in them. But the Shandy was a favorite among the table, and my Ward 10 Manhattan was complex and intense.

It’s too bad we didn’t avail ourselves of the beer selection, because it’s excellent. There are a dozen draft options, plus many more in bottles, cans, and even “22-Ounce Bombers.” It’s a broad, varied mix of local favorites and microbrews from around the country.

Prices are definitely reasonable. Cocktails ranged from $8 to $10, which is pretty standard. The small plates averaged about $10, and the portions were fairly generous. The entrées were in the $12 to $13 range, which is also not bad.

Oh, and the brunch menu looks fantastic. I don’t typically do brunch reviews (though that’s in the works), but there’s a slew of bloody marys and other tempting brunch cocktails.

Uh, can I get an amen?

Address: 365 Centre Street, Jamaica Plain

Website: http://centrestreetsanctuary.com/

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August 16, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, Somerville

Backbar

August 16, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, Somerville

Sometimes you walk by a bar, peer into its big, picture windows, and think “Oooh, that place looks cool; I should check it out sometime.”

You will never have this experience with Somerville’s Backbar.

Backbar isn’t the sort of establishment one simply happens upon. Even if you’re looking for it, finding Backbar can be a little tricky. You arrive at the address, which is down an alley-like side street in Union Square. The entrance is almost completely unmarked, save for a small, plain sign; if it were any subtler, the owners would have jotted “Backbar” down on a Post-it note and stuck it on the door.

So you spend a minute or two looking around, perplexed, wondering whether you’re in the right place. Finally you pull open the unmarked door, hoping nobody yells “hey dumbass, that’s the service entrance, go around front!”

You then walk down a long, featureless hallway that gives you the impression you’re heading to the HVAC room of an industrial building. At the end of the hallway is a heavy, steel door with a helpfully illuminated “Backbar” sign, so at least you know you’re headed the right way. Still, the door offers no clues as to what lies beyond. Is the place busy? Is it even open? Is it a room full of plumbing and heating equipment?

Rest assured, there is indeed a bar on the other side. But while the interior isn’t nearly as drab as the entrance, it’s not exactly like stepping into Oz, either. Beyond the door is a small, sparsely appointed room with concrete flooring and walls. There’s a small bar with a black surface and eight chairs. Long sectional couches with thin, gray cushions and red pillows surround plain iron tables anchored by blocks of wood.

There are no windows; the only natural light comes in from the glass panels on the ceiling above the bar, and they’re partially painted over. Caged lights hanging from angular metal fixtures add to the industrial effect.

Some cool artwork on the walls and a huge black-and-white mural make the space feel a bit like one of those buildings in South Boston that house art studios.

Honestly, part of me was expecting the owner of the building to storm in, discover that someone had set up a bar in the basement of his property, and say “What the hell is going on in here?”

All told, it’s is a decidedly modest setting for one of the very best cocktail lounges in the Boston area. And whether its minimalism is by design or dictated by the existing space, the scant décor keeps your focus right where it should be – on the drinks.

Backbar’s been concocting some of the finest cocktails in the city since December 2011. I finally got to sample their wares a couple of weeks ago with my sister, Kelly. We arrived early on a Saturday evening, before the small room got packed, and grabbed a couple of seats at the bar. We were treated to a complimentary bowl of Backbar’s signature spicy caramel popcorn, which we promptly devoured while perusing the drink list.

Backbar displays creativity and agility with a cocktail menu that offers modern renderings of lost classics, original creations, and a few rotating specials: a drink of the day, a drink of the week, and a milk punch (!) of the season. And if you’re feeling a little adventurous, there’s the “bartender’s choice” – tell them your spirit and fruit of choice, and they’ll whip up something special just for you.

Our guide for the evening was Joe, a soft-spoken mixologist who, despite making complex drinks for a gradually swelling crowd, managed to find time to explain the composition of each cocktail and offer suggestions if we needed them. Behind him was a collection of potted plants and herbs, from which he’d occasionally pluck leaves for muddling or garnishing drinks. Fresh ingredients are essential to craft cocktails, and it doesn’t get much fresher than that.

Kelly inquired about the drink of the week, which turned out to be something called the Dino’s Downfall. An update of a cocktail known as the Missionary’s Downfall, it was made with pineapple-infused rum, apricot-infused brandy, lime juice, and mint syrup, and gets its “Dino” moniker from the enormous mint leaf used as a garnish. It was a pleasantly fruity drink, tempered by the brandy, with an overall sense of freshness from the mint.

I began with the Barrel-Aged Palmetto. A comparatively simpler drink, Backbar calls this mix of white rum, vermouth, and bitters “a rich, old, rum Manhattan.” Served in a chilled glass, it made for a cool, slow-sippin’ start to the evening.

With Round 1 in the books, Kelly turned next to one of Backbar’s “modern inspirations” – the Pavlovian Response. This mix of Bison Grass vodka, fresh lemon, caraway-infused honey, and muddled Russian sage made for a fresh, herbal cocktail that was most certainly worth drooling over (Pavlov would approve). The caraway contributed an anise-like bitterness that was nicely balanced by the sweet honey. The glass was beautifully garnished with flowers of the Russian sage plant, which added a pleasant, lavender-like aroma.

My next move was the milk punch. Now there’s a good chance you’ve never heard of milk punch before, and an even better chance that you just read those words and said “GROSS” to yourself. I only became aware of it when a mixologist-pal of mine posted a fairly detailed milk punch tutorial on her Instagram account. I’ve been curious about it ever since.

It’s an odd drink, and an old one – there are even recipes proffered by the likes of Ben Franklin. In a nutshell, you make milk punch by heating milk until it curdles and then combining it with liquor and spices; after straining the curds, the resulting mixture barely resembles milk.

While milk punch is enjoying a resurgence among the local cocktail cognoscenti, it’s still a fairly obscure drink…so of course Backbar not only has one on the menu, but even has a rotating milk punch of the season.

Despite all this buildup, I didn’t really love the milk punch. Made with cherry-orange shrubb, bourbon, and lemon juice, it certainly had some bold flavors. But I found it a little too sour for my liking, probably on account of the vinegary shrubb. I’ll give it another shot, though. And since Joe told me the milk punch “of the season” is really more like a milk punch “of the month,” given how quickly they go through the stuff, I’ll soon have another chance.

Now that we were a couple of drinks in, Kelly and I were ready for something a little more substantive than our long-since-exhausted bowl of popcorn. Backbar’s food menu is a lot like the bar’s décor – minimal. No entrees or sandwiches here, just a few snacks, small plates, and some platters, like charcuterie.

The servings are enough to sustain you on your cocktail journey, but they won’t necessarily fill you up. Kelly and I split two small plates. First up was the “Pig & Fig” jam, made with pureed figs and bacon, served with crispy, house-made crackers. The earthy sweetness of the fig paired well with the smoky awesomeness of the bacon, and the seasoned crackers contributed a savory touch.

We followed that with Pork Buns – tender pork belly, topped with daikon slaw (made from a type of Asian radish), wrapped in a soft, doughy, steamed bun. It’s the sort of dish that’s hard to ask for without giggling, but it’s worth it. Sweet, smoky, and spicy, these babies were phenomenal.

Finally it was on to the last round of the evening, and needless to say, we both opted for the bartender’s choice. Joe dutifully inquired about our respective liquors of choice and any types of fruit we favored (or reviled). Kelly expressed a fondness for St. Germaine cocktails, and Joe made her a drink called A Whole New Word – a mix of St. Germaine and jasmine tea-infused gin, served in a chilled glass. (There’s a reason why it was a called Whole New Word instead of Whole New World, but I forget what it was.) Neither Kelly nor I have ever been big fans of tea-infused cocktails; personally, I feel like the tea often dominates the other ingredients. But this was perfectly blended – the tea flavor was delicately balanced with the St. Germaine and the gin.

I told Joe that I’m traditionally a whiskey guy but have been on a rum kick as of late. I didn’t have a strong preference in this case, but I trusted his judgment. He gave it a little thought, cracked some ice, and started mixing and vigorously shaking the mystery ingredients. Then, much to my delight, he retrieved one of the funky ceramic parrots I’d been eyeing all night and presented me with a drink called the Jungle Bird.

This classic Tiki drink combined Jamaican rum, Campari, pineapple juice, lime juice, and sugar. The natural sweetness of the rum and the fruit juices was kept in check by the bitterness of the Campari, making for a refreshing, well-balanced drink. For me, the Jungle Bird was the high point of the night. Then again, anything served in that colorful, bird-shaped cup would have made me pretty happy.

Last Call

As Stephanie Schorow describes in her excellent book Drinking Boston, the local craft cocktail movement didn’t begin in a big, fancy bar in the middle of the city. It started at the now-defunct B-Side Lounge in Cambridge; and before that, in the apartments of a circle of friends who experimented with classic recipes, updated them with the freshest ingredients, and sampled and refined their work until they got it just right.

Nowadays, nearly every bar in the city has a “craft cocktail” menu. And that’s to say nothing of the sleek new cocktail lounges that have opened in recent years, some of which are long on style but short on substance.

In that sense, Backbar recalls those early, formative days of modern craft cocktails, when the whole thing was a smaller, more personal affair. New bars keep increasing in size and grandeur, yet Backbar maintains a humble, unassuming atmosphere. And in an age of relentless marketing and promotion, Backbar is more of a word-of-mouth kind of place. I find this deeply refreshing.

People’s willingness to seek out places like Backbar tells me that whether you run the fanciest bar in Boston or one built in unused basement space, what matters most is the quality of the drinks and the skill of the people making them. There’s no gimmickry here – just an appreciation, shared by staff and discerning patrons, for top-notch, innovative drinks.

Our cocktails were all $10 or $11, which is pretty typical. The Pig & Fig jam was $4, and the Pork Buns (hee hee) were $8; pretty reasonable. You can get a full order of the spicy popcorn for $3 ($8 if you want to add bacon), and the platters, if you’re sharing with a few people, range from $15 to $18. Most enticingly, there are house-made ice cream sandwiches for dessert; regrettably, we passed on those.

Like the ingredients kept behind the bar, the drink list stays very fresh. Even the non-rotating options have changed since I was there, and that was just a couple of weeks ago. But if you have your heart set on drink that isn’t on the list, I’m sure someone can whip it up for you anyway. After all, Backbar is one of those rare establishments where the people behind the bar seem as excited about making cocktails as you are to drink them.

Address: 7 Sanborn Court, Union Square, Somerville

Website: http://backbarunion.com/

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August 6, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, Out of State

One for the Road – The Tobacco Company Restaurant

August 6, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, Out of State

I recently found myself passing through Richmond, Virginia, the day after a family wedding. Locating a bar to write about was the last thing on my mind. It was a hot, humid Sunday afternoon; I was in a car with Melissa and her parents, Clarke and Linda, while her sister Emily and boyfriend Curtis were in another car; and we all had a long drive ahead of us. Plus, the wedding had had an open bar, so…suffice to say, I had no burning desire to seek out more alcohol the very next day.

I did, however, require some lunch, and after a few hours on the road, I was not alone in that. Nobody knew the area all that well, but Curtis mentioned there was a place nearby that had $2 burgers on Sundays. I was on board immediately, though I don’t think the two vegetarians in our crew fully appreciated the merits of this intersection between value and gluttony. Nor do I think the name of the place – the Tobacco Company – instilled a ton of confidence in anybody. I immediately pictured a smoke shop whose owner was enterprising enough to set up a grill out back. But Curtis spoke glowingly of the place, which he knew from having played there with his band. He described it as a refurbished historical building and assured us that it sold food and drink, not cigars and cigarettes, and that those who don’t love burgers would still find something to their liking.

So at 2:45 p.m. we pulled into downtown Richmond, and sure enough, there was no sign of a shack selling cartons of smokes. Quite the opposite, in fact – housed in a classic-looking brick building, the Tobacco Company is a longtime resident of the Shockoe Slip neighborhood. An area rich in Southern history, Shockoe Slip has seen 40 years’ worth of growth and revitalization. As soon as we stepped out of the car, we found plenty to like – historical buildings, a plethora of modern bars and restaurants…everything except the sign on the door at the Tobacco Company, which said it didn’t open until 5:30 on Sundays.

You might say there was a little frustration at this point.

But Curtis poked his head in and emerged a few minutes later with good news – they actually open at 3 – followed by some better news – they were happy to let us in early for a cold drink. Pretty nice, given how hot it was outside.

I was so hungry at this point, I was ready to eat my shirt; picture- and note-taking was still not on the agenda. But I stepped inside and was floored – the beauty, enormity, and historical glamour of the Tobacco Company were positively striking. Dark hardwood floors, stained glass windows, candles set on black tables, and copper and brass fixtures recalled the high style of a day gone by.

It was like walking into a larger-than-life montage of early 20th century Southern hospitality and upper crust distinction – the kind of stately restaurant you’d picture captains of industry dining at.

As its name suggests, the Tobacco Company operates in a building that once served as a tobacco warehouse. There are four stories, including a basement-level club, and each has its own distinct atmosphere. On the main floor is a large, rectangular bar, manned by nattily attired bartenders and surrounded by about 16 old-fashioned barstools. Stained glass lamps hanging above the bar add a touch of old-school class.

But the highlight of the first floor is the seating area in the massive atrium. With a ceiling that must be 50 or 60 feet high, and glass panels that let in natural light, you almost feel like you’re sitting outside. Tall potted trees, colorful flower arrangements, and green plants hanging throughout the atrium add to the “indoor al fresco” effect.

Enclosing the atrium is a wall of exposed brick, reaching all the way up to the glass ceiling and decorated with vintage tobacco ads.

Beyond the brick wall is a Victorian-era cocktail lounge, outfitted with a gas fireplace, more lush plant life, and funky leopard-print couches and chairs.

We took a table in the middle of the first-floor seating area, directly beneath a huge, ornate chandelier. We were greeted by our waitress, Maria, who just charmed us to pieces with her dry humor and what I’d call a charismatic sense of irony. The kitchen wasn’t in full swing yet, but I happily got a beer while I waited. I love trying local beers whenever I’m traveling, and I went with a St. George’s Pilsner, brewed in Hampton, Virginia. Crisp, hoppy, and light, it was perfect for such a steaming hot day.

Clarke wanted me to mention that he got a Bud Light, which I neglected to photograph. Please enjoy this stock photo of a Bud Light. His looked just like it.

We sipped our beers and looked over the menu, which consisted mostly of traditional American fare – burgers and sandwiches, steaks and seafood, and more than a few Southern classics. I gave the options little more than a cursory glance; along with Curtis and Clarke, I was there for the burgers. Now despite my enthusiasm, I kept my expectations in check. As much as I appreciate a burger with a $2 price tag, I figured I’d be getting a quarter-inch patty on a day-old roll, or maybe a slider. But no! These were full-fledged, 8-ounce burgers, which you can customize to your heart’s content by choosing from a broad selection of toppings, ranging from your basic ketchup and mustard to horseradish slaw and roasted red pepper coulis.

The burger itself is pretty straightforward, but I’d consider it merely a canvas for your most daring condiment artistry. I loaded mine up with Cajun horseradish, Swiss cheese, and of course, bacon, and thought it was delicious. Curtis and Clarke seemed pleased with their own creations.

Our orders were split along gender lines – burgers for the guys, and an edamame hummus platter for the ladies. Spiced up with garlic, coriander, cumin, and lemon zest, it made for a refreshing summertime lunch (or so I heard; I was busy inhaling my burger).

Maria, our waitress, passionately implored us to get a side of sweet potato waffle fries, which she swore were the best on the planet. Her plea was heartfelt and sincere, but unnecessary – I love sweet potato fries and probably would have gotten them with my burger anyway (though she may have persuaded Emily, Melissa, and Linda to split an order). Best ever? I can’t say. But they were crispy and satisfying, enhanced by a dash of cinnamon in the recipe.

I followed the pilsner with a Legend Brown Ale. This excellent dark brew was smooth, malty, and full-bodied, and about as local as you can get – the Legend brewery is just a few streets away from the restaurant.

As we rounded out our meal, Maria asked if we were interested in dessert; but she urged us to “search our souls” before answering, and teased that some Key lime pie and a butter cake had already been earmarked for us. We agreed to do a little soul searching as well as some digesting, and Curtis took the opportunity to show me the upper floors in the meantime.

While the main level feels like an upscale but mostly casual barroom, the upper levels are almost exclusively devoted to dining. The second floor looks like where you’d take a date for a nicer dinner; white tablecloths and black furniture contribute to a dignified air.

The black and white theme continues on the third floor, but some zebra-print chairs and another bar keep the mood from getting too serious.

There are also a few tables tucked away in alcoves along the perimeter of the third floor, which is pretty smart – they allow for a more intimate dining experience, even on a crowded night.

Daunted by the prospect of climbing two whole flights of stairs when your table’s ready? No worries – just use the vintage hydraulic elevator. Easily one of the coolest features of the Tobacco Company, riding in this classic caged elevator, with its manual door and brass parts, made me feel like I was in a fancy hotel back in the 1920s.

After some sightseeing and soul searching, we decided to close out with some dessert. First up was a big, decadent piece of Key lime pie. The filling was rich and thick, almost the consistency of cheesecake, and it was served in a crust of pecan, gingersnap, graham cracker, and coconut, topped with fresh whipped cream and drizzled with raspberry sauce.

Along with that, we got the Tobacco Company’s signature dessert – butter cake, with fresh whipped cream, strawberries, and chocolate sauce. I’m not sure what exactly constitutes a butter cake (and probably don’t want to), but it was sweet, surprisingly light, and bursting with flavor.

As we enjoyed our desserts, Maria regaled us with the history of the building and its antique touches. She professed herself a “history nerd,” seeming almost apologetic about her enthusiasm. Of course, she was talking to a table full of nerds, so we were enthralled. A few elements of the original tobacco warehouse remain, but most of the accoutrements were bought at auctions around the country to complete the vintage look and feel.

The beautiful exposed brick wall is part of the original masonry from the old warehouse, though the signs and mirrors that adorn it were purchased from antique dealers. The eye-catching chandelier once hung in the Federal Reserve Bank in Cincinnati.

The hostess desk on the main floor had a previous life as a ticket booth in a train station.

The old-school elevator, one of only three remaining in the country, was built for the Con Edison building in New York, though the elevator shaft is a holdover from the warehouse.

I couldn’t possibly jot down everything Maria said; this seems like the kind of place that has a conversation piece in every corner. But the historical flair of the Tobacco Company is reflective of the area as a whole. As Maria told us more about the sights, museums, and history of Shockoe Slip, I found myself wishing we could stay longer to explore the neighborhood. It seemed like it had taken us all day to get there, but when it was time to go, I was sorry to leave.

Last Call, Y'all

I realize this is an unusual post. Ordinarily I’d report on a couple of cocktails and maybe a few more beers. But not everyone was imbibing, which would have left the heavy lifting to me (and getting hammered in front of the in-laws is never prudent).

Honestly, though, this is the kind of place I could just sit in for hours and admire the attention to detail. Someone went to painstaking lengths to create the look and feel of a Victorian-era restaurant, hearkening back to the days when hotels and restaurants were the embodiment of elegance and class, and the tobacco industry was Richmond’s lifeblood (you know, before we realized how horrible it was for us).

It’s still a bar, though, and there’s plenty to enjoy, even if the décor doesn’t do it for you. The draft beer selection is small but well chosen, favoring local brews, and there’s a pretty respectable array of bottled options. I do wish I could have sampled the cocktails. Appropriately, the classics are well represented – Mai Tais, Sidecars, Mint Juleps, and so on. Drinking one of those amid such old-school surroundings would have been pretty cool. Perhaps another time.

Prices don’t seem so bad, at least not for burgers. On Sundays from 3 to 9 p.m. they’re $2 with the purchase of a bar beverage. Many of the toppings are free, but some are an additional cost. Even with a few toppings, my burger came to a modest $6. The edamame hummus was $6.95. My beers were $6 each, which is standard for craft brews (in Boston, anyway). The desserts came with the generous compliments of the Tobacco Company staff.

From what I hear, the place gets packed on weekend nights, when there’s live music on the main floor. As I mentioned, my friend Curtis plays there occasionally, and if you live in Virginia, you should check out his band, the Audio Affair (good band, aside from the drummer). Weekend nights are also when the downstairs “Tobacco Club” is open. I didn’t get a look at it when I was there, but I guess that’s just one more reason to return someday.

Address: 1201 East Cary Street, Richmond, Virginia

Website:http://www.thetobaccocompany.com/

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July 1, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, BBH at Home, Cocktail Recipes

The Lyrical Gangster – A Refreshing Yet Absurdly Named Summer Cocktail

July 1, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, BBH at Home, Cocktail Recipes

Well here we are, just about midway through the year, and I hope 2013 has been treating you well. Sorry if my posts have been a little sporadic as of late. I’ll blame it on the Bruins and their penchant for overtime games. I hope to be returning to the regular Friday posting schedule shortly, and there are some fun bar reviews on the horizon. A couple places in Jamaica Plain have beckoning to me, and I also need to pay a visit to the recently opened, Prohibition-themed Carrie Nation.

You can expect a few new entries in the outdoor seating series, as well.

This week, though, I’ll be making my annual trip to the Montreal Jazz Festival, so…no bar review. But I thought I’d take this time to share a semi-original drink recipe with you. This spiked blackberry sage lemonade is a welcome treat on the hot, humid days and nights we’ve been having, and it’ll go especially well with your Fourth of July celebrations.

Eager as I am to share the recipe, I’m mortified to admit that it’s called the “Lyrical Gangster,” a ridiculous name borrowed from a 90s hip hop song that I take no joy in being associated with. How it got attached to my drink, I’ll explain later in the program. For now, here’s how to make this wonderfully refreshing summertime beverage.

At its core, this drink is a blackberry lemonade. You can find multiple recipes on the web, but the one I use is from http://www.tasteofhome.com/recipes/blackberry-lemonade. My version includes a couple of modifications, including doubling the recipe. I usually make it for a group or a party, and it tends to disappear quickly.

You will need:

8 cups of water, divided.

2 cups of sugar.

2 cups of blackberries.

2 cups of lemon juice – which, as I’ve learned the hard way, is a staggering 12 to 14 lemons.

2 tablespoons of lemon zest.

Fresh sage leaves.

Vodka (or your spirit of choice).

Start with the lemon zest. It’ll take 3 to 4 lemons to yield 2 tablespoons of grated peel. If you have a Microplane grater, this should go pretty quickly.

What never seems to go quickly is squeezing the lemons. I strongly recommend using a citrus squeezer; if you don’t have one, you’re in for a very long afternoon. I did this by hand once before – as in, just squeezing the lemons over a measuring cup – and it’s exhausting. Even with the citrus squeezer, it takes a little while. Be patient; your hard work will pay off.

Once you’ve got those ingredients ready, bring 4 cups of water and the sugar to a boil in a large sauce pan or Dutch oven (hee hee). Let it boil for about 2 minutes, stirring occasionally. Remove from heat. Stir in the lemon juice, zest, and the remaining 4 cups of water. Let it cool for a bit; about 10 minutes.

In a blender, combine 2 cups of your newly made lemon mixture with the blackberries. Cover that bad boy tightly and blend for a minute or so.

Next up, strain the blackberry seeds and discard them. (This is easily the stickiest and messiest part of the process, no matter how you do it; consider yourself warned.) Pour the thick, concentrated, blackberry/lemon combo into a pitcher and add the remaining lemon mixture. Put it in the fridge and let it get nice and cold.

When it’s ready to serve, find yourself a tumbler (though I suppose any type of glass will do). Put a few sage leaves in the bottom and sprinkle with just a dash of sugar.

Gently muddle the leaves with the sugar. (If you don’t have a muddler, don’t worry; the leaves just need to be bruised, and you can do that with the end of a wooden spoon. The sugar provides some coarseness to help release the fragrant oils; you can use a little simple syrup instead, but the drink doesn’t need much in terms of sweetening.) Add ice. Then pour 5 ounces or so of the blackberry lemonade. Add 1.5 ounces of vodka and gently stir.

Voila! The sweetness of the blackberries complements the tartness of the lemon, and the aromatic, earthy sage gently permeates the drink. I think the lemon pulp and zest result in a nice texture, but if you prefer a smoother drinking experience, combine the lemonade and vodka in a shaker and strain it into a glass.

The flavor of the drink is robust even before you add the vodka, which means you can barely even taste the alcohol. That, of course, is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, you can use a cheaper vodka without compromising the flavor of the drink. On the other hand, you might find yourself throwing back more than a few of these before you realize you’re hammered. Which brings me to the story of how this cocktail got stuck with such a stupid name.

I first made this at home a few summers ago; Melissa and Kelly were there, maybe a couple other people too. We were hanging out, enjoying what was then known only as blackberry lemonade with muddled sage and a shot of vodka, and listening to a 90s station that was streaming on Pandora. The drink was a big hit, and after we’d all had a few, we decided it needed a name. So I started throwing around some ideas – really inspiring stuff, like “Blackberry Showers” and “Purple Sunshine” and a few more. Nothing seemed to resonate.

After a few more hours and God knows how many more drinks, I found myself mildly frustrated that everyone was so impressed with my cocktail but didn’t appreciate the brilliance of my proposed names.

And then, it happened. Unfortunately.

The song “Here Comes the Hotstepper,” by the immortal Ini Kamoze, came on the 90s station; laughter, justifiably, ensued. If you’re unfamiliar with the song, do yourself a favor and don’t bother seeking it out (if you do know it, my apologies if I’m getting it stuck in your head). All you need to know is that in it, the singer declares himself to be, among other things, “the lyrical gangster.” It’s a curious boast for an artist whose only hit is lyrically banal and owes its refrain to the 60s song “Land of 1000 Dances.” But I digress. The point is, I held up my drink and jokingly said, “Hey, I should call it the Lyrical Gangster!”

…and of course, it stuck.

I should have known. I could see the vodka clouding everyone’s judgment except mine, the heat of the night scrambling their senses. I tried, desperately, to temper their enthusiasm, quickly suggesting a few other names and saying we’d have to revisit the matter some other time. But in my heart, I knew…my drink was going to be called the f*cking Lyrical Gangster.

I’ll acknowledge it rolls off the tongue more easily than “Blackberry Sage Lemonade With Vodka,” but had I known the name would be inspired by that night’s music, I would have piped up during “Black Hole Sun” or “Santeria,” or maybe a Weezer song. Or better yet, not been playing a 90s station in the first place.

Whatever. I suppose it’s like getting stuck with a funny but unwanted nickname that all your friends delight in using. You can fight it all you want, but they’re still going to use it. I chose to embrace the Lyrical Gangster and count my blessings that “Mambo No. 5” didn’t come on that night.

Back to the drink. While I think regular vodka works best in the Lyrical Gangster, I’m sure you can get some tasty combinations with flavored vodkas. I’ve tried it with vanilla vodka, which isn’t bad, and rum goes nicely as well; but you don’t want anything too strong that will overpower the core components.

It’s also delicious with no alcohol, so if you’re serving it at a party with some younglings or teetotalers, everyone can partake.

It can be a little cumbersome to make...

...but I hope you’ll think it’s worth it.

That’s all for me. I’m headed north to listen to jazz, eat smoked meat and poutine, and give my liver a workout for the ages. I hope everyone has a safe, fun, and happy Fourth of July. And as always, thanks for reading.

Cheers!

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June 26, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, BOSTON

Poe's Kitchen at the Rattlesnake

June 26, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, BOSTON

The reviews were not exactly effusive.

“We prefer the roof deck for drinks and appatizers (sic) when it is open. Otherwise, a typical bar scene.”

“bland mexican food? find it here! great rooftop bar, especially on a cool summer night.”

“Food is ok, drinks are also decent- the roof deck makes this otherwise blah place.”

“Awful. Just plain awful. Fun for a drink.”

“The food is nothing special, but thats (sic) not why you go to Rattlesnake - you go for the drinks and the rooftop bar. So fun in the summertime!”

The above comments, which are a little more than four years old, offer a lukewarm appraisal of what was then known merely as the Rattlesnake Bar and Grill. Opinions of this Boylston Street bar may have varied, but at the time, most people agreed on a few things: it was a fairly unremarkable establishment, greatly enhanced by its having a roof deck; the margaritas were good; and the food certainly was not.

But apparently that was enough. I don’t know how many slicker, trendier bars have opened and subsequently closed their doors since the Rattlesnake slithered into town in 1990, but 23 years in business represents some impressive longevity. Not bad for such a “blah” bar.

Maybe the salient point here is that a roof deck and a liquor license will get you far in this town, especially with an address in one of Boston’s most heavily trafficked areas. The Rattlesnake probably could have maintained the status quo indefinitely – with a rooftop bar, potent margaritas, and a decent beer list, who cares whether the food is any good? That’s what makes January 2009 such a fascinating point in the Rattlesnake’s history. It was then that this fairly unremarkable bar made a fairly remarkable move – hiring a renowned chef.

As the story goes, the Rattlesnake’s owner ran into Brian Poe, then the Executive Chef and Director of Food and Beverage at Millennium Boston Hotel, and asked for his help in recruiting someone to give the maligned food menu an overhaul. Fresh off a culinary vision quest across South America in 2008, Poe picked the best man for the job – himself. He kept the Rattlesnake’s Southwestern cuisine theme intact, but infused it with Latin American flair, amid a host of other creative twists. Adios, grocery store quesadillas and nachos made with Cheez Whiz; hola, duck tacos and grilled cornbread.

The kitchen was rebranded as Poe’s Kitchen at the Rattlesnake, and the bar itself became something that its naysayers and even its most loyal customers wouldn’t have expected – a genuine destination for food.

Although the menu got an upgrade, the rest of the Rattlesnake maintains much of its pre-Poe identity. With its aging façade and plain interior, it’s not as fashionable as some of its Back Bay neighbors, nor ironic enough to attract hipsters. The downstairs area oozes early-90s charm, with a green and white tile floor and a blue-tiled wall, strung with lights, behind the bar.

There’s a long bar with about 12 seats, along with plenty of tables and booths. Large chalkboards herald the dinner and beer specials. The layout and décor might be very simple, but it’s a good-size space that can accommodate a crowd.

Now while the Rattlesnake may be famous for its margaritas, its beer list is pretty solid too. (I’ve been here a few times over the past several months, so bear with me if the beer list or food menu has changed.) The 16 beers on draft include the usual suspects, like Guinness, Sam Adams, and Harpoon, along with some rotating drafts like Lagunitas and Left Hand Brewing Company. On one of my visits a few months back, I was intrigued by the three taps devoted to Stone Brewing Company, each of which was marked with a date – 08/08/08, 09/09/09, and 11/11/11.

It was part of Stone’s Vertical Epic Ale series, a project that began in 2001, in which the company released a different Belgian-style beer every year – one year and one month from the previous release. The first beer was released on 02/02/02, the last on 12/12/12. As I have an entirely unwarranted belief that 11 is a lucky number for me, I went with the 11/11/11.

Intense and malty, with a 9.5% ABV, this bad boy had me reeling. Food was most definitely in order.

I wish I’d spent more time at the Rattlesnake back in the day so I could fully appreciate the transformation of the menu. Regardless, one look at the fusion of Latin American, Mexican, and Southwestern flavors will tell you the food is anything but ordinary. Appetizers like calamari are livened up with a dusting of chili powder, guaymas sauce, corn puree, and cilantro puree. Then there’s the taco menu, where you can get spicy cubano tacos (spicy being an understatement, take my word for it), or antelope tacos, made with duck fat infused ground antelope, topped with jalapeno bacon ranch.

Antelope may not be your typical taco filler, but if you’re familiar with Brian Poe’s post-Rattlesnake project, the Tip Tap Room, you know the man a fondness for unconventional meats. So I was pleasantly unsurprised to see that one of the Rattlesnake’s signature entrées is the wild boar burrito – chili-braised boar, Oaxaca cheese, IPA-infused refried beans, green chili puree, verde rice, boar bacon, and plantain salsa.

The result was phenomenal. And I especially appreciate that it isn’t merely a novelty item – simply using boar meat in an entrée would be enough for people to try it, out of sheer curiosity. But this went much further; the other ingredients were thoughtfully chosen, and they combined to create a unique burrito that burst with flavor. The boar bacon contributed a crispy texture, and even the flour tortilla was baked, giving the exterior a nice crunch.

I returned a month or so later, because I would be remiss if I wrote about the Rattlesnake without trying their margaritas. With a house-made mix and a plethora of tequilas to choose from, this is the drink that Rattlesnake made its name on. It’s also the only bar I know of that reportedly makes you sign a waiver if you’re daring enough to try their Ghost Chili Challenge margarita – its central ingredient being a tequila infused with the infamous ghost chili, one of the hottest peppers on the planet. As your faithful bar correspondent, I realize I should have gotten this and reported back on it. But I’ve never much loved spicy drinks, and I wasn’t paying $16 just so I could drink half of it and then spend the rest of the night praying for death.

So I kept it simple and started with the house margarita. It was pretty standard, but satisfying. It strikes me as a recipe that hasn’t changed at all – and probably doesn’t have to.

Next up was the Bostonian Margarita, made with Espolon Silver, Citronage, agave nectar, and fresh lime juice, topped with a prosecco float. This one had a slightly spicy kick, balanced nicely by the sweetness of the agave. The prosecco added complexity and gave it more texture than your average margarita.

For dinner I went with that evening’s special – crispy fried chicken skins with mango mojo and spicy guacamole. If you’re anything like me, you just read that and saw “crispy fried chicken,” then started wondering what “mango mojo” was, and then got excited about the spicy guacamole – skipping right over “skins.”

They were exactly what the name said they were – as in, roasted chicken skin, breaded and deep fried.

You know what? Hats off to whoever came up with this, whether it was Brian Poe himself or someone in his employ. Clever and absolutely delicious. It may not have been the healthiest thing I’ve consumed all year, but it was totally among the most delicious. If you’d put another plate of them in front of me when I was done, I’d have devoured them all over again, right before my heart stopped.

This particular visit to the Rattlesnake took place week or so after the Boston Marathon bombing. Thus, it was with mixed feelings that I closed out with a limited edition “26.2,” brewed by Sam Adams in advance of the marathon.

This “gose” beer was refreshing and citrusy, and probably the sort of thing you’d appreciate after running a marathon. But there was a certain wistfulness in drinking a beer that was made in anticipation of Boston’s signature event, with all the expectancy of it being a glorious day, only to have it end in tragedy. On that note, though, I recently read a story about some loyal patrons who were evacuated from the Rattlesnake when the bombs went off, but came back when it reopened a few days later to pay their tabs. Just another reminder that the good people in this world far outnumber the bad.

I wrote a piece about the Rattlesnake’s roof deck last summer, so I won’t focus too much on it here. Still, it warrants a mention.

One of the only rooftop bars in the Back Bay, the Rattlesnake roof deck draws a strong after-work crowd and can fill up quickly on the weekends. In addition to about 15 tables, the roof deck has its own bar, which makes it ideal for an outdoor drink when you’ve been cooped up in the office all day. The beer selection is not nearly as expansive as it is downstairs, but I suppose drinking on a roof deck in the summer calls for something fruity and refreshing, like a glass of sangria or the Thai mojito, made with coconut rum, lemongrass syrup, and muddled lime.

The atmosphere on the rooftop is just as casual and laid-back as it is downstairs. It’s been spruced up a bit and gotten a paint job in recent years, but for the most part, it’s the same basic, unadorned roof deck it always was. But that’s one thing about the Rattlesnake that probably never has to change. In a city that endures some pretty rough winters, it’s hard to improve upon the simple act of enjoying a drink in the warm weather.

Last Call

In the wake of such dramatic upheaval in the kitchen, it’s interesting to note what didn’t change at the Rattlesnake. Namely, everything else. A new chef and a bold, innovative menu could have brought a jarring new attitude, an entirely different look and feel. Instead, the Rattlesnake retains much of the identity that preceded the extreme makeover of its menu.

It lacks the snazzy décor of newer cocktail bars, with their modern style or their throwback themes. But the margaritas have survived martinis and mojitos and will probably make it through the craft cocktail phase unscathed. The roof deck will forever be a draw.

The enhanced menu may have resulted in some enhanced prices, but they aren’t exorbitant (especially for good food in the Back Bay). My wild boar burrito was $15.75, which makes it the most expensive burrito I’ve ever had – yet also the only one made with boar meat. Beers are about $6.50, and margaritas range from $8 to $12, or $16 if you think you’re up to the Ghost Chili Challenge.

Back in the day, the Rattlesnake Bar and Grill was a fun place to end your night. That hasn’t changed. But with one of the more creative and satisfying menus in the area, Poe’s Kitchen at the Rattlesnake is also a good place to start your evening.

Address: 384 Boylston Street, Boston

Website:http://www.rattlesnakebar.com/

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June 9, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, BOSTON

Hops N Scotch

June 9, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, BOSTON

Hops N Scotch – the name is at once playful and pragmatic. Despite the nod to a children’s playground game, the emphasis at this Coolidge Corner bar is on a decidedly more mature diversion – specifically, 40 draft beers and 100+ varieties of Scotch, whiskey, and bourbon.

Hops N Scotch opened last summer in the space vacated by Finale. Darren Tow and David Ng, owners of the adjacent Coolidge Corner Wine & Spirits, converted the former desserterie into a two-floor beer and whiskey bar with a menu featuring Southern-style comfort food.

As is befitting for a bar that holds beer and Scotch in equal reverence, the décor at Hops N Scotch is a blend of upscale sophistication and laid-back coziness.The gold-painted walls, black ceiling, and track lighting above the bar give it a modern look, while exposed beams, hardwood flooring, and a couple of TVs keep the atmosphere fairly casual. Large windows look out onto the street, and there are a handful of tables downstairs for dining.

But the highlight is the long, angular bar, with a dark wooden top, 15 comfortable leather chairs, and eye-pleasing views of the beer taps and the impressive whiskey selection.

My first visit to Hops N Scotch came about a month ago, with Melissa and our friends Dave and Christine. I arrived at about 5:15 on a Friday and found the bar nearly full, though it wouldn’t get really crowded for another 45 minutes or so. Torn between starting with beer or whiskey, I opted for a compromise – the bar’s namesake cocktail, the Hops N Scotch.

A mix of Dewar’s whisky, IPA, grapefruit juice, ginger, and bitters, this is the kind of drink that’ll wake you up if you need a boost. It was bitter at first but mellowed out midway through.

As I sipped it, a couple of other customers and I watched with rapt attention as the bartender/manager, Adrienne, pulled out an ice ball machine and put on ice-ball-making clinic. We were transfixed as she put large blocks of ice into the machine and then, with a wave of her hand and a few words uttered in a strange but hauntingly beautiful language, extracted a perfect sphere of frozen water. This led to an engaging discussion about various methods of making crystal clear ice balls (and cubes). OK, I guess you had to be there.

Anyway, Melissa arrived next and ordered a Mint Julep, which was appropriate given that the Kentucky Derby was the following day. No, it didn’t come in the iconic pewter cup, but it was loaded with ice, crushed by ice priestess Adrienne herself. It was refreshing, with prominent flavors of bitters and mint.

Wanting a sweet contrast to the biting tones of my first drink, my next choice was one I don’t ordinarily see outside of Asian restaurants – a Mai Tai. “That’s one of our favorites,” Adrienne told me, explaining that they’d added it to their repertoire about a month ago, when they changed the cocktail menu and needed a rum drink.

Tropical and not overly sweet, this was an exceptional Mai Tai. What really set it apart was orgeat, an almond syrup used in the original Mai Tai recipe but seldom employed today.

Melissa and I ordered up a couple of appetizers while we waited for Christine and Dave, beginning with fried pickles. As opposed to the typical sliced rounds, they came in the form of spears, kind of like fries. Mel boldly declared them to be the best ever.

To that we added some delicious crab cake sliders, an order endorsed by bartender Adrienne. Her opinion carries some weight here, since she hails from the Chesapeake Bay region and insists on Hops N Scotch getting “the good stuff” when ordering their lump crab. Served with a spicy remoulade sauce, these bad boys made for a satisfying pre-dinner treat.

With that it was time to begin the hops portion of the evening. Like any bar that takes its beer seriously and expects that you do the same, Hops N Scotch offers a few well-crafted beer flights. This is especially helpful when you’re staring down 40 draft options (to say nothing of the additional 40 or so in bottles) and feeling indecisive. There are several prearranged flight options, delineated by theme. We settled on the “Wicked Dahk” flight – Unita Baba (a black lager), Left Hand Milk Stout, Mayflower Porter, and Lost Abbey Serpent’s Stout.

This was a good mix of dark beers – the sour essence of the black lager, the creamy milk stout, the rich porter, and the thick, malty Serpent’s Stout.

Dave and Christine arrived shortly thereafter, and we were shown to a table upstairs. The second floor at Hops N Scotch is a good-size dining room with 16 to 18 tables, surrounded by big windows offering a lovely view of the city through the trees.

Dave, a whiskey connoisseur with an enviable personal collection at home, ordered the first Scotch of the evening – an Auchentoshan 12-year, a single malt from the Scottish Lowlands. He said it had a subtle, delicate flavor, lighter and fruitier than most single malts.

Christine opted for the Bitter End, a mix of bourbon, Campari, bitters, and ginger beer. I thought the Campari and ginger beer would make for an intense flavor combination, but the drink was very well blended.

Melissa ordered that night’s drink special, the Boston Strong. The proceeds of this tangy blueberry lemonade went to the One Fund, benefiting victims of the marathon bombing; its blue and yellow hues were meant to echo the familiar colors of the Boston Marathon. And who doesn’t like drinking for a good cause?

Dinner began with a few appetizers. First up were light and savory Caprese skewers, with mozzarella, grape tomato, basil, and a balsamic reduction.

Next was the house-made beer bread – griddled bread made with Allagash White and served with a zesty pimento cheese.

Hops N Scotch’s dinner menu is stocked with comfort food, highlighted by some Southern classics like a catfish po’boy and shrimp etouffee. We started with an order of mac & cheese for the table. It was creamy and rich, with a little crispiness thanks to the breadcrumb topping.

Dave ordered the shroom burger, topped with sautéed Miatake mushrooms.

Christine got the grilled chicken club sandwich, topped with bacon and a tasty rosemary mayo.

While Dave and Christine both liked their sandwiches, it was the accompanying French fries that seemed to steal the show. “Any French fry that still has the skin on it is f*cking awesome,” Dave sagely observed. So say we all.

Melissa got the roasted beet salad; given my loathing of beets, I will say no more about this.

The catfish po’boy had my name written all over it, but since I’d been snacking all night, I continued with a couple of small plates. First up was an item I’d picked out long before I even walked in that night – Scotch eggs.

I’ve been in love with these heavenly things since I first tried them at the Haven, and Hops N Scotch’s “Southern” version did not disappoint. A soft-boiled egg encased in house-made chorizo, battered and fried, and served with a bourbon mustard dipping sauce…phenomenal.

Equally irresistible were the pecan-stuffed dates wrapped with bacon. I had a similar version of these last year at Orinoco. Already packed with flavor, a drizzle of maple syrup put them over the top.

For dessert, Melissa and Christine split a chocolate chip brownie sundae. Topped with fresh strawberries and butterscotch, with vanilla ice cream oozing down the sides, Christine pronounced it “top of the line.”

The brownie looked pretty decadent, but Dave and I had other plans – a whiskey flight. As with the beer flights, Hops N Scotch offers a variety of whiskey flights. Some are devoted to single malts, others to blends; I think they shuffle the arrangements periodically. Dave and I split the Global Passion Whiskey Flight, so called because it featured selections from around the globe. Our selections were Hibiki, a 12-year blend from Japan; Reisetbauer, a single malt from Austria; Virginia Highland Single Malt (USA! USA!); and Amrut Fusion, an Indian single malt.

The samples made their way around the table, and the consensus was that the Virginia whiskey was the best. Dave thought the Indian one tasted like feet. Maybe that’s what prompted him to close things out with he affectionately referred to as “old reliable” – Johnny Walker Black, on the rocks. Even among such an expansive selection, sometimes nothing beats a classic.

While Dave closed out his night with Scotch, I figured I’d go back to hops.

But when my Troegs Sunshine Pils arrived, the waitress brought with it a most intriguing message – my beer had been paid for by an anonymous friend of BBH. I scanned the restaurant for a familiar face or a guilty look, but came up empty. With a little sleuthing, I eventually narrowed my list of suspects to one – Liv, of Liv.Love.Blog. She won’t own up to it (and I’m not even sure her name is Liv, which should tell you something about my sleuthing skills). But I was very thankful, and that was a pretty cool way to end the night.

Last Call

There are plenty of bars with impressive selections of both beer and whiskey. Five Horses comes to mind. Often, though, the emphasis is on the beer, and the whiskey seems to be there for a small subset of discerning customers. Hops N Scotch does a good job of putting both on an equal footing. The result is a casual atmosphere for drinkers with sophisticated taste – or for those who are looking to broaden their palate. The well-chosen beer and whiskey flights give novices a chance to become acquainted with different styles while offering microbrew or Scotch lovers the chance to compare.

Prices are pretty standard. Our cocktails were all $10, most beers were around $6. The “Snacks” and “Small Plates,” which I thought offered the most variety of the menu, ranged from $6 for our beer bread to $14 for the crab cake sliders. The sandwiches were $12 to $13.

Whether you’re there for beer, whiskey, or both, it’s always a pleasure when the person pouring your drink is friendly and able to tell you something about what you’re drinking. Whether the subject was the proper composition of a Mai Tai or the finer points of ice making, Adrienne was chatty and offered good suggestions all evening. Similarly, I stopped in on a Sunday afternoon to get a few more pictures, and the bartender, Matt, was quick to tell me about a few beers they’d just tapped. At his recommendation, I ordered a Jack’s Abby Smoked Maple Lager, made with maple syrup from Vermont. Good stuff, and not nearly as sweet as you’d expect, given that it’s made with real maple syrup.

That’s two visits and two solid experiences at the bar. And that’s pretty important – because you can have all the beers and whiskies in the world, but it’s the people behind the bar who tend to make it a good or bad place to drink at.

Address: 1306 Beacon Street, Brookline

Website:http://www.hopsnscotchbar.com/

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May 31, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, CAMBRIDGE, Events

Dueling With an Ancient Spirit – Licor 43

May 31, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, CAMBRIDGE, Events

Every classic cocktail has an origin story. There’s the yarn about Winston Churchill’s mother commissioning the recipe for what would become the Manhattan. There are competing tales about the first Sidecar. Here in Boston, the Ward 8 is thought to have emerged from a particular episode of 19th century backroom politics. Seldom do these stories hold up under scrutiny. Most have benefited from decades’ worth of boozy embellishment and exaggeration, while others are complete fabrications. Even the most plausible should be taken with the proverbial grain of salt.

That’s what happens when a cocktail that was first made a century ago survives through modern times. The older the drink, the taller the tale. But unless you have a great grandfather who claims to have mixed up the first Singapore Sling, historical accuracy isn’t all that important. Colorful legends behind a drink’s conception add a little depth and character, but mostly serve as trivia to share with someone over a potent, well-made beverage.

That said, few legends of liquor are quite as compelling as the one behind Licor 43.

The story of this Spanish liqueur supposedly begins more than 2,000 years ago. In 209 B.C., the Romans captured the city of Quart Hadas – what we now know to be Cartagena, Spain. Amid their conquest, the invading army happened upon a gold-hued, aromatic liquor infused with local fruits and herbs. Despite taking a quick liking to the liquor, the Romans’ suspicions were aroused by its unique flavor, unknown ingredients, and rumors of its unusual properties; thus, they banned its production.

Unsurprisingly, the locals kept making the stuff anyway, but in secret; even less surprisingly, the Romans became increasingly enamored of it, and its popularity grew – if somewhat discreetly – among the Roman elite. They called it Licor Mirabilis – the “marvelous liqueur” – and eventually had it exported to other Mediterranean cities.

The recipe remained a tightly held secret that was passed down through many generations until 1924, when it was purchased by a Spanish family with the surname “Zamora.” They eventually rechristened the spirit “Cuarenta Y Tres,” or Licor 43. The name derives from the number of ingredients that constitute the liqueur, and apparently only three people – from three generations of the Zamora family – currently know the recipe.

Maybe you’re captivated by the story, or perhaps you’re more inclined to raise an eyebrow at historical plot holes being glossed over for the purposes of a modern marketing campaign. But again, the accuracy of a back story is much less important than the quality of its subject. And Licor 43, with its rich, amber hue, warm vanilla essence, and surprising notes of citrus, is worthy of a tale or two.

Licor 43 is still made in Cartagena today, and while the Zamora family doesn’t want anyone to know what’s in their product, they’d be appreciative if more people knew about their product. “Never heard of it” is the response I get whenever I mention this stuff to someone. Our ignorance is understandable; while the liqueur is not new to the U.S., the vast majority of its sales have historically been in Europe, with a particular concentration in Spain (obviously) and Germany. What’s more, the flavor profile of Licor 43 was thought to be challenging to mix with other ingredients; so even in bars that carried it, the bottles tended to collect dust on a back shelf.

All of that’s changing. Sales of Licor 43 are growing all over the world, with a landmark 500,000 cases being moved in 2011 (just to put the global market in perspective, Captain Morgan sold 10 million cases last year). And in 2012, the Zamora family partnered with W.J. Deutsch to improve distribution in the U.S. – where, as you might have noticed, specialty cocktails have become all the rage.

So how do you spread the word about an ancient liqueur that’s been shunned or forgotten by most bartenders? Easy. Gather up six of Boston’s top mixologists, give them some Licor 43, and ask them to do what they do best – create drinks. Oh, and just to make things…interesting? Put a little money on it.

That’s exactly what went down at the “Tonight’s Secret Ingredient” bartender contest, a cocktail death match hosted by Moksa Restaurant in Cambridge. The rules were simple – come up with a drink that incorporates Licor 43, submit it for the appraisal of the judging panel, and make a bunch of samples for a small but thirsty crowd of spectators. Winners get cash prizes and local bragging rights. Losers get their drinks thrown in their faces by disgusted judges and suffer the scathing taunts of their peers.

Before the throwdown got under way, attendees were treated to passed hors d’oeuvres and a couple of Licor 43-based drinks. First up was the Mini Beer – 1.5 ounces of Licor 43 in the world’s smallest beer stein, topped with a splash of heavy cream to mimic a foamy head. The result looks exactly as its name would imply – like a mini beer – but any similarity ended there. The sweetness and texture of the cream were perfectly suited to the vanilla flavor of the liqueur, making for a small but decadent liquid appetizer.

That was followed by the Key Lime Pie Martini, the name of which gave me a shivery flashback to the plague of pseudo-martinis that we had to endure a few years ago (I’m getting nauseous just thinking about the tiramisu martini I once sampled). It’s exactly the sort of drink I’d never order, let alone trumpet on my website, so I’m glad it was free – because it was sinfully good. The flavor was so eerily similar to actual key lime pie that I assumed there must be some hideous, bright green, chemically induced additive, but no. The drink was a fairly basic mix of Licor 43, vodka, half and half, and lime juice. I still can’t imagine asking a bartender for this, but if someone were to purchase one on my behalf, you know…I suppose I’d be OK with it.

As the crowd’s anticipation and inebriation swelled, the master of ceremonies announced that the contest was finally about to begin. The judges, Fred Yarm (author of Drink & Tell: A Boston Cocktail Book), Heather Kleinman (Executive Editor of DrinkSpirits.com), and Jerry Knight (Director of Marketing at Deutsch Family Wine & Spirits), took their places at a table on the stage. Their dour expressions cast a pall over the room; I would not want to be the bartender who served them an inferior drink.

The champions, meanwhile, were split into three groups of two opponents each – in other words, three mano a mano duels for the right to advance to the finals. The first two combatants paced anxiously behind the bar, each guarding their ingredients like a tiger protecting her young.

The first contestant was Taso Papatsoris from Casa B in Somerville. His drink, called Jardin Dorado, combined Licor 43 with gin, a Spanish sherry, Angostura bitters, and pimento bitters. It was a splendid cocktail. The gin provided a dry backdrop for the vanilla and citrus of the Licor 43 and the nutty flavor of the sherry. Garnished with an orchid, this may have been the most beautifully presented of all the evening’s drinks.

On the other end of the bar was Jason Kilgore of Catalyst in Cambridge. Whereas Taso’s drink had a light, floral essence, Jason’s “Three of a Perfect Pair” was heavier and more intense. This one mixed Licor 43 with gin, rye whiskey, freshly made rhubarb syrup, lemon juice, and a barspoon of Fernet Branca. I thought whiskey and gin sounded like a fearsome combo, but the vanilla notes softened the flavor, and the rhubarb syrup contributed an earthy sweetness.

Each bartender approached the stage and made his case to the judges, who sampled the concoctions and took some notes. And with that, Round 1 was officially in the books. Round 2 pitted Amber Schumaker, from Eastern Standard, against Oronde Popplewell, defending his home turf of Moksa.

As if the evening’s stakes weren’t high enough already, Amber had the added challenge of filling in at the last minute for Eastern Standard’s Kevin Martin. Though she was working with someone else’s recipe and had little time to prepare for battle, Amber rose to the occasion with the Verano Deseen – Licor 43, lime juice, Amaro Nonino, rye whiskey, and Regan’s orange bitters. The flavor of the rye and the sweetness of the Licor 43 were up front in this one. Beyond that, the Amaro gave the drink even more depth, while the lime and orange flavors ensured that the Verano Deseen lived up to its name – it translates to “Summer Wish.”

I asked Amber why she chose rye over bourbon, and she met my query with a stony glare. “You don’t bring a knife to a gunfight, son,” she growled.

Her opponent, Oronde, whipped up one of the stranger-looking cocktails of the evening. The Straw Ox combined Cachaça, Licor 43, strawberry vinegar, lemon juice, and simple syrup, and was topped with “Licor 43 Foam,” which looked like a glob of Cool Whip. I moved in to ask what it was, but Oronde’s eyes told me not to even bother.

With its pale violet glow and cryptic garnish, the cocktail was as intriguing in appearance as it was in taste, though there was a mild sourness that I didn’t care for.

As Amber and Oronde appealed to the judges, the Round 3 champions moved into place. Josh Taylor of West Bridge (which sounds like a town, or maybe a specialty furniture store, but is actually a cool-looking restaurant in Cambridge) created the aptly named Backyard Cocktail, a summery mix of Licor 43, rhubarb shrub, fresh strawberry and lime juices, and club soda.

Sam Gabrielli of Russell House Tavern countered with 43 Elephants, a drink that mixed Licor 43 with Amarula, Fernet Branca, an egg white, and Angostura bitters. If Josh’s Backyard Cocktail captured the flavors of summer, Sam’s evoked more of a wintry mood. Amarula, an African cream liqueur with hints of caramel, matched well with the vanilla notes in the Licor 43, and the egg white further enhanced the drink’s creamy texture.

Six up, six down; now it was up to the judges to decide who would continue in the tournament. Music played, guests mingled, and more Licor 43 Mini Beers and Key Lime Pie Martinis got passed around.

The frivolity of the crowd was in stark contrast to the savagery on the other side of the bar – jittery contestants snarling at one another, heaving appalling insults, and hurling accusations of ingredient tampering. Clearly, these people didn’t like each other.

Suddenly a hush fell over the room as the judges delivered their verdict – Sam Gabrielli, Oronde Popplewell, and Josh Taylor would advance to the finals, while the bell tolled for Taso, Amber, and Jason. The crowd erupted, a mix of delighted applause and hateful jeers. Before returning to the bar to make their drinks one more time, the three remaining warriors solemnly raised barspoons to their vanquished foes – a time-honored gesture of respect among those in the cocktail trade.

As the now restive crowd settled in for another grueling wait, the mood turned dark. Alliances shifted among the spectators, and loyalties were openly questioned. A woman approached me and asked if I was “Team Josh, Team Oronde, or Team Sam.” I laughed. She didn’t.

Whispered accusations of intimidation and bribery caused some to question the honor of the finalists. “The guy from Catalyst got screwed!” yelled the guy from Catalyst. The smoldering look on Amber’s face made me wonder whether her earlier knife/gunfight remark was a metaphor or a warning.

As the simmering hostility approached a full, violent boil, the microphone crackled with the voice of the emcee – the judges were ready to crown a winner.

Silence descended again upon the expectant crowd, punctuated occasionally by isolated gasps and muttered prayers. The bell tolled first for Sam, who ushered his 43 Elephants back to Russell House Tavern. It rang again for Moksa’s Oronde and his Straw Ox. That left Josh Taylor of West Bridge to raise his Backyard Cocktail in triumph amid a deafening ovation.

Josh’s victory was richly deserved. He got a handsome cash prize while those of us in attendance were treated to another round of his award-winning cocktail. And while all the drinks were impressive, I’d have to concur with the judges – this was the drink of the night. The vanilla of the Licor 43 paired beautifully with the strawberry juice, while the rhubarb shrub kept it from being overly sweet. The lime juice further brought out the citrus notes of the Licor 43, and the club soda introduced just the right amount of dryness. Positively refreshing, and ideal for a backyard barbecue on a hot summer day.

Victory belonged to Josh, but the night belonged to Licor 43. Whether this very old spirit will become the latest thing, I don’t know. Nor can I say whether its fascinating origin story is true (but if there really are only three people who know the recipe, I hope at least one of them has the good sense to jot it down at some point). But even if its history has merged with legend, the liqueur’s quality requires no exaggeration.

Nor does an event like this – even though I may have added a few teensy-weensy embellishments in my retelling. In truth, the night had the tone of a friendly competition, and not a drop of blood was spilled (that I know of). Personally, I was thrilled to have the opportunity to watch six cocktail experts at work. It was especially instructive to see the similarities and differences in how they approached a given ingredient, and each cocktail was distinct in its composition and presentation.

If you want to try your hand at making the winning drink, the recipe follows.

The Backyard Cocktail, crafted by Josh Taylor of West Bridge in Cambridge

1 1⁄2 oz Licor 43

3⁄4 oz Rhubarb Shrub

1⁄2 oz Fresh Strawberry Juice

1⁄2 oz Fresh Lime Juice

Club Soda

Combine the Licor 43, rhubarb shrub, strawberry juice, and lime juice and shake lightly. Strain into a highball glass over ice. Top with club soda and serve with a straw.

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May 22, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, Out of State

One for the Road – The Birch Bar

May 22, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, Out of State

When it comes to availability of craft beer, we here in Boston are absolutely, positively, 100% spoiled. Sunset Grill & Tap. The Publick House. Meadhall. Stoddard’s. Five Horses. Bukowski’s. Lord Hobo. Park. Their beer selections are phenomenal, and usually, the people pouring them know their stuff, too. And this is but a small sample – in nearly every corner of this city and its neighboring towns, you can find a bar with dozens of microbrews on draft, usually accompanied by extensive bottled and canned options. Local and regional breweries, large and small, are well represented, while beers from all over the country and around the world are shipped in every day. Whether your taste for craft beer is casual, evolving, or so advanced that you can justify paying $30 for a 16-ounce bottle of some obscure Belgian ale, this city’s got you covered.

Boston is only one among many great beer cities in the United States. Portland, Maine, is rich in local microbreweries. I remember seeing endless beer options on a trip to Seattle, Washington, a few years back. Denver, Colorado, and Portland, Oregon, are considered craft brew meccas. And that’s only naming a few; there are hundreds of cities in this country where you can find bars with rich, expansive beer selections.

Now, there probably aren’t many beer aficionados who have Norfolk, Virginia, penciled in on their list of drinking destinations. But what it lacks in renown, it makes up for in promise – craft beer in the Hampton Roads region has seen a surge in both popularity availability over the past several years. The O’Connor Brewing Company churns out hearty microbrews, the 12th Annual Virginia Beer Festival took place last weekend, and local bars continue to expand their craft beer selections. And no bar better epitomizes this growth than Norfolk’s Birch Bar.

Housed in a former industrial building, with a retractable garage door still intact, the Birch isn’t the only place in Norfolk with a great beer selection. But there are few if any other bars in the area that display such single-minded devotion to craft beer. There are 21 rotating options on draft, dozens more on a weekly bottle list, and not much else.

No live music, no cocktails, and very little food. No TV. No neon signs or colorful posters. Within its Spartan interior, the only thing likely to catch your eye is the large chalkboard on the wall that lists the Birch’s draft beers and their vital stats – the brewery, name of the beer, style, origin, price, and alcohol by volume. This is beer with no distractions.

I was recently in Norfolk for my sister-in-law’s graduation from nursing school. Melissa and I met up with our friend Chris and his buddy Matt for an evening at the Birch. It was a warm Virginia night, perfect for sitting at one of the three small picnic tables out front.

The Birch’s beer list is largely influenced by European beer styles, though their brews change so frequently, the selection is always diverse. I consulted the big chalkboard of drafts and began with a Maui Coconut Porter.

I’ll order just about anything with the word “coconut” in it, but I’m reasonably sure this is the first time I’ve seen it associated with a beer. The coconut flavor was pretty subtle, contributing a faint sweetness, and the beer itself was smooth and creamy.

Melissa took the suggestion of our server – we relied on her advice for much of the night – and ordered the Carnegie Porter from the bottle list. A very malty Baltic porter, it had an unexpected molasses-type sweetness and hints of chocolate.

We were fortunate to be there on a Friday, because that’s when the Birch does beer and cheese pairings. It’s a novel idea; one normally considers wine to be cheese’s customary drinking partner. But a well-made beer can be every bit as distinguished as a fine wine, and properly pairing one with the right food demonstrates appreciation as well as knowledge. There were a few different combinations, and Chris went with the Contreras Valeir Extra beer, a Belgian style pale ale, accompanied by Bellavitano Balsamic cheese.

As the menu teased, “the Balsamic enhances the syrupy candy flavors and starts to form gummy bears in your mouth.” If that isn’t a persuasive argument for ordering beer and cheese, I don’t know what is.

Mel followed Chris’s lead and got the Piccolo Chiostro, a Belgian-style golden ale made in Italy and brewed with wormwood leaves (normally associated with absinthe and hallucinations), served with Saint Nectaire, a French cheese “with hints of hay and fresh milk.” A sucker for anything hay-flavored, Melissa couldn’t resist.

If beer isn’t your thing (and I don’t know why you’d come here if that were the case), or you’re simply looking to mix things up, Birch does offer a couple of alternatives – most notably, a rotating selection of ciders and meads.

Matt was intrigued by the mead, and at first, we tried to get him to order the habanero chili mead. (Why anyone would choose to infuse a sweet honey wine with the heat of a chili pepper is beyond me.) But then the waitress told us there was a mead called Viking’s Blood, and the die was cast. “Sweeter than I’d expect Viking’s blood to taste,” Matt noted, diplomatically.

I was curious about the ciders and chose an organic champagne cider made by Etienne-Dupont. This was the only clunker of the night. “Champagne” had me looking for bubbles, of which there were none, and the flavor was kind of sour.

I quickly switched back to beer with a Duck-Rabbit Wee Heavy Scotch Ale. Brewed in North Carolina, it was big and potent, with a nutty, bready flavor and a somewhat earthy mouthfeel.

The Birch does make a few concessions to those who prefer beers that are not quite so complex. Listed as “Hipster Beer” on the menu, Cisco Sankaty Light comes in a can and represents a lower-cost, plainer option.

If you’re expecting a hearty meal to soak up those high ABV beers, you’re out of luck – the most substantial thing on the menu is grilled cheese. Yes, that may be the simplest meal you might make for yourself at home, particularly if you’re returning from a long night of beer consumption. But whereas you might make grilled cheese with a few Kraft singles that have been in your fridge for…a while, the Birch makes theirs with cheeses such as fontina and manchego, incorporating ingredients like dried currants and prosciutto. Chris opted a sandwich called the Oarsman, made with Hook’s 3-year cheddar, house cheddar, and a pickle.

Beyond grilled cheese, the options are pretty much limited to a soft pretzel, popcorn, chips, nuts, and a snack mix. It’s an amusingly sparse menu, but I suppose that helps keep the spotlight on the beer.

Blessed as we were with a beautiful night for enjoying good beer in the fresh air, we moved inside for one last round. With its scuffed-up concrete floor, lights hanging from the ceiling, and a floor lamp here and there, the Birch’s interior kind of looks like a basement. There’s a 16-seat, L-shaped bar and nine tables with wooden captain’s chairs. A wall behind the bar neatly houses the beer taps.

I closed out with a Sculpin American IPA from Ballast Point Brewing Company. Very hoppy, but with nicely balanced flavors; I detected grapefruit or some other citrus flavor.

Matt’s final beer was Firestone Walker’s Wookey Jack, an American black ale. The roasted malt flavor was offset with a surprising hint of citrus.

Mel and Chris both ended the night with a Schneider Hefeweizen.

Despite it being a Friday night, the bar never seemed to get too packed. It certainly wasn’t dead, but I don’t think there were more than 15 or 20 people there at a time. That might be due in part to the Birch’s location, which is a little off the beaten path. With few bars in the immediate vicinity, this isn’t the kind of place you stumble into and out of a few beers later. Beer lovers seek this place out, and once they get here, they stay.

That all contributed to a quiet, laid-back atmosphere, which is good – beers like this call for conversation, and it helps when you don’t have to shout to be heard above TVs or crowd noise. Even the music was at the ideal volume, and it was awesome stuff; like listening to the iPod of a friend who has really good taste and is into a lot of bands you’ve never heard of.

My visit to the Birch was exceptional. But if I have one regret, it’s that I didn’t have an opportunity to talk with the owners, Ben and Malia. A young married couple who grew up in Virginia Beach and opened the bar in January 2011, their passion is obvious, and their enthusiasm, infectious. All night I saw them chatting with customers, dispensing beer advice, and fielding compliments and suggestions. They seemed friendly, down to earth, and happy to have customers who share their appreciation for craft brews. In other words, exactly the kind of people you’d want to share one with.

Last Call

Everything about the Birch Bar is devoted to the beer-drinking experience. No frills, no bells and whistles. Just a simple environment for enjoying some very complex brews.

The beer list is an achievement unto itself, but I wouldn’t measure the selection merely in terms of quantity; it feels like each beer is chosen by people who clearly know and love what they’re doing.

Not that you need to be a serious beer drinker to have a good time here. Everyone who helped us spoke knowledgeably about each beer, and they can steer you in the right direction if you’re unsure of what to choose.

Prices are certainly better than what I’m used to in Boston, though I don’t know how they compare to other Norfolk bars. Most of the drafts ranged from $3 to $9, depending on the beer type and glass size. The bottle and can list was more varied, with specialty brews as expensive as $35 and cans of Sankaty Light for only $3. Snacks are all $3 and $4, and grilled cheese ranged from $6 to $9. The beer and cheese pairings were $5 and $6.

While the Birch looks and feels like a fairly modest neighborhood tavern, its reputation continues to grow beyond its West Ghent location – RateBeer.com called it one of the 50 best beer bars in the world in 2012. Not too shabby. Ben and Malia should be proud of the bar they built, just as Norfolk should be proud to be home to a bona fide destination for beer lovers.

Address: 1231 W. Olney Road, Norfolk, Virginia

Website:http://www.thebirchbar.com/

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May 10, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, BOSTON

Sidebar

May 10, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Bars and Restaurants, BOSTON

Graduating college and getting a job. For most of us, it’s an inevitable rite of passage. It’s a fun time, an exciting time; but more than anything, it’s a period of transition. You might find yourself working in the city, adapting to the rigors and routines of a 9 to 5 job and the responsibilities of forging through life on your own. You’ve got new friends, coworkers, and a wealth of opportunities ahead.

You’ve also got a city’s worth of exciting bars to explore. The thing is, just because you swapped your faded jeans and t-shirt for some more professional-looking duds doesn’t mean you’ve fully adopted new drinking habits. You’ve only recently emerged from a world of Rolling Rock, keg stands, and Jello shots. A cocktail to you is rum and Coke, with a lime on special occasions. You might even think white zinfandel is a drinkable wine.

So yes, you might look the part of a young business professional, but when you’re meeting friends after work, places like TRADE or Scholars aren’t quite your scene just yet. Plus, you don’t have mom and dad to bail you out anymore when funds are low. Welcome to Sidebar.

A Boston dive bar that straddles the border of the downtown area and the Financial District, Sidebar also sits at the junction between your college mindset and your evolving identity as a responsible, gainfully employed adult. It has all the trappings of the typical city dive bar – no-frills attitude and décor, a couple of arcade games, and most importantly, cheap beer – yet its location draws a hearty after-work crowd from the countless businesses in the area.

So when the clock strikes 5, you tend to see a lot of people with their suit coat in one hand and a $2 Bud Light in the other.

Sidebar has two separate rooms, each with a markedly different feel, but united by the rust-colored tile floor that seems to come standard in a Boston dive bar. One side is your standard, straightforward barroom – a long, 20-seat bar in a narrow, dimly lit room, with about five tables and a couple of booths.

Some of the walls have exposed brick, others are coated with fading blue paint and years’ worth of scuff marks. Neon signs, Guinness mirrors, and posters provide a little ambience.

The other side reminds me of an on-campus college bar or the common room of a frat house. It’s a big, open room with wood-paneled walls, maybe 10 tables and booths, and a small bar. Video games like Big Buck Safari and Golden Tee, along with a booming jukebox, tend to make this the more boisterous of the two sides.

Sidebar’s always been an occasional destination for me. The location can’t be beat; it’s close to my office and on the way to the T, so it’s a trusty spot for an after-work beverage. I stopped in a few weeks back to meet my friend John, of Brew Dudes fame. I took a seat on the quieter of the two sides and enjoyed a Jameson on the rocks while I waited for him, watching as the bar almost completely filled up by 5:15.

When John arrived, we grabbed a wobbly table and began discussing beer options. Sidebar’s draft selection is pretty average – Sam Adams, Blue Moon, Guinness, Red Hook, that sort of thing. But it’s the $7 pitchers of Bud Light that have helped this place build such a devoted following. There are bars nearby where you can spend $7 for a single beer, let alone a pitcher. I would have gotten one – it’s sort of obligatory here – but John is an aficionado of microbrews and a producer of excellent homebrew; I couldn’t in good conscience ask him to go for BL. We went with Sam Adams Alpine Spring instead.

That led to a lengthy discussion about how disappointed we were that Sam Adams began selling their “spring” beer in January. Last I checked, January is the dead of winter. It’s bad enough that stores put up Christmas displays in September; must we rush everything? Couldn’t we have enjoyed some strong winter ale during the winter? Adding insult to injury, Boston Beer Company founder Jim Koch, in response to widespread criticism of Sam’s season-skipping, cheerily offered a flaccid defense of the decision by saying that they released the beer early because New Englanders tend to look forward to the end of winter. Huh? Yes, in the winter, most of us do indeed yearn for warmer weather; but drinking a spring beer in January does not cause snow to melt and flowers to bloom. I’d drink Red Stripe year-round if I thought it would result in a Caribbean climate in New England. Sam Summer’s out now; grab yourself a pint before June, when I’m sure they’ll start selling Octoberfest.

<End Rant>

Anyway, the Alpine Spring was good. The wobbliness of our table put the pitcher at constant risk for spilling in catastrophic fashion, but that just added an element of adventure to the evening.

While Sidebar is already somewhat unusual in that it draws such a predominantly white-collar crowd, it further distinguishes itself from some of the area’s other lovable dives by virtue of the fact that it offers food. And the menu is surprisingly extensive, with broad selections of sandwiches, pizzas, wraps, salads, a few house specialties, and more. Maybe that doesn’t sound like anything extraordinary; but at bars like Beacon Hill Pub and Sullivan’s Tap, the only edible goods tend to come from a vending machine. One doesn’t go to a place like this and expect to see a variety of, say, panini sandwiches, but there they are – meatball panini, veggie panini, roast turkey panini, and so on. John opted for the chicken pesto panini, topped with provolone cheese.

The list of burgers features an astounding 15 options, with a tempting-sounding teriyaki burger and a deep-fried burger topped with bacon, BBQ sauce, and cheese, which may well have been worth the few months it would take off my life had I ordered it. I settled on the blackened bleu burger, coated in Cajun spice and topped with blue cheese. It was a pretty good burger! Nothing outstanding, but definitely satisfying.

John and I hung out for a while after dinner. The post-work crowd thinned out after 7 or so, making it a pretty mellow environment for killing time, chewing the fat, and watching whatever games were on one of the five TVs. We discussed the Sox, the merits and drawbacks of Led Zeppelin’s “Presence” album, and the emergence of excellent craft hard ciders, like those made by Downeast and Bantam. Since we were on the subject, I got an Angry Orchard to close out the night.

I would call it more of a hard apple juice. The fact that you can see right through it in this picture might tell you something.

Since no review of Sidebar would be complete without a trip to its other side, I returned a week or so later and settled in with a Narragansett. If the more conventional side of Sidebar is where you meet a friend for a drink, the second side is where you head with a group.

Whenever I walk into this half of the Sidebar, I feel like I’m arriving at a party that’s been going on for about 9 hours. There are tables with empty or half-filled beer pitchers, a few guys taking down some wild game on Big Buck Safari, sports on all six of the TVs, and something always blaring out of the jukebox. When I was there last, there was music coming from the jukebox and the bar at the same time. Nobody seemed to notice.

This side of Sidebar might be louder and have more of a late-night party feel, but it has the same casual, come-as-you-are atmosphere as the quieter side. It recalls visions of crowding around a table with good friends and bad beer, laughing the night away. Maybe that’s a chapter of your life that closed long ago. But I think it’s the kind of thing you never get too old for.

Last Call

It might be as laid-back a bar as there is in Boston, and that’s a good thing. Sidebar is right smack dab in the middle of one of the busiest sections of the city – exactly the kind of area that needs a cozy, comfortable dive bar.

And I do this place a disservice if I characterize it solely as a hangout for people in their 20s who haven’t outgrown their college days. Sidebar draws a diverse clientele, from professionals to Suffolk Law students to anyone who enjoys the merits of affordable food and drink. One gets the sense that all are welcome here.

The $7 Bud Light pitchers are the best value, but not the only good deal. If you don’t need a pitcher, a Bud Light draft will run you $2. My Narragansett was $3.

Prices for other beers and drinks are fairly standard. Our pitcher of Sam Adams “winter is coming” Alpine Spring was $18, and my Jameson was $6. Other draft beers are about $5, which is pretty good.

The food is reasonably priced, though it’s higher than what is currently displayed on Sidebar’s website. John’s panini and my burger were each just under $10. Not exactly a steal, but since sandwiches and burgers in the area are starting to average around $12 (which blows), it’s still one of the better deals around.

If you’re looking for eclectic beer selections and craft cocktails, there is no shortage of bars serving them downtown and near the Financial District. The area is home to some of Boston’s most popular bars, like Stoddard’sand JM Curley. Sidebar, meanwhile, is comparatively modest; it almost blends into the other storefronts along Bromfield Street. It’s a low-cost alternative that isn’t as shiny and trendy as some of its neighbors, but there’s much to be said for pitchers of beer and a good jukebox. Because while the popularity of microbrews and artisanal drinks will ebb and flow, the simplicity of a comfortable bar with cheap beer will never go out of fashion.

Address: 14 Bromfield Street, Boston

Website:http://www.sidebarboston.com/

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April 30, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Other Stuff, The Burbs

From Watertown With Love

April 30, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Other Stuff, The Burbs

“What’s your favorite bar?” It’s a question I get often, which makes sense; I do, after all, have an entire website devoted to the topic of Boston-area bars. But I always get a little flustered when I try to answer (which, ironically, makes me sound like I know very little about the subject). I try to tell people that I don’t really have a favorite; what I enjoy most is the variety that our fair city offers. I explain to them how the contours of my evening or mood play a key role in determining what bar I’ll go to on a given night (or day). Am I headed out to watch a Bruins game? Am I meeting one of the Brew Dudes for good, complex microbrews? Am I playing pool with a friend? Am I going out with a group? Do I want fancy cocktails? Is it a dive bar kind of night?

Usually people listen, nod along, and then ask “But which one is your favorite?” I sigh, resignedly, and just say Stoddard’s (and why not, it’s awesome).

The thing is, that question always puts me in an awkward spot. My website certainly isn’t the ultimate resource for Boston nightlife (yet), but often enough, someone will tell me they tried a bar based on my recommendation. That makes me feel like I have a certain responsibility to be credible. So when I’m explaining my project to a complete stranger who’s wondering why I’m taking pictures of my drinks, and then they want to know what my favorite bar is, I feel like I should respond with one of Boston’s best. I mean, what am I supposed to say? “Oh, I really love these two townie bars down the street from me”?

That’s the truth, though. As much as I love drinking in pubs with 50+ microbrews on draft and chatting with artists of alcohol who can whip up unique cocktails, my favorites are decidedly unremarkable. They aren’t even in Boston. See, I live in a town just outside the city; perhaps you’ve heard of it…

Yes, that Watertown. We were a quiet, under-the-radar suburb that was close to Boston but without the traffic, congestion, and exorbitant living expenses. We were known for good restaurants and some quirky shops – if we were known at all. I’ve had to describe Watertown’s existence and geography on more than one occasion. That all changed at about midnight on April 19, when the two men suspected of bombing the Boston Marathon sped into Watertown in a stolen car.

It was approximately 1:40 a.m. when Melissa woke me up. I’d slept maybe two hours. “You have to see this,” she said, turning on the TV. All we knew at first was that there was some serious police activity about a mile away and shots had been fired. Soon, though, creepy amateur footage of cops firing their weapons at unseen assailants made it onto the news. Filmed through a window by someone with an iPhone, the video was dark and grainy, but the sounds of the gunshots were clear, unmistakable, and utterly chilling. Reporters soon revealed what we’d all suspected – the marathon bombers were in Watertown.

In the wake of that news came the police instructions, which grew increasingly ominous as the minutes dragged on: Stay in your house. Close the windows. Move to the rear of your home. Do not answer your door.

For hours, the only lights in our house came from the TV and our phones when we’d get a text or check Twitter to see if anyone had any news. The details were sketchy, but eventually we learned that one of the two suspects was dead and the other was at large somewhere in our town. He was considered armed and dangerous; but armed with what, we didn’t know. A gun? Another bomb? A suicide vest?

Morning brought with it a sense of relief; at least sunlight limited the bomber’s ability to hide. But he was still unaccounted for. And thus began a strange, interminably long day marked equally by anxiety and tedium. Like the rest of Boston and the towns surrounding it, we were instructed to “shelter in place” – a term I hope never to hear again that essentially meant we had to stay in our homes. And in the case of Watertown, there was the added precaution of roads being closed. No one drove in, no one drove out.

There was little to do but watch the news. Not that there was much news, mind you; just anchors repeating themselves while interspersing the previous night’s footage with shots of the growing army of Watertown and state police, military personnel, and FBI and ATF agents. Every now and again there’d be a big commotion when a SWAT vehicle drove 50 feet down the road and then parked, or when the governor or police chief would hold a press conference to announce that there was nothing to announce. As the day stretched into the late afternoon, the prohibition on driving meant that Mel wouldn’t be making her scheduled flight out of town to meet a friend, and I wouldn’t be making it to a concert with my friend Mario (who also lives in Watertown).

Our plans scuttled, our patience sorely tested, one thing kept running through my mind – if the Halfway Café is open tonight, I’m making a beeline for it the second they lift this stupid lockdown.

When I first moved to Watertown, the Halfway Café possessed something of a mythic quality. Whenever I told someone where I was living, I’d hear “Oh, have you been to the Halfway Café? I used to love that place.” Despite its legendary status, nothing about my first visit blew me away. It was pretty much your standard pub. There was a dining room and a bar area, the latter of which seemed narrow and felt cramped. The food was pretty good, and it was affordable. The beer selection was average. The best thing about it, from my perspective, was that it was within walking distance of my house.

But as my personal roots in Watertown deepened, the Halfway Café went from being a typical neighborhood bar to a beloved home away from home. It’s where I go after a long day of shoveling snow. It’s where Melissa and I go when we’ve had a tough week or just don’t feel like cooking. It’s where Mario, my sister Kelly, and I have watched countless Sox games and eaten our weight in wings. Mario's wife (and basketball aficionado) Ivys tries to drag me to the Halfway a couple nights a week for whatever hoops game she’s got money on.

It’s the first bar at which I ever considered myself a regular.

Halfway has a fair beer selection, which they’ve expanded since I first started going. Nothing extraordinary, mostly standards like Guinness, Harpoon, and Sam Adams, but it’s nice to find less common options like BBC Steel Rail and Batch 19. I typically start off with something decent – a Guinness in the winter, a Blue Moon or a Sam Summer when it’s warm out – before downshifting to a PBR (at $2, it’s hard to beat).

You could probably eat enough of the complimentary popcorn to have it count as a meal, but I usually order something more sustaining. The menu is mostly your standard pub fare; for me, it nearly always comes down to a choice between a burger and wings. The Halfway’s chicken wings are their bread and butter. I realize that like barbecue food, wings are often the subject of heated debate among aficionados. I don’t know where the Halfway’s wings rank on the regional respect scale, but they’re easily my favorite. It’s a good size portion for $11, but you can get a double portion if that’s the way you roll (and you will roll if you have the double portion all to yourself).

But the burger always gives the wings a run for their money. The burgers themselves are pretty standard, but the toppings can be inventive. Take, for example, the decadent Reuben burger, topped with corned beef, sauerkraut, Russian dressing, and Swiss cheese, served on griddled rye. I mean, they’re essentially taking a burger and topping it with an entire Reuben sandwich for a gastronomically shocking yet satisfying experience. I’d suggest ordering that only on special occasions. My go-to choice is the pub burger, topped with citrus chipotle BBQ sauce, jalapeno bacon, and smoked gouda and cheddar cheese. That’s a whole lotta flavor goin’ on there, and worthwhile at $9.99.

Comforting as my old standbys are, they’re challenged on a monthly basis by the Halfway’s “8 for $8” specials. That’s eight monthly specials for $8 a pop. The specials run the gamut from painfully ordinary to somewhat creative, but either way, it’s a good deal for dinner.

Wings, PBR, and any environment that was not my living room were the very things I was dreaming about when we got the word that the lockdown had been lifted. It was around 6 p.m., and while there was still a madman on the loose, we could finally go outside again. The world hurriedly tried to return to something resembling normal, and the Halfway announced it would open at 8. Melissa and I made plans to meet Mario and Ivys there later, but first things first – we were getting out of the house, at long last, and going for a much-needed walk.

If the bombers were looking to further infuriate the people of the Boston area after Monday’s attack, forcing us to stay inside on the first 75 degree day of the year certainly did the trick. We took a stroll around the neighborhood and saw so many people out of doors, happy to stretch their legs and feel the fresh air.

It turned to be a brief respite. Barely 20 minutes had gone by when helicopters suddenly passed overhead and sirens wailed in the distance. We got home and discovered that the day had taken a dramatic turn – Suspect #2 was holed up in a boat in somebody’s backyard. We reluctantly settled in for another hour or so of must-see TV. Eventually, the 9,000-to-1 man-advantage that law enforcement held proved to be too much for the wounded 19-year-old to overcome. He succumbed to the inevitable and the standoff was over. Cue the Standells’ “Dirty Water.”

In the tense interim, the Halfway decided not to open after all. Fortunately, my other favorite Watertown bar did.

My first impression of Asiana Fusion was, like that of the Halfway Café, underwhelming. I went there a couple of times and it seemed just alright. Then one night, Melissa and I were supposed to meet Mario, Ivys, and Kelly at the Halfway, only to find it too crowded; we went to Asiana instead, and kind of never left.

It’s a quirky place, that Asiana Fusion is. There’s a decent-size dining area with about a dozen tables, but the 12-seat horseshoe bar, with its sleek metal siding, is where you’ll normally find the BBH crew and me. There’s more of a lounge vibe to the place anyway. They’ve got a couple of TVs if you’re there to watch a game, as Mario and I often are. Asiana hosts trivia on Thursdays – behold, the spoils of recent third-place finish by Mario, Ivys, Kelly, and me.

They used to have karaoke nights on the weekend, but I think they dropped that. There’s also a pool table, surrounded by some comfy leather sofas; as far as I know, it’s the only place in Watertown with billiards.

As their helpfully descriptive moniker would imply, Asiana’s menu is a mix of Chinese, Thai, and Japanese cuisine, with some distinctly Americanized touches like steak-and-cheese spring rolls. Bizarrely, they also have a dedicated frozen yogurt station.

But what I most associate Asiana Fusion with is their Mai Tai. A Polynesian-style drink by way of Oakland, California, the Mai Tai is a staple at any Asian restaurant. Its recipe has endured countless variations; the only ingredients on which anyone can agree are rum, pineapple juice, and some sort of orange flavor, either from juice or a liqueur. I’ve had very simple versions as well as inordinately complex renditions; I’d put Asiana’s version somewhere in the middle. Regardless, it’s a sweet, potent cocktail that often comes to mind when I’m slogging through a brutal workweek.

Since it is most unwise to consume Asiana’s Mai Tais on an empty stomach, mine are nearly always accompanied by chicken and shrimp Pad Thai. The regularity with which I order this meal is such that the bartenders don’t even bother giving me a menu anymore. Is it the very best Pad Thai around? Probably not. But I’m enamored of it, and at $9.95, it’s reasonably priced (especially since I usually bring half of it home).

I wish I could tell you more about Asiana’s food, but I rarely venture beyond my typical order. I can vouch for their delicious scallion pancakes. And when I was last there, Kelly ordered General Gau’s chicken, just to lend the post a little culinary variety; she was pretty pleased with it.

Also in the spirit of variety, I asked our regular bartender if there was a drink other than the Mai Tai she’d recommend. She whipped me up something original and off-menu – the Rockstar. A mix of whiskey, Southern Comfort, Chambord, cranberry juice, and Sprite, it was fruity and intense.

There’s a small but decent draft beer selection, including Sam seasonal, Blue Moon, Rapscallion Honey, Baxter Brewing Company’s Stowaway IPA, and Angry Orchard cider. But after a couple of Mai Tais, about all I can handle is a Bud Light – which, at $2.50, is a pretty good deal.

As with the Halfway Café, at some point, Asiana became my local. When I walked in the other night, I wasn’t even in my seat before the bartender said “Hey there…Mai Tai?” We had a similar exchange shortly thereafter about the Pad Thai. I always tell her that one day I’m going to surprise her and order something completely different. It’s an idle threat, though. Further solidifying my predictability is that if I walk in alone, I always get the same question – “Where’s everyone else?” That would be some combination of Mario, Ivys, Kelly, and Melissa. And yes, at least one of them is usually on the way.

So yes, I go to Asiana with the same people, order the same drinks, eat the same food, and see the same bartenders. But that familiarity is what made it such a comforting destination at which to meet Mario and Ivys after such an unusual, tense day. The post-lockdown atmosphere at Asiana wasn’t necessarily celebratory; no USA chants broke out, no one gave a loud toast to law enforcement. I would call it more of a collective sigh of relief. It was the kind of night where you’d laugh a bit and swap stories with people, whether you knew them or not. We’d been through an ordeal, after all, the likes of which we’d never experienced in our hometown.

How appropriate, then, that we’d all gather at the neighborhood bar. From its very earliest incarnation, the public house was often central to its community – it was where people met, exchanged news, and engaged in public forums. We might not think of a bar that way anymore, but when people in Watertown needed to connect after a traumatic day, that’s where a lot of us went. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I didn’t rush out that night because I wanted to get drunk. I simply felt the need to act normal again and be with people who could relate to my experience.

The Halfway and Asiana were the first and only places that came to mind. As I said earlier, on the surface, neither bar is extraordinary. If you lived in Boston, I doubt you’d come out to Watertown to eat and drink at either place. But the value a bar can bring to a community isn’t neatly calculated by how many beers it has on draft or how trendy its drink list is. It’s measured in loud fits of laughter, quiet conversations, and hugging a complete stranger after watching an exhilarating playoff win. It’s measured in the comfort of a familiar environment. It’s measured in catching up with a friendly bartender while sipping a beer and watching TV. My favorite bars might not look like anything special to you, but they mean the world to me.

Likewise, Watertown is a relatively low-key place. We’re unaccustomed to midnight shootouts and national media scrutiny. The police log in the local paper doesn’t exactly read like an episode of Law & Order. But in the face of potential catastrophe, our town exhibited character and strength. Boston underwent a terrible tragedy on Marathon Monday; it affected all of us. We wish it had never happened, and we would have been happy not to have two murderous terrorists set foot in our quiet town. But we answered the call, just the same. And while I’ve only lived here for 5 years, it made me proud to call Watertown my home.

Halfway Café: 394 Main Street, Watertown

http://www.thehalfwaycafe.com/

Asiana Fusion: 1 Waverley Avenue, Watertown

http://www.asianafusion.com/

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April 22, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Other Stuff

Undaunted

April 22, 2013

Matthew Maslin

All Posts, Other Stuff

Figuring out what I was going to write for last week’s post was hard enough, given what transpired on Marathon Monday. I certainly wasn’t going to submit my usual lighthearted bar review. Then all hell broke loose in the wee hours of Friday, and like most of you, I spent the day glued to the TV. Oh, and I live in Watertown, so…suffice to say, military helicopters overhead and gunshots in the distance contributed another layer of anxiety to an already tense day. What follows is an updated version of the piece I’d prepared for last Friday. I’ll have a more Watertown-centric post to share later this week. After that, it’s back to business – which, thanks to the actions of law enforcement and the bravery of so many ordinary citizens, I’ll be able to do.

I’ve never had a job that’s given me Patriots’ Day off. And since I haven’t had many close friends or relatives participate in the Boston Marathon, I’ve never spent the day on the marathon route, watching the runners. Certainly, it’s a fun thing to do; there’s a festive air about the city, and we’re often blessed with a beautiful spring day, which is such a relief after a long winter. But usually I just go to work, listen to the 11 a.m. Red Sox game, and occasionally check Boston.com for any marathon news (which typically isn’t that exciting unless you know someone from, say, Kenya).

That’s where I was and what I was doing this past Monday. I went for a walk at lunch, as I always do, and like everyone else, remarked on how ideal the weather was for the runners. Later that afternoon, I was thrilled by the Sox’ walk-off win over the Rays. That evening, I was planning on having a drink with a friend.

All in all, it was a fairly routine day. Work was busy, so I wasn’t paying much attention to anything outside my office. Nor was I particularly aware of the ambulance sirens; when you work on the same street as Mass General, that’s a sound you become mostly immune to.

I can’t even say any alarm bells went off when I got a text from my friend Christine, who’d heard a report of explosions near the Lenox Hotel and wanted to be sure I was OK. Yes, I was fine. And my initial reaction, like that of many people, was that it was probably an electrical issue or something involving a gas main. An accident. Hopefully nobody was hurt. Plus, Christine is afraid of thunderstorms; her telling me about a loud noise in the city hardly seemed like a cause for panic.

Of course, it was much more than just a loud noise. As details began trickling in, it gradually became apparent that something was wrong. That’s when I realized I’d been hearing sirens for a solid 20 minutes. Boston.com was maddeningly offline, overloaded by a surge of unexpected web traffic. I scrolled through my Twitter feed instead, desperate for scraps of news.

And the news was devastating. The explosions were not accidents – they were bombs. This was deliberate. Observers uploaded pictures taken with their camera phones, and the images were shocking. It was startling to see a place we’re so familiar with, so profoundly transformed. Back Bay buildings we walk past every day were obscured by smoke and dust. People were lying on the ground along Boylston Street. The sidewalks were stained with blood.

Each grim revelation brought with it a heightened sense of anxiety and uncertainty. Suddenly there were reports of suspicious packages all over the city – on footbridges, at Harvard Square, at the JFK library. Should we stay in our buildings? Was it safe to take the subway? Were there more bombs waiting to detonate? There were questions, conflicting reports, and confusion; and in the center of it all, one ugly, disturbing, and unavoidable truth: Boston was under attack.

If you’re a regular visitor to this website, you know to expect a weekly article chronicling my ongoing adventures in Boston-area bars. I hope you’re not disappointed to find something a little different today. I realize there would be some justification for writing my typical entry; there may be no better display of defiance to the perpetrators of terror than to continue going about our daily lives. Truly, though, I couldn’t fathom publishing another post about sitting in a bar and having fun while there are so many people sitting by the hospital bedsides of their husbands, wives, parents, or children, praying for them to wake up.

But since reporting on the bar scene is my raison d’être, I’d like to take this opportunity to acknowledge the important role that so many Boston bars and restaurants played in the aftermath of this horror. Within minutes, they took to their Twitter and Facebook pages and reached out to a reeling community. “Anyone wanting to get out of the Back Bay, come over; plenty of tables and calm here, and don’t worry – you don’t have to buy a thing,” tweeted El Pelon Taqueria; they also offered people cold drinks, bathrooms, and a place to charge their phones. Tasty Burger, Mass Ave Tavern, and many others offered free or discounted food to runners and emergency responders. Sweet Cheeks brought food to the Park Plaza Castle, where runners were trying to reunite with their families.

These are but a few examples, and such generosity didn’t end on Monday or Tuesday. In the days that followed, countless bars and restaurants donated portions of their food sales to victims’ funds. Some began fundraising campaigns or passed on word of other charitable endeavors. Nearly all showed some form of support for a community badly in need of it, even if it was just an encouraging message written in 140 characters or fewer.

Such gestures, great or small, serve to remind us how deeply any local business, a bar in particular, can be woven into the fabric of a community. Such establishments offer more than just beer and cocktails. They give us a place to gather and be together. A place to celebrate the best times, to embrace each other during our darkest hours. In that respect, even the newest, trendiest bars are part of a very old tradition.

As for the bars and restaurants on Boylston Street, they’re gradually beginning to reopen as the scope of the crime scene diminishes. They could use your support, and not just in the form of a good tip. I’m sure they’d be happy just to see a few faces on the opposite side of their bars, given all that’s happened.

Unfortunately, one Back Bay bar that won’t be reopening for some time is Forum. Given its proximity to the finish line, Forum was a popular destination for spectators. That also made it a target – Forum’s outdoor patio was ground zero for the second bomb. Guests and employees alike were seriously hurt in the blast. And now one of the area’s most beautiful bars, open only a year, faces the prospect of rebuilding. I’ve only been to Forum on a couple of occasions, but I count it among my favorites. The people who work there are so friendly and down to earth.

As it turns out, they’re also courageous. Although some of the staff were badly injured, those who were not incapacitated rushed to help guests and people on the street, pulling them inside and tending to them as best they could.

They certainly weren’t alone; bravery and heroism were in abundance on Monday. Boston’s police and firefighters rose to the occasion, as they so often do. Doctors, nurses, EMTs, and other medical personnel worked tirelessly. And there are innumerable stories of ordinary people running toward the danger to pull people out of it. In the face of catastrophe and despair, this may have been Boston’s finest hour.

I know some cynical people who think that when disaster strikes, it’ll be every man for himself. I don’t believe it. All I’ve seen since last Monday is kindness and compassion. From restaurants offering free food, to people on Twitter offering complete strangers a place to stay, it seems like everyone wants to help in any way possible.

That’s what I’ll remember most about these past few days – the love and the sense of closeness. I’ll remember the messages I got from people I’ve not spoken with in years, expressing relief that I was OK. I’ll remember “Sweet Caroline” being played at Yankee Stadium and other MLB parks. I’ll remember the feeling that the whole country and people around the world had our backs.

I’ll also remember the lives we lost: the young woman who used to work at Summer Shack and liked hanging out at Bukowski’s. The graduate student who came to Boston from China to continue her education. The 8-year-old boy who still had his whole life ahead of him. And more recently, a 26-year-old police officer at MIT who died while protecting the rest of us.

As I write this, there’s a sense of relief in the Boston area. One of the terrorists is dead, the other is in police custody. But there are victims still clinging to life. Some are coping with the loss of limbs. Others are recovering from head wounds and any number of life-changing injuries.

All of us, though, are moving forward. We have no other choice.

Without a doubt, the road ahead is more difficult for some of us today. But if the events of the past few days have shown us anything, it’s that there are plenty of people willing to help us along the way. We were attacked, yes; but we were not defeated. And the signs of our collective strength can be found everywhere. Our compassion can be seen in the makeshift memorials along Boylston Street.

Our endurance was on display in that stirring, emotional national anthem sung by 17,000+ people before the Bruins game last Wednesday. Our patriotism will be celebrated on the Esplanade on the 4th of July, when the Boston Pops strike up the opening notes in front of a crowd that will top 500,000.

And our determination, and that of free people everywhere, will be unquestioned next April, when the 118th running of the Boston Marathon will have the highest attendance in history.

Next year, I promise not to be stuck in my office. I won’t be running in the race; I can barely run 26.2 minutes, let alone 26.2 miles. But the least I can do is take the day off and support those who spent months training, raised thousands of dollars to run for a charity, and refused to be intimidated by the cowardly acts of two deranged lunatics.

Finally, the images emerging from Boston this past week have been disheartening. We’ve seen smoke, fire, destruction, blood, military vehicles, and eerily empty streets. I thought we could use a break, so most of the photos in this week’s post are of the city in the best of times. Some I took this past week, others I’ve accumulated over the years. I hope they lifted your spirits a bit. Our city is beautiful; but as we’ve learned over the past week, it’s the people who truly make it strong.

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