As I launch into my 36th year on this planet (don’t even get me started about my lifetimes on other planets), I’d like to take a moment and say thanks for all the great friends I am fortunate to have in my life.  I salute your humor, irreverance, loyalty, wit, charm and passion.  Continue to wave the geek flag high and to be generous with your spirits…Cheers to you all!  

Oh, and I bought myself a few liquid treats to kick off the new year.  Stop by for a dram; I’ll leave the light on for you.

It’s only right that the cocktail world now has one.  This is Shit Bartenders Say:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EB2aVzmPxxM

I’d like to officially welcome these fine specimens into my collection.

But to get away from the booze for a moment, they serve a ridiculously tasty Mac N Cheese that reminded me why this humble dish should never be overlooked as “un-exciting”.  But then again, theirs is done with Pork Belly and Chicharrón, so you know its something special.  (In fact, watching a backwaiter trying to explain to a woman in butchered English that Chicharrón are fried pig skin was a highlight of my meal).

Aficiao
Karlsson’s Vodka, Basil, Passion Fruit, Lemon Juice, Pasteurized Egg Whites, Orange Bitters.  (Made by Miguel Maldonado, house mixologist)

Matador
Heradura Blanco Tequila, Lime Juice, Jalapeno Syrup, Cucumber, Mint.  (By Alex Valencia – Yerba Buena Perry, NY, NY)

Being pregnant sucks.  Well, let me rephrase that…being pregnant is beautiful…but not being able to savor the fine intracies of a well-balanced cocktail blows goats.  But rest assured, ladies-of-the-bump: a good mocktail can satisfy that craving, and not leave you with a sauced fetus.

We recently checked out the new Astoria haunt, The Astor Room.  In a way, that’s the OLD Astoria haunt as this place served as the original commisary for Kaufman-Astoria Studios where, in the 1920′s and 1930′s, hundreds of silent film stars and starlets munched and sipped between takes.  In fact, history seemed to repeat itself, as we sat across from Philip Seymour Hoffman all night.

We asked our crafty barkeep for a mocktail for my very preggers wife.  He produced.  And then some.  It was delicious and, in fact, better than my cocktail.  I could have sworn it had alcohol in it…but that’s not the point.  It was impressive because of its complexity, its balance and its downright tastiness.

I’ve begun mimicking it at home to great success.  Here’s the rough attack plan: in a cocktail shaker filled with ice, add the following:

-3 parts Pomegranate Juice
-2 parts Pineapple Juice
-1 part Lemon Juice
-2 dashes of Orange Bitters

Shake till blue in the face and strain into a chilled martini glass.  You should be left with a nice band of foam across the top that looks like its been shaken with egg white.  Enjoy, ladies, enjoy; you deserve it.  (And back off, Mr. Hoffman, she’s mine).

Pic by Joshua Bright for the article, "Raw Whiskey Finds New Craftsmen and Enthusiasts" NY Times, 5/4/10

I have to admit, I don’t understand white whiskey.  As someone who oversees a bar program, I find myself confused as to how it fits into the mix.  Is it a sipping spirit?  Can it stand on its own?  Or is it simply something bound for a cocktail and that’s the end of it?

To me, white whiskey seems like an incomplete product.  Like a piece of white bread slathered with peanut butter and thrown into a Glad sandwich bag before your mom had time to jelly up the other slice.  You sit down, eagerly open your lunch bag and wonder, “Mom, what the fuck?  Half a sandwich?  And only peanut butter?   What am I supposed to do with this?  Aargh.  Hey, Timmy, you want to swap that celery spear for a peanut butter schmear?  No?!  Well, fuck you too!”

White Dog from House Spirits (pic courtesy of ThereWillBeBourbon.net)

This is strange to me.  Just yesteryear, raw whiskey (also known as “White Whiskey” or “White Dog”) was the hottest new thing the spirits world had seen.  Everywhere it seemed to pop up.  Small-batch distillers like Tuthilltown, Death’s Door, Buffalo Trace and House Spirits all seemed to be rushing to get them on the market.  Robert Simonson even did an ode to them in the NY Times.  It was on.  The fad begins!  Line up, junior, and get your dose of moonshine!

The thing is, though, no one quite knew what to make of it.  It’s basically an unaged Bourbon.  Seeing no oak–or in most cases, something ridiculous like two hours of oaking (some strange governmental requirement)–it is a colorless spirit like gin or vodka.  But on the nose, its something unique.  I’ve tried those that smell of fresh baked corn (Finger Lakes’ Glen Thunder) or like juicy fruit gum (House Spirits’ White Dog).  The thing is, while I can appreciate the cleanness, the pureness, the distiller’s art laid bare, I’m not drawn to them.  Is it just me?  Am I missing something?  There’s something incomplete, like a half-painted portrait that the artist hadn’t quite finished before the finishing bell required he present it to the public.

I’ve seen this confusion play out over the last couple of years.  While there are a number of hardcore spirits geeks out there whose ears perk up when they see you have one on the spirits list, who is ordering this stuff at the bar?  I know if I was offered a Single Malt Scotch, a Small Batch Bourbon, an Aged Rum or a two-ounce pour of raw whiskey, I sure as hell ain’t picking the clear stuff…

I’ve expressed this confusion to my sales reps or the brand ambassadors from the distilleries, themselves.  ”I’m a little confused by it,” I say.  To which they inevitably thrust a page of twenty odd cocktails to be made with it.  But, you mean its only for cocktails?  ”Well, no, but it finds nice expression that way.”  So, its incomplete then?  This doesn’t usually go over well…no salesman or saleswoman wants to be told their wares are incomplete.

So, I remain confused.  I think a spirit should stand on its own.  Sure, you can make a martini or a manhattan with your vodka, gin or whiskey, but essentially, I want to taste that spirit first and foremost.  Is this something we want to, no, yearn to taste on its own?  What am I missing?

First Friday night in the new apartment.  Still surrounded by a sea of boxes but after a long work week and late nights of cobbling together furniture, it’s time to put the dogs up and kick it Repasado style.  ¡Salud!

The “Lux Cider,” by Dean Hurst of Sidebern’s (Tampa, FL)

Yesterday, on a fine November day in Brooklyn— as the temperature soared to nearly 70 degrees and our sun-deprived flesh once again met it’s warm rays— twelve competitors stepped behind the bar of the Clover Club to do battle.

Brandishing their Sherry-filled libation armaments, they let loose for a panel of esteemed judges and a crowd of industry spirit-hounds in a frenzy of jiggering, shaking and stirring.  Culled from dozens of submissions from around the country, these twelve talented mixologists were selected to vie for the title of Winner of the 2011 Vinos de Jerez Cocktail Competition and an all-expense paid trip to Jerez—not to mention, bragging rights for life and a fleet of trucks filled with Spanish olives.

Each bartender was required to present their cocktail to the judging panel then return to the backstage area where they would batch it out for the crowd of onlookers. The panel of esteemed judges was composed of the following:

• Dale DeGroff, King Cocktail/Author
• David Wondrich, Author/Historian
• Julie Reiner, Proprietor, Flatiron Lounge, Lani Kai, Clover Club
• Jacques Bezuidenhout, Winner, 2005 Vinos de Jerez Cocktail Competition
• Andy Seymour, Sherry Ambassador, aka wine geek
• Steven Olson, aka wine geek

These were the valiant warriors who traveled from near and far to present their concoction to the panel…and the world:

• Reza Esmaili, Ananas Consulting, San Francisco, CA – “España en Emerica,” Pedro Ximénez
• Brad Farran, Clover Club, Brooklyn, NY – “Midnight to Six,” Palo Cortado
• Mike Henderson, Colt & Gray, Denver, CO – “The Spaniard,” Fino
• Brendan Dorr, B&O American Brasserie, Baltimore, MD – “The Cádizian,” Oloroso Dulce
• Dean Hurst, Sidebern’s, Tampa, FL – “Lux Cider,” Dry Amontillado
• Ted Kilgore, Taste by Niche, St. Louis, MO – “El Maestro,” Oloroso
• Franky Marshall, Clover Club, Brooklyn, NY – “Mas Que Ayer (More Than Yesterday,)” Dry Amontillado
• Lucas Paya, ThinkFoodGroup (The Bazaar, LA) – “Spanish Golden Ale,” Amontillado
• Stephanie Schneider, Huckleberry Bar, Brooklyn, NY – “Perfect Lepanto,” Moscatel
• Kelley Slagle, Terroir Tribeca, New York, NY – “Cherry Cocktail,” Fino, Amontillado, Palo Cortado, Oloroso & Pedro Ximénez
• Carlo Splendorini, Michael Mina Restaurants, San Francisco, CA – “Ponente,” Oloroso
• Owen Thomson, ThinkFoodGroup (Café Atlantico, DC) – “Highland Games,” Pedro Ximénez

And the gladiator left standing to take home the prize?  Brendan Dorr of B&O American Brasserie in Baltimore, MD. 

Congrats, fine sir, and may the gates of Jerez open for you with the gusto shown only to that of visiting royalty.

Kelley Slagle threads her charm needle through the eye of the judging panel

Vernazza, Italy

Just two weeks ago, I wrote about the mesmerizing hike along the cliff that connects the towns of Monterrosso and Vernazza in Italy’s Cinque Terre.  Yesterday, I froze as I read the disturbing news on Rick Steves’ website about the natural disaster that befell the area last week:

“…with a freakishly intense rainstorm — like a misplaced monsoon — torrents of water funneled from the surrounding mountains into the town carrying rampaging tons of mud and debris. That narrow street became a riverbed again, and Vernazza met a fate almost similar to Pompeii: the entire ground-floor of the town was buried…I get this ghastly feeling that these are photos of a crime scene…and that nature has murdered my friend”.  -Rick Steves

Certainly one of the highlights of our recent European adventure, the five towns of the Cinque Terre are positioned on the precipice of danger.  It’s humanity on the edge; a delicate balance that teeters between man and nature.  It’s what makes the area so unique and so downright, mind-bogglingly beautiful.  I was stunned to see the devastation.

The videos below were shot on the afternoon of October 25th, 2011

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rPtVoqCUDS0

Vehicles being washed out to sea. (59 seconds)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wVtGHvg6X1A

The flood entering Vernazza’s harbor. (44 seconds)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3GgnXMpMZw8

Floods raging through Monterrosso. (17 seconds)

Also below is a snippet from Cultural Comments, a blog written by a local woman who survived the ordeal and posted pictures and tales of her experience.

“And the rain kept coming down…until the unthinkable happened. Around 3pm, the mountain above gave way and like a dirt tsunami, the earth plowed down, sweeping up everything in its path, pushing around the corner in a rush of flowing water, rocks, mud and cars. Smashing into the walls as the road turns and bottlenecks, a house collapsed from the pressure. The flow instantly eliminated the children’s playground before smashing into the bridge of the train station, burying the tracks and filling the second story tunnels with debris. The concrete and iron was no match for the fury of the landslide. It continued on, barreling down Via Roma, engulfing every business along the way, sparing nothing and no one”.   -Nicole

The mud engulfed the entire first floor of the town

Obviously, with a town like Vernazza as secluded as it is, it will be a long while before things return to normal—reports I’ve read are saying that nine people have been killed and that it will be some time before electricity, basic services and train connections are restored.  For everyone that has visited the Cinque Terre, its hard to fathom such a disaster in paradise.  My heart goes out to the people of the region.

It makes one pause to reflect on how quickly nature can reclaim her ground…

Cream of Asparagus soup, Breuckelen Whiskey on the rocks, Anthony Bourdain on the TV.  All served on a Wine Spectator placemat.

Over the course of two hours, I poured eight different hard ciders from around the world and circled back to illustrate how the New York cider producers fit into the cider world at large.

Here’s what we tasted:

1. Warwick Valley Winery, Doc’s Draft Hard Apple Cider, New York (4.5% abv)
2. Sarasola Sydre, Natural Apple Cidre, Basque Region, Spain (6.0% abv)
3. Westons, Stowford Press Export, England (6.0% abv)
4. Etienne Dupont, Cidre Bouché Brut du Normandie, 2009, France (5.0% abv)
5. Farnum Hill, Extra Dry Sparkling, New Hampshire (7.5% abv)
6. J.K.’s Scrumpy, Farmhouse Organic Hard Cider, Michigan (6% abv)
7. Eve’s Cidery, Northern Spy, New York (10% abv)
8. Warwick Valley Winery, Doc’s Draft Framboise, New York (5.5% abv)

I’ve written a few geeky posts on cider in the past, so if you’re so inclined to dig deeper into the apple’s core, check these out:

• “NY Cider Week: Flood the Torpedoes” NY Cork Report (10/11/11)
• “A Cider Laboratory in a Chocolate Factory” (3/2/11)
• “Ciders: How do you Like Them Apples?” (11/6/09)

And for those of you in New York, starting this Sunday, you’re in for a treat.  Throughout the state, you’ll be able to sink your teeth into this awesome (yet oft misunderstood) beverage.  Check out this list for participating bars, restaurants and events.

No worms allowed (seriously)

A view from high up on the trail (all photos by Kat Bryant)

There is a hiking trail that skirts the cliffs between the town of Monterrosso and Vernazza in the Cinque Terre region of Italy’s Ligurian coast.

Taking approximately two hours, its winding path hugs the coast line of the Meditteranean and bobs and weaves through olive groves and steep vineyards. To this day, it is one of the most beautiful hikes I’ve ever taken—and trust me, after growing up in Colorado and being a merit-badge hungry, scarf-wearing Boy Scout, I have done me some hikes. But this post is not about hikes…

My sister did this same hike a few years ago and before I left the country, she told me of her journey. Along the path, she met an old woman who took her into her home, dusted off some quirky glasses and poured some of the wine she had made—from grapes that grew right next to the trail. My sister assigned me the task of having my own brush with a local producer along the trail…which I did.

Hiking? How about a nice shot of booze to keep you going?

As we rounded a wooded corner, I heard the sound of a man shouting in sing-song Italian. It grew louder and louder and we soon found the source of the musical stylings; there he was, with a huge grin on his face, peering out from inside a tiny shack constructed next to the path.

Tucked amongst the overgrowth of the trees and shrubs, he had carved out a little shop of sorts; selling tastes of his wine, cups of fresh-squeezed lemonade, and homemade limoncello. How could I resist this?

While far from an ideal source of nourishment on a long, sweaty hike, I opted for a shot of the limoncello, which I sipped while watching him go about his business.  I began contemplating his tiny spot on this earth, tucked between the brambles.

Insanely steep vineyards worked by hand for centuries

I’m not going to say it was the most delicious limoncello I’ve ever had (quite frankly, its the first time I have ever actually paid for the sweet, syrupy stuff), but it was a metaphor for the culture of the people of Cinque Terre. Through sheer force of will, they have carved out a rough existence amongst the cliffs. Generations of people have come and gone in this area, each one building upon the previous’ blood, sweat and tears.

And while I paused and observed him engaging with the passersby, I felt honored to be sharing a few moments with this jovial, passionate man of the cliffs.  Clumps of tourists move past him each day, blind to his existence, unaware of the ridiculous uniqueness of his wines and liqueurs, but I will never forget him.

And for the rest of my life, when I am offered limoncello, I will drink in his honor.

The parking lot for Riomaggiore

We descended on the house like General Patton’s Third Army, and quickly fanned out to our battle stations.

The grill, the kitchen, the bar; each was quickly manned.  I took to the jiggers and the citrus reamers; I was now in charge of keeping the group primed and oiled with libations.  A misstep at the bar can mean troops left behind.  And we don’t leave troops left behind…

For Labor Day weekend, I decided to punch it up.  You’ll find countless various of Rum Punches here, there and everywhere, but I took my lead from two classic sayings of yore.

There is an old recipe for The Baja Rum Punch that made its way around the Caribbean: “One part sour, two parts sweet, three parts strong, four parts weak.”  You can mix different items you have on-hand but the overall formula must be obeyed.

And in the NY Times in 1908, the following recipe was the first to occur in print of the famous Planter’s Punch (with a nice set of rhyming couplets to boot):

PLANTER’S PUNCH
This recipe I give to thee,
Dear brother in the heat.
Take two of sour (lime let it be)
To one and a half of sweet,
Of Old Jamaica pour three strong,
And add four parts of weak. Then mix and drink.
I do no wrong — I know whereof I speak.

These essentially teach the basics of mixology and being aware of the balance between the components of sweet (Grenadine syrup, in this case), sour (lime juice), strong (Rum) and weak (pineapple and orange juice) are key to a successful punch.

I tried the following:

• 1 cup Lime Juice
• 2 cups Grenadine Syrup
• 2 cups Gold Rum
• 1 cup Coconut Rum
• 2 cups Pineapple Juice
• 2 cups Orange Juice

It was pretty spot-on, but I did need to tweak by adding about a half cup more lime juice.  And the next time I venture into punch land, I will use a half cup less Grenadine.

Word is, Patton didn’t like it too sweet either.  And no one disobeys Patton.

Water rations: check.  Food rations: check.  Aviation cocktail rations: check.  Just another lazy Saturday at the Flaherty household.

Here’s the story: I found a mangy July issue of New York magazine featuring a list of the top 20 restaurants in Queens (a borough in which 60% of the inhabitants are born outside the United States). What this means, other than my neighborhood is an awesome calico of races and cultures, is that it plays host to the damn finest variety of ethnic food you can find in the country. The embarrassing part—because I’ve lived in Queens for 9 years and I work in the food & wine business—is I hadn’t been to any of them. Shame on me.

So, I decided to do something about it. I contacted Chris, a good friend and fellow Queens resident who works as a lawyer and moonlights as a ridiculously talented cook (his Bánh mì is out of this world….and don’t even get me started on his Georgia-inspired BBQ). Would he be willing to start working through this list with me? Diving into the shadows of Flushing and Corona Park to get his grub on? Damn right he would. The weekly outings have begun.

Non-descript. But inside lies a parade of pork goodness...

First stop: Han Joo Korean BBQ. Located in the Murray Hill section of Queens, one enters the throbbing, pulsing beat of Chinatown (the Chinatown in Queens is one of the biggest in the country, dwarfing the one in Manhattan). It’s a vibrant neighborhood and I immediately felt the wall of the Queens-I-know dissolve, and we were transported to the streets of Beijing or Seoul. There, on a small side street, we found Han Joo.

A rather non-descript decor, Han Joo is composed of walls literally made of particle board with a large, flatscreen playing non-stop Korean TV shows. Each table has a silver bowl/gas burner in the center and a ceiling hood directly above it. You know what that means–the cooking will take place in front of our slobbering gobs. Hell yeah.

Our server was wonderfully accommodating; most likely being sent over to us immediately after noting the Caucasians entering the front door (we were the only non-Koreans in the place –another sign we were on to something authentic). She helped us decide on the do ya ji combination, a pork belly-focused onslaught. We ordered that and some thinly sliced duck to accompany it.

A taste of South Korea to cleanse the palate

The first thing to arrive were beers from Hite, a South Korean brewery—it was either that or some Soju to start the meal. The Hite it was– I mean, why would we drink Heineken (one of the other choices) when we can go for the regional juice?

That’s when the condiments started arriving. And by started, I mean it was practically a five-act ballet, as numerous people arrived at the table from different directions (was there a hatch in the floor?), each dropping off a small white plate or bowl with pickled vegetables, spicy peppers, powders, red bean concoctions and assorted lettuces.

A quartz crystal slab was brought to the table, piping hot and right out of the oven. A knob was activated and a flame burst into action underneath it. That’s when the pork belly parade started. Fat strips, thin strips, marinated, dusted with spice, and just naked in all its glory. Then the duck came. The Kimchi came. They showed us the proper condiment arrangement—dip the meat in sesame oil, follow with soy powder, roll into a lettuce piece and then load that thing with condiments. Oh those condiments.  Spicy, sour, sweet, crunchy, savory. Gulp, gulp, gulp, salivate, salivate, salivate. Wow.

Pork belly! Pork belly! We all scream for pork belly!

We had a number of devoted grill masters attend to our tabletop quartz slab. They moved in and out, each slapping down a new component to toss around on the rock until cooked to perfection. This must be what Bruce Wayne feels like to have Alfred feeding him at each meal…except Alfred was a woman. And not wearing a tux. And not giving snarky, veiled advice about upcoming missions…but I digress.

The Kimchi was a stand-out. Granted I’m not versed in its ways, but I often find it’s funk overpowering; here it had a grilled flavor that was hypnotic.  The meal was fantastic. The beer was surprisingly malty. Easy, clean drinking. I would prefer a bit of hops for a bitter, cleansing dismount but I was merely giddy to experience a taste of Korean BBQ at it’s most authentic.  First stop: down. And looking forward to number two.

Next time, I start with the Soju, though, to properly prime the belly…

The aftermath...

Han Joo, 41-06 149th Pl, Flushing, NY 11355
(718) 359-6888