Drinking on the Bowery isn't what it used to be.

Over the last ten years, the Bowery, once the place where dreams went to die - usually in a flophouse - has become the place where hotels and restaurants go to open. Several of my favorites are on or within a stone's throw of the Bowery (Peels, Five Points, DBGB, Acme), and now I can most definitely add the bar at The Bowery Hotel to the list. 

The drink that did it? Their Black Manhattan, made with bourbon, bitters, and Averna. Averna - an Italian liqueur made with herbs and caramel - replaces the traditional sweet vermouth, and does a super smooth job of it. 

And just look at this little dandy on their cocktail coasters. I can't quite tell if he's a gentleman or a Five Points gangster, but either way, I like his attitude.

Getting outdoorsy.

Last Monday, I was lucky enough to pay a visit to Terroir's (an East Village wine bar) new outpost on the High Line. Their little patch of awesome sits over 15th Street, right where the park passes under the upper floors of Chelsea Market, and consists of a teeny shipping container (from whence food and drink are served) and rows of comfy picnic tables (where said food and drink are consumed).

You're outside, so wine (like this delightful French rose) comes in little plastic tumblers. There's also beer, but no cocktails - for gin or whiskey, you're going to have to head elsewhere. (Given how awesome the vino is, though, you shouldn't bother. Terroir is known for its perfectly curated lists.)

The plates are small and packed with flavor. On the (vehement) recommendation of our waiter, I tried the fried lamb sausage, which packed whole sage leaves between meat and thin, crisp crust. The sausage itself was juicy and robustly flavored - possibly even a little too salty, until I squeezed the lemon over the whole thing, which made everything right again. Smartypants restaurants with their functional garnishes.

My second dish was the farro salad, which I seriously enjoyed. It was super satisfying in the way that only something delicious and healthy can be. It was perfectly tender, dotted with shaved white onion and chopped sugar snap peas, and dressed with mint, olive oil, salt, and pepper. This is one I'll be working on recreating awfully soon, hopefully with accompanying sunset.

Terroir At The Porch
The High Line
10th Avenue at 15th Street

In the neighborhood.

I did not move to the Upper East Side because it was cool. I did it because it was cheap, convenient, and, well, that's it. I've never regretted it, but I do wish I lived in a neighborhood where grabbing a tasty bite to eat in a cool atmosphere with good drinks was easier to do. For years, that was a pretty tall order. It's still not the easiest thing, but it is getting better. And the folks behind ABV are a big part of that.

I've been a few times, but only once when it was light enough out to get some decent snaps for you guys to enjoy. I paid a Friday evening visit with my friend Cristin, and we both ordered a flight of rosé. (The French one on the far right was definitely the best.) Then, we enjoyed a couple of snacks - first up, the fish tacos with kimchee. I really liked these, except for one thing: the guacamole was really strongly flavored with cilantro. For some of you, that would seal the deal. For me, it meant an early stop to the proceedings. I hate it when menus don't specify that things have cilantro. Grrrr.

Next up, the fried pickles. These are fancy fried pickles, with a light, tempura-ish batter coating seriously juicy half-sours in large chunks, all served with a miso mayonnaise. The enormous serving is enormously cheap (five bucks), and well worth your time. They go swimmingly with wine, too.

ABV is a wine bar, and, accordingly, they have a great selection of sweet and fortified wines to keep the drinking going once the savories have been dispensed with. My selection this time? The 10-year-old Nierporent tawny. Delicious on its own; even better with sticky toffee pudding. (Just saying.)

One quick note: my very favorite thing that ABV serves is their meatloaf sandwich, which comes with fries and is served on a toasted bagel and topped with a fried egg. It is, in a word, delightful. So don't not order it just because I've only eaten it when it's been dark out, is what I'm saying.

ABV
1504 Lexington Avenue
Between 97th and 98th Streets
212.722.8959

Something new.

 

 Last Friday, Anica and I paid a visit to a  tiny new cocktail bar down at 9th and Avenue C, called The Wayland. I'd first passed it a couple of weeks ago, and made a mental note to visit as soon as possible. Anica is as obsessed with a good cocktail as I am, so I knew she'd be the perfect partner in crime.

We arrived close to opening (7 PM), and the petite space was already filling up. By the time we left for dinner, around 9, it was packed with people. And for good reason. The vibe is incredibly chill, and the cocktails are delicious.

 

For my first drink, I tried the Bermuda Black, a concoction made with white & black rum and fresh ginger & lime juice,  topped off with a smidge of dark beer. It was sweet, yes, but also sour, tangy and rich. Definitely a summertime sipping drink, a sort of dark and stormy for those of us who like a little more citrus in the mix.

To finish up, I ordered a Manhattan, which came garnished with an orange peel. It was perfectly balanced - not two sweet, not too spicy - always a good sign of a quality bartender. After all, fancy custom cocktails are one thing, but proving you can tackle the classics? A must.

The Wayland
700 East 9th Street
(Corner of Avenue C)
212.777.7022

All you need.

My love for an expertly-made cocktail is well-documented - but, sometimes, given a gorgeous sunset and a warm evening, any cold drink will do.

A few weekends ago, when the sunny weather still felt like an early release from prison, I met my brother and sister-in-law for a drink at the Boat Basin Cafe. The Boat Basin is down at the end of West 79th Street, below the West Side Highway. You can't reach it by cab; you have to walk through an odd little bit of Riverside Park to get to the stepped ramp that leads down to the restaurant, where you're liable to do battle with hordes of people to get a chair near the water.

But, if you do, you'll be rewarded with a gorgeous view across the Hudson, a generously poured gin & tonic, and a low-key hour or two in the sun.

High-falutin' it is not (and you'd do well to give the food a pass), but it makes for a lovely evening.

Cocktails for a rainy Wednesday.

When Pegu Club opened on Houston Street in 2005, New York's cocktail renaissance was in its prime. Milk & Honey and Flatiron Lounge had been slinging classic, perfectly crafted concoctions for a few years already, Little Branch opened that same year, and hot on Pegu's heels came Death & Company, followed by PDT.

Almost four years into its young life, Pegu has two personalities - sedate, sophisticated cocktail lounge, and obnxiously loud SoHo hotspot. The former is in effect on weeknights and early on the weekends, while the latter is on impenetrable display on Friday and Saturday evenings.

If you go on a weeknight, though, the emphasis is still on the cocktails, which are as good as ever.

Last Wednesday, after battling the rain and in the delightfully, intellectually bawdy company of Louisa and Deidre, I enjoyed a few of Pegu's creations - one was an old favorite, and two were new (to me, at least). First up, a Fleur de Paradis: gin, Champagne, St. Germain (an elderflower liquer) and lemon juice. To. Die. For. The gin and champagne nicely balanced out the sweet, floral St. Germain, and the lemon juice kept things nice and tart. Plus, it was garnished with pansies!

Next up was a delicious take on my go-to, the Manhattan. This version is called the Little Italy, and features the traditional rye and sweet vermouth, but adds a dash of Cynar, an artichoke-flavored liqueur (which lends some savory complexity). Served up with two delightfully boozy cherries, it's a Manhattan for people who find Manhattans a bit too sweet.

Finally, to finish things off, I went for a Zelda, named for Zelda Fitzgerald, and appropriately tart and tangy. Gin, muddled cherries (which lent an opaque, pink color) and lemon - heaven on earth, and a nice contrast to the rich bitterness of the Little Italy. Don't let the girly color fool you - this drink is all woman.

More like "Everyone's Talking About It."

Where do deep-fried hot dogs and meticulously crafted cocktails come together? Why, at PDT, of course. PDT (it stands for Please Don't Tell, a nod to the place's speakeasy feel) is the latest arrival to New York's revived cocktail scene. Though the vibe is laid-back (this is, after all, the East Village), the emphasis is definitely on the cocktails, rather than, say, beer, or wine by the glass. Which, as you all know, is fine by me - I love a good cocktail, and PDT delivers just that, with a chili dog on the side to boot.

Why all the talk about hot dogs? PDT is reached through a false-backed phone booth tucked into a corner at the East Village restaurant Crif Dogs, famous for its wild toppings and crispy waffle fries. Hot dogs and fries are available for consumption at PDT - helpful for hangover prevention, I'm sure you'll agree. I managed to keep my consumption to two cocktails on my first visit, but I figured it was still worthwhile to partake of a little headache insurance in the form of a chili dog and fries.

To drink, I went for two cocktails, both served up in the mercifully small cocktail glasses. First up, a Newark, made with Laird's Bonded Apple Brandy, Vya Sweet Vermouth, Fernet Branca, and Maraska Maraschino. This was delicious - reminded me of an apple-tinged Manhattan (and we all know I love a Manhattan), with the added complexity of the maraschino. Second, a Woolworth, made with Asyla Scotch, Lustau Manzanilla, Benedictine, and Orange Bitters.* This one was smoky, due to the Scotch, and perfect for me, an aspiring Scotch drinker - Scotch cut with a bit of sherry. Yum.

So head on over to PDT - you can call ahead and make a reservation for up to 8 people, or you can just walk in and sit at the bar. I'll tell you what, though - in a place like this, where cocktails are a craft, a seat at the bar is pure entertainment.

PDT
113 St. Mark's Place
Between 1st and Avenue A

*Thanks to Don, bartender extraordinaire, for refreshing my memory on the cocktail ingredients and names - I forgot to jot them down in my trusty Moleskine on Thursday night. Imagine that.

Death & Company

For your consideration this evening, as an example of how seriously New Yorkers consider each drop before allowing it to pass their lips, I offer two recent trips to a fantastic new cocktail bar named (for the Dashiell Hammet novella) Death and Company.

Tucked on an otherwise residential block in the East Village, it's the latest outpost of New York's burgeoning cocktail culture, a place where the drinks are as well thought-out as a meal at one of the city's better restaurants.

The room is dark, the ceiling low, the bar a slab of white marble cutting through the kerosene-lit gloom. Modern-baroque chandeliers hang suspended over two round booths on either side of the door, the windows behind them shuttered to preserve the speakeasy feel.

The drinks are as glamorous and languor-inducing as the decor; in two visits last week, I managed to sample eight different drinks, each creative, most delicious. My favorite of all was the Fancy Free, a rye whiskey drink with maraschino liqueur, Angostura and orange bitters, served on the rocks and topped off with an orange peel squeezed to release its essential oils and flamed with a match to caramelize its sugars.



Alerted as I was to D&Co's existence by the online culinary society eGullet (full disclosure: I am a volunteer staff member), I would be remiss if I didn't point you to their ongoing discussion of the bar. I'll leave you to peruse their reactions to the buzz and the B&T clientele it's generated while I head to the kitchen to recreate the Fancy Free.

DEATH AND COMPANY
433 E. 6th Street
Between 1st Avenue and Avenue A

And so it begins...

Last night, I went out drinking with my friend Faith. Safely ensconced at the bar, where huddled over pints of Smithick's we avoided the arctic Manhattan air, we got around to talking about morality. A bit heavy for a Saturday night on Third Avenue, but Faith got me thinking when she described her recurring vision of New York: a giant, hulking head eating everything in its path; a model of consumerism; a place that exists only to ingest - the ultimate in Americana.

I didn't disagree with her, though I argued that one thing that sets New York apart from most cities is that its reputedly unabashed commercialism isn't so unabashed after all; most New Yorkers I know are constantly searching for meaning in their consumption, hoping to infuse every moment not spent in the office with a sort of holy significance, a justification for the way we work, work, work to earn the money to pay our ridiculous rents.

This search, I think, is a great deal of what fuels New York's long and ongoing obsession with food. Restaurants, farmers' markets, gourmet grocery stores (such as Eli's Manhattan, above), and kitchenware emporia are our new cultural status symbols; a spring morning spent searching for the batch of perfect ramps at the Greenmarket in Union Square is as respected a pasttime as an afternoon spent at the Frick. Dinner in New York is entertainment, both high and low, in and of itself; who needs a movie when you can watch your host brulee their creme or enjoy the shocking heat and vibrant color of a meal at Sripraphai?

I'm sure there are New Yorkers who don't give a hoot about their food - I just don't happen to know a single one of them. Moving to New York seems to transofrm even stalwart meat-and-potatoes types into Thai food-loving, wine-collecting participants in the city's vibrant, all-encompassing food scene. It may just be that in a city of more than eight million people, there actually is something for everyone, culinarily speaking.

Through this blog, I hope to share some of my own enthusiasm for and experiences in this foodie paradise with all of you. I'm hardly an expert on anything, but I'm an eager amateur, and my excitement, I hope, will be contagious.