Liquid : Night

Twist: Cuckoo Juice

Erin Souza — Fri, 11 Jul 2008 18:21:00 GMT

In honor of our Liquid issue, we thought it only fitting that we hit up some bartenders for their take on
Boston’s current cocktail scene. The typical poisons of choice are pretty predictable: beer, wine, martinis. So we just had to ask: what’s the strangest drink request you’ve ever received?

Laurie Hamilton, bartender at Red Sky (16 North Street, Boston, 617.742.3333): “Some guy asked me to make him a drink to pour on his head. He’s a regular and was just being a freak. But I didn’t do it — the bar was full, and my boss would’ve been like, ‘Why are you pouring drinks over people’s heads?’"

Ragan Kerney, bartender at Masa (439 Tremont Street, Boston, 617.338.8884): “A shot of gin and milk. That’s disgusting. This guy came in and asked for it, shot it down, and left. He said, ‘Just a shot, please.’ In my 10 years of bartending, that is probably the most vile thing I’ve ever experienced. We were all taking bets on if he was going to go outside and throw up.”

Shanna-Marie Beattie, bartender at Vinalia (34 Summer Street, Boston, 617.737.1777): “We have an ice display in the middle of our bar, and there are silver martini glasses in it. Someone came in the middle of the day and ordered a martini, and they demanded it be in one of the silver glasses. [The drink] was a Stoli Doli ($10), which is vodka with pineapples. I don’t know why he asked for it in that — you can’t even see what’s in the glass. People ask for some weird garnishes too, like olives in a Cosmo.”

The Road Less Traveled: Examining the lure of the obscure

Thor Iverson — Mon, 07 Apr 2008 18:23:00 GMT

AMONG A certain cadre of music fans, near-anonymity is a virtue. The tinier the fan base and the more micro-specific the genre, the better. A trio of yaks playing klezmer standards on didgeridoo? Sure, great - until they take their act on the road, that is. Then they're money-grubbing sellouts.

It must be acknowledged that aficionados of this type exist in the wine world. In their most extreme form, they're the ones seeking out bottles made in purely anecdotal quantities, famous winemakers' not-for-sale homebrew projects, wines made from ancient Etruscan recipes and sold in animal bladders plugged with oiled cloth, and even the (in)famous Jamaican meat wine.

Alternatives don't have to be that extreme, though. Part of the fun of visiting wineries is trying all the strange, experimental stuff that never makes it out of the tasting room. And for many wine geeks, especially those whose entire and somewhat soused lives are devoted to the stuff, there's something immensely appealing about the unknown. A new grape, a new place, a new producer - that, for some people (the author included), is enough to move a wine from the shelf to the shopping basket.

Of course, this sort of wide-eyed experimentation comes with a price. Most popular wines are reliable, and in fact that's one of the reasons they're popular. Buying blind means that one has to accept a certain failure rate. And that's if such wines can even be found; in the absence of importers, distributors, and retailers with a similar taste for the arcane, there's no hope of scything one's way through the vinous terra incognita. But there's a nice benefit, too: obscure wines don't have the critical acclaim or ravenous consumer base that lead to ever-expanding prices. Who can pass up the chance to be hip and abstemious?

Admittedly, obscurity is in the eye of the beholder. For some, grüner veltliner (a world-class white grape from Austria) is beyond the horizon, but for those on the bleeding edge of oenophilia, it's yesterday's news. Or, to paraphrase the old Yogi Berra line, "It's so popular, nobody drinks it anymore." But there are still, even in this everyone's-a-journalist era of information overload, some wines that remain virtually unknown, even to the cognoscenti. Here are a few that don't deserve to remain in the shadows any longer, wines to drink with - or without - those damned yaks wheezing into their didgeridoos.

The Piedmont, a region of northwestern Italy that roughly surrounds Turin, has some very well-known wines indeed. Barbera, dolcetto, moscato, and of course the highly-reputed Barolo and Barbaresco, are celebrated around the world, and have been for a very long time. But those are all in the south. The north, closer to the snow-capped mountains that give the area its name, is very nearly a blank slate. Some may have heard of Gattinara, thanks to Travaglini's semi-ubiquitous square bottle, but the rest of the area might as well be in Florida, as far as wine lovers are concerned.

Which brings us to Boca. It could be in Florida, based on its name, but in fact it's in the northeast corner of the Piedmont, just up the road from Milan's Malpensa airport. The wines - mostly red - are made from a combination of grapes that can include nebbiolo, croatina, vespolina, and uva rara. At least, that's what the law says. In practice, almost no one makes Boca, and what was in the 1800s a thriving wine industry is only now being resuscitated by a few dedicated producers. Chief among them is Le Piane, owned by a jolly Swiss gentleman who has resurrected old, abandoned vineyards and planted a few new ones, in a somewhat quixotic attempt to re-establish the region. These have just entered the Boston market thanks to Adonna Imports (their only other American presence is in Minnesota, which I just cannot explain; maybe they go with lutefisk), and lovers of the unique owe it to themselves to seek them out.

Boca, which is the top-of-the-line (and most expensive) red, is a structured, highly-ageable wine made from nebbiolo and vespolina, with the beautiful, floral aromatics of the former given a firm, slightly chilly edge as befits a wine made from these altitudinous vineyards. Be wary of the uncharacteristic 2003, but other vintages are immensely appealing. From the Colline Novaresi, a much larger region just south of Boca, Le Piane makes a pair of fascinating wines at a lower price. The first, called La Maggiorina, is a nebbiolo-based blend with such a striking minerality that it tastes more like a red riesling than any red grape with which I'm familiar. And the second, which simply carries the name of the winery, is one of the very few croatina-dominated wines made anywhere, and elevates that red riesling-ness to greater heights, with precision, delineation, and a burst of icebox roses. @

Thor Iverson can be reached at wine@stuffatnight.com.

Off the Beantown Path: A tale of four suburbs

Sara Faith Alterman — Mon, 07 Apr 2008 18:19:00 GMT

SOMETIMES I forget that there's life outside of Boston and its surrounding urban communities. But recently I was reminded that I have cultural tunnel vision. I'd found myself in the suburbs (gasp!) after dark, craving a cocktail and a decent meal. Clearly, I reasoned, I was doomed, resigned to skulking into a chain restaurant decorated with manufactured "antiques" and servers in blinking earrings and pins that screamed things like "Food and fun for everyone!" I'd probably have to sit in a striped vinyl booth and drink watery tap beer or cocktails smothered with whipped cream.

I was jolted from my snobbery when I discovered a darling little bistro that featured a bar swarming with hot young hipsters. And a voice spoke to me: Wake up, Sara. People live here. People like you. People like your readers. And even if they don't, surely there are plenty of Bostonians who are sick of the see-and-be-seen crowd, and the pain-in-the-ass process of getting dinner reservations, and the lines to get into anyplace that's worth getting into on a Saturday night. Having a place to go that's not in the heart of the Hub might appeal to, well, everyone.

Just a short drive up Route 1A lies Lynn - Lynn, City of Sin. True, it ain't no Vegas (not even close), but this North Shore community has its own draw, namely Gulu-Gulu Café (56 Central Square, Lynn, 617.848.5967), a coffeehouse-cum-bar-cum-music venue where you can Czech yourself and then wreck yourself. Owners Steven Feldmann and Marie Feldmannnova met and fell in love in Prague (Feldmannnova's native city), in an eclectic café known as ... Gulu Gulu. When they moved to the US, the couple decided to open an American version of their beloved meeting spot, one that offered the same artsy vibe and a taste of the Czech Republic. Done and done. Try a Krušovice Imperial lager ($5) from the Czech Republic, or a Zywiec ($5) from Poland. There's an array of Belgian and American beers, too, for those who like to stick with what's familiar, and the versatile wine list more than hints at greatness, with selections from Portugal, Italy, Argentina, and Spain. Don't miss the Svarené Vino ($5), a traditional Czech mulled wine, and if you're hungry, the tasty paninis, crêpes, and small bites. The Utopenec ($6), marinated sausage stuffed with onions, pepperoncini, and pickles, and served with grilled bread, is pleasingly sour perfection.

Over in Salem, day-trippers, students, and witch enthusiasts are being treated to a cultural renaissance of sorts, thanks to coffee shops and bistros cropping up amid the Wicca stores, old-timey pubs, and colonial-style restaurants serving ye olde American fare. The most recent, and sleekest, addition is Sixty2 on Wharf (62 Wharf Street, Salem, 978.744.0062), which opened in February. The large bar area feels surprisingly intimate, thanks to low banquettes and a rich, woodsy color scheme; and the dining room hums with sex appeal. On a recent visit, they'd yet to obtain a full liquor license (they should have one by the time you are reading this magazine), so they were limited to wine, beer, and cordials. Most bartenders would relegate their amaretto and Baileys to coffee drinks, but not these guys. A full-scale cocktail list featured incredibly inventive drinks, like Nectar of the Gods ($13), with Moet & Chandon Nectar Champagne, house-made ginger ale, and fresh mint; or the 62 Side Car ($11), a twist on the Art Deco classic that morphed Tuaca (a vanilla brandy) with Frangelico, Cointreau, and fresh lime juice. The Frangelico gives the drink a warm, nutty finish that dresses up this old favorite with a new kick in the palate. The Cointreau might give way to Grand Marnier when the full liquor license comes through, but assistant general manager Myron Potter will probably leave most of the cocktail list as is, making additions, not cuts. Potter sees the same type of clientele coming into Sixty2 on Wharf as he did at Mistral, his former place of business. "We're bringing in people who want to go out for atmosphere and long dinners," he says, "and we want people to really dine, not feel rushed."

"We want to attract people from the area who are sick of having to go to Boston for a good meal," adds general manager Mike Pappas, who visited bars, restaurants, and lounges in New York for menu and décor inspiration. "We'll follow food and drink trends, but be selective. Not everything that flies in Boston will fly in Salem." What does fly, though, are homemade sensibilities; chef Antonio Bettencourt makes everything in-house, including the purées and non-alcoholic bases used at the bar.

Heading south, Quincy is a Boston sub-hub with character, charm, and style. A quick jaunt on the Red Line lands you right in the heart of downtown Quincy, where pubs, restaurants, and cute shops await. Gastropub the Fat Cat (24 Chestnut Street, Quincy, 617.471.4363) opened a few months ago to rave reviews, thanks to its inventive and gloriously gluttonous menu and fresh vibe. The cat-themed drink list helps, too. Try a glass of Fat Cat Cellars pinot noir ($8) with your decadent plate of lobster mac 'n' cheese ($16), or sip on a kitty cocktail like the Alley Cat ($8), made with Belvedere vodka, Cointreau, fresh-squeezed orange juice, cranberry juice, and a lime garnish. You can also kick up a martini with house-infused vodkas ($8): choose from hot pepper, melon, and Jolly Rancher infusions. Meow!

Newton goes virtually unnoticed by many Bostonians, which is a damn shame, because it's a vibrant community with a lot to offer, even at night. Specialty beers, seasonal sangria, killer cocktails, and a thriving bar scene should be enough reason for you to drag your urban butt to Union Street (107R Union Street, Newton, 617.964.6684). A quick trip on the Green Line and you'll be sipping a Mint Ginger Drop ($9), house-infused ginger vodka, muddled mint, and fresh citrus in a honey-glazed martini glass, or a Pear Sidecar ($9), pear brandy, orange liqueur, and fresh citrus with a cinnamon-sugared rim. Now that the warmer weather is approaching, you'll appreciate this off-the-urban-path joint even more, thanks to an unrivaled patio that'll make your drinks that much more refreshing.

Now that I know there are incredible bars beckoning from out of town, I'll never again be thwarted by my Boston-centric tendencies - and neither should you. Why let the city set your limits? @

[Photo by Ion Sokhos]

Twist: Chai one on

Heather Bouzan — Mon, 07 Apr 2008 17:38:00 GMT

THE CHAI latte has to be one of the most comforting liquids ever to pass our lips. A few sips and the tension of our workday, the absurdity of our personal life, and our crazy social schedule all seem to fade to white noise. Then augment the drink with alcohol? It's like total-body relaxation in a glass. We've found our sedative of choice in Voyant Chai, a smooth, spicy cream liqueur that's an easy-drinking 25 proof (or 12.5 percent alcohol by volume); even its name implies a soothing sort of mysticism. The first and only chai-flavored liqueur on the market, Voyant is a melding of oak-aged rum, fresh Dutch cream, black and green tea from India and Asia, pure vanilla, and a blend of spices. A versatile spirit, it's tasty served warm, chilled, or mixed in a martini; visit www.voyantchai.com for inspiration (and a few dessert recipes that utilize the spirit). Voyant Chai's spicy, lingering finish distinguishes it as a true individual amidst a sea of fruity, flavored vodkas. We love its subdued sweetness in a better-than-dessert after-dinner cocktail. And it's environmentally sound: the Dutch cream is made without antibiotics or growth hormones and contains no preservatives, artificial colors, or artificial flavors. On a purely superficial note, the bottle looks hot on our bar. Get it for $22.99 at DeLuca's Market (11 Charles Street, Boston, 617.523.4343).

Primavera Verde: Sauvignons put a spring in your sip

Thor Iverson — Mon, 10 Mar 2008 17:38:00 GMT

IT'S NOT easy being green." So sang a triangle-mouthed frog puppet, once. Of course, at the time he had a hand jammed up his ... well, anyway, I'm not sure his plight applies to us.

Still, mention "green" in the context of wine and you've got trouble. A rather dismaying number of people, for whom any wine that doesn't taste like fruit pie slathered with jam is just no good, can't stand even the slightest hint of anything green. No grass. No herbs. No vegetables. Only fruit, FRUIT, FRUIT! One assumes that, as children, they hid their veggies under a napkin, spent hours picking out every last fleck of herb from their food, and did anything they could to avoid mowing the lawn.

But green elements are an essential part of a lot of wines. The problem comes from the arbitrary notion that "green" is a synonym for "underripe," which is usually considered a bad thing. The definition of ripeness has gotten rather extreme of late, sometimes causing wines that don't taste like fermented fruit syrup to be demeaned as, yes, green - and therefore underripe.

That's a shame. Many grapes - most of them white, though not all - have greenish hues as part of their essential natures, whether they're ripe or not. Sauvignon blanc. Sylvaner. Grüner veltliner. Sémillon. And, on the tinted side, cabernet franc and cabernet sauvignon. It's not that it's impossible to eliminate green notes by letting these grapes hang on the vine until they're raisins, it's just that this rather misses the point of growing them in the first place. If one wants their cabernet to taste like zinfandel, why not just plant zinfandel?

The disappearing tinge of green is most missed in the spring, when our food is just starting to emerge from its rich, heavy, fat-laden winter slumber. Plants - fresh ones grown somewhere closer to us than Peru - finally re-enter the food lexicon. Primavera becomes a pasta topping that can be assembled from the produce aisle, rather than frozen foods. People burst into song for absolutely no reason. (No? Not at your house?)

And it's the time to drink sauvignon blanc. It's the most spring-like of grapes. The core of its character is a green-tinged, grassy blend of tart citrus juices. Bell and, in some cases, chili pepper can enter the mix. When pushed to overripeness, it tastes like canned tropical fruit salad, but there's still a lingering, and welcome, green edge.

In Sancerre, a French region where sauvignon blanc reaches its peak of complexity, grassiness is joined with minerality and restraint. Some of the very best bottles - in contrast with most sauvignon - can even age (five to 10 years). Producers to look for include the two Cotats and Thomas-Labaille. A short trip downriver, the Clos Roche Blanche Sauvignon "No. 2" from the Touraine is a chalkier variation on the same theme, and a screaming bargain as well.

New Zealand is the other dominant player on the sauvignon scene (they call it "savvy" and serve it by the caseload at parties), and there the wines exhibit a youthful exuberance appropriate for such a young country - a forceful, in-your-face nature that brought them to international acclaim just a few decades after most of the vines were planted. Dog Point, Isabel, Seresin, and The Crossings all excel.

From Italy's Alto Adige, St. Michael-Eppan's "Sanct Valentin" bottling is exquisite, bringing even more intensity to a Sancerre-like paradigm, while white Bordeaux (typically a sauvignon blanc/sémillon blend) is admirably represented at the affordable end by Graville-Lacoste. Leaping across the majority of the hemisphere, Southern Right from South Africa is as impossible to ignore as any New Zealand sauvignon, with a somewhat more angular aspect.

And how about domestic sauvignon blanc? That's a little more difficult, since many producers still cling to an '80s trend of oaking and sweetening their sauvignon until it's pretty much indistinguishable from chardonnay to which similar abuses have been committed. Thankfully, there are exceptions. Di Stefano from Washington's Columbia Valley is a transitional style, halfway between the traditional and the overly-soft modern version, while Easton in the Sierra Foothills makes an especially floral example. But some of the best of all might come from Oregon, a state almost no one associates with the grape. J. Christopher's two site-specific bottlings, Croft and Maresh, are extraordinary, combing the complexity and sophistication of the Old World with the exciting exuberance of the New.

Sauvignon blanc can be a zingy and refreshing drink all by itself on days when the air doesn't provide quite enough of its own chill (you know, those warming spring afternoons ... which I'm given to understand are common elsewhere, even if they're unheard of here in Boston). But it's better when its exuberance is tamed by food. The best marriages include green vegetables (including the ever-difficult asparagus) and anything made from them, acidic ingredients (citrus, vinegar, tomato, onion), and raw seafood. Especially when wasabi's involved.

But is it the best match for singing frog? Shame on you for even thinking it. @

Thor Iverson can be reached at wine@stuffatnight.com.

Going Green: You don’t have to drink colored beer to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day

Sara Faith Alterman — Mon, 10 Mar 2008 17:34:00 GMT

TOP O' the morning to you! Or, top o' the evening. Or, top o' the aftern - all right, you know what? You get the point. St. Patrick's Day is upon us, and if you're like every other person who lives in Greater Boston, you're probably planning to head over to Southie on the most Irish day of the year to choke down some of that obligatory green beer and hoot and holler your freckled face off. But, I ask, how dare you, when some of the most divine spirits and hearty stouts come from the Mother Land herself? Pay tribute to the Emerald Isle with a little taste of one (or many) of the jewels of Ireland. Whether you fancy beer, whiskey, or Irish cream, each are key ingredients in making sure your March 17 doesn't veer toward Erin go blah.

If there's one thing the Irish are proud of, it's their Guinness. And with damned good reason. A pint of that smooth, creamy stout can be both comforting and invigorating, and bartenders seeking "the perfect pour" appreciate the complexity of pulling one of these suckers from the tap. Finding the right balance between head and body is practically an art form, with Guinness insisting that the worth-the-wait pouring process requires 119.5 seconds in order to truly reach perfection. Pubs around Ireland subtly vie for the honor of pouring the best pint of Guinness; here in Boston, Irish pubs and bars have inherited that thirst for healthy competition. Is there really such thing as a "perfect" pint of Guinness? Perhaps. Is there such a thing as a "great" pint of Guinness? You bet your sweet Irish ass. For folks who truly appreciate the art of the pour, your best bet is to head to joints with a neighborhood feel. Ask for a pint o' the good stuff at the Burren (247 Elm Street, Somerville, 617.776.6896), Atwood's Tavern (877 Cambridge Street, Cambridge, 617.864.2792), Porter Belly's (338 Washington Street, Brighton, 617.254.3300), the Blarney Stone (1505 Dorchester Avenue, Dorchester, 617.436.8223), the Playwright (658 East Broadway, South Boston, 617.269.2537), or the Field (20 Prospect Street, Cambridge, 617.354.7345) and you'll never be disappointed. If you can catch some trad (traditional Irish music) while you're at it, you're in for good craic (a good time. Pronounced "crack." Oh, the irony.). For a truly classic hole-in-the-wall pub experience, head to the Quencher Tavern (170 I Street, South Boston, 617.269.9555) and mingle with the locals who give Southie its authentic flavor. Leave your green sparkly tank top at home, ladies. The "Quenchah" ain't the time or place.

Guinness also makes an excellent mixer, perhaps because of its creaminess, perhaps because of its flavor, perhaps because it's a glass full of magic and it can do whatever it wants. Vinalia (101 Arch Street, Boston, 617.737.1777) is taking that magic and mixing up some tasty classics, such as the Black Velvet ($10), a half-and-half combo of Guinness and Magners Irish Cider (in Ireland this mixture is often known as a Snakebite or a Poor Man's Black Velvet); the Velvet Hammer ($10), featuring Guinness and Champagne; and the Vinalia Black Cossack ($10), blending Guinness with Stoli Vanil vodka. These cocktails and beer blends are lighter than they sound, and are truly refreshing, especially on a cool March night.

It wouldn't be right to discuss Irish booze without a healthy tip of the hat to Irish whiskey, one of the oldest European-distilled beverages and one of the most beloved. The word "whiskey" is thought to be a translation of an old Gaelic term that meant "water of life." And this stuff is aptly named. There are countless varieties of Irish whiskey out there, with enough subtle nuances to warrant an entire column, six times over. Start with the classics: varieties like Tullamore Dew, Jameson, and Bushmills. Drink it neat (no ice), drink it slowly, drink it on rainy nights, into the wee, misty hours of the morning. Whiskey is somewhat of an acquired taste, so if it's not your thing, ease into it with ... a cocktail, naturally. One to try is the Anne Bonney ($8) at Solas (710 Boylston Street, Boston, 617.933.4803), a fruity smash-up of Tullamore Dew, Bacardi, peach schnapps, Triple Sec, and cranberry and orange juices.

Sweetwater Café (3 Boylston Place, Boston, 617.351.2515) may not be known as an Irish bar, but they sure are fired up about their St. Patrick's Day cocktails. Having recently moved over from Lucky's Lounge, chef Aaron Parsons is ready to turn the Alley's resident college hang from sophomoric to sophisticate, while keeping all of the rowdy energy for which this beloved bar is known. Through March 17, special-edition St. Patrick's cocktails will get you suitably in the mood. For chocolate lovers, sink into an Irish Chocolate Martini ($9), with house-made chocolate liqueur, vodka, and Baileys Irish Cream (which, believe it or not, is made from Irish whiskey. You've been fooled into drinking whiskey all along!). The Leaping Leprechaun ($8), says Parsons, is "not for the faint of heart, but definitely good for tying one on." You heard him, party animals! This super-strong cocktail is basically a tailor-made Long Island Iced Tea, substituting sour mix and Coke with Red Bull and Curacao, giving it a holiday-appropriate hue. The Rocky Road to Dublin ($9) may very well become a mainstay on the Sweetwater cocktail menu; it's just that good. Bushmills Irish Whiskey mixes light rum, brandy, fresh lemon juice, and simple syrup for an Irish tour de force. Sweetwater will feature 15 specialty drinks just for St. Patty's Day; visit the bar to check them out in all their glory.

Considering all of the pride and history that accompany St. Patrick's Day, it's a holiday that deserves a full-force celebration. So pick up a cocktail, raise your voice in song, and you'll have a night to remember. (And with drink options like these, you'll forget all about green beer.) @

[Photo by Joel Veak]

Shaken or Stirred: Either way, Lillet is worthy of your cocktail

Sara Faith Alterman — Mon, 25 Feb 2008 18:29:00 GMT

SOME OF THE most sophisticated cocktails in town are getting a flirty French twist. Lillet Blanc, an aperitif that was created in France in the late 19th century, is no longer content to sit on its own on the rocks, a lone orange twist marinating in its glass. This blend of Bordeaux wines and fruit liqueurs - originally known as Kina Lillet because it contained the popular medicinal element quinine - lingered in Europe until the 1940s, when post-war Americans turned to our French friends-in-arms for some tips on refreshment. In the 1960s, bartenders began to incorporate Lillet into cocktails, often in place of vermouth. Of course, Lillet Blanc was catapulted onto the taste-bud radars of James Bond fans in Ian Fleming's 1953 novel Casino Royale, wherein history's sexiest spy orders up his famous "shaken, not stirred" martini. "Just a moment," Fleming's famous character barks. "Three measures of Gordon's, one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet. Shake it very well until it's ice-cold, then add a large thin slice of lemon peel. Got it?" We got it, hot stuff.

With such a rich history, it's no surprise that Lillet Blanc is popping up once again on thoughtful cocktail menus. Its warm flavors of orange and pine make Lillet Blanc the perfect accompaniment to gin. That famous Bond martini is given homage at the Oak Bar (Fairmont Copley Plaza, 138 St. James Avenue, Boston, 617.267.5300), where even the most dashing of secret agents himself would appreciate the elegant atmosphere. You don't have to don a tuxedo to enjoy the 007 ($15) - Bombay Sapphire, Grey Goose vodka, and a splash of Lillet - but you'll certainly feel like a smooth sophisticate as you enjoy one these nouveau classics, a cool, floral cocktail named for the coolest leading man in movie history. Of course, for $9 you could also enjoy Lillet Blanc on the rocks, sipped slowly before you dive into a sumptuous meal at the adjacent Oak Room.

The James Bond martini did acquire a name somewhere along the way: Vesper, for Bond's Casino Royale love interest du jour Vesper Lynde. Check out a version of this sexy cocktail ($8) at the Independent (75 Union Square, Somerville, 617.440.6022), where it's simplified into a more approachable libation, with Beefeater gin and Stoli vodka hosting the Lillet, a neighborhood iteration from a neighborhood bar. Sorry, Bond: none of your fancy gadgets and clipped accents here. The Indo also offers a killer rendition of another notorious Lillet Blanc cocktail, the Corpse Reviver ($9). Lillet meets Hendricks gin, Cointreau, fresh lemon, and Pernod in this potent classic. Maybe one to try at the end of the night, as you muster your drunken energy to grab a cab.

But enough of the manly martinis, right, girls? Not to worry: you've got your own cocktail, tailor-made for the women of Boston. The Lady's Martini ($13) at Mooo (15 Beacon Street, Boston, 617.670.2515) is a flowery, airy drink for those looking for ways to whet a delicate appetite before tearing into a giant hunk of expertly seared steak. Lillet Blanc, fresh lemon, hibiscus syrup, and a Champagne chaser make this martini the perfect fit for the feminine palate.

France's very own first lady of song deserves, at the very least, a cocktail in her honor, especially given that she herself was so famously fond of them. The Edith Piaf ($11.50) at Gaslight (560 Harrison Avenue, Boston, 617.422.0224) gives Lillet Blanc the chance to mingle with Grey Goose and a burnt-orange twist, just as Piaf herself likely did before bursting into sultry, impassioned song. This drink is as smooth and strong as Piaf's signature tune, "La Vie en Rose," and is just about as French as it gets on this side of the Atlantic.

Enjoyed on its own or in one of the aforementioned martini tributes to all things sexy, Lillet Blanc is worth a bit of a hunt - which you may have to conduct, since it's still catching on. If red's more your thing, you could also try Lillet Rouge (Blanc's rosier sister, tasting of rich, late-summer fruits such as berries and cherries), though that's even harder to find. Still, not all is lost. Most premier wine and liquor stores carry at least one of the two. Ball Square Fine Wines (716 Broadway, Somerville, 617.623.9500), for example, has a keen appreciation for both Lillets. Keep up with their inventory at www.ballsquarefinewines.com and pick up a bottle aujourd'hui, chéri. @

[Photo by Ion Sokhos]

Honey, I made a cocktail: Sweeten up your sipping

Sara Faith Alterman — Wed, 06 Feb 2008 22:12:00 GMT

NEVER UNDERESTIMATE the seductive power of a sly little lick of the lips. And why not give that serpentine tongue of yours some extra motivation this month by sipping on drinks that are sweetened - and sexified - with honey? Warmly luscious and as complex as Scorpio-on-Scorpio action, honey is the latest in a string of natural ingredients that have cocktail mavens, well, buzzing. A hint of fruity, clover overtones gives honey multi-layered characteristics that add just enough flavor to your drink without overwhelming the palate. Bartenders all over the city are picking up on honey's versatility and earthy charm, and it's quickly gaining ground on simple syrup as Boston's favorite sweetener.

Sweet and spicy are the perfect pair - and nobody knows that better than bar manager Jonathan Henson at Great Bay (500 Comm Ave, Boston, 617.532.5300), who admits to "having a love affair with honey." This oft-overlooked Kenmore Square spot has modern sophisticate written all over it: a vertebrae of warm track lighting slithers along the ultra-high ceiling, while suspended installation art looks like slivers of iridescent water chestnuts. And the drinks - oh, the drinks. A seasonally spicy ode to summertime refreshment - and quite possibly one of the best cocktails in town - is the Remedy ($12), made with Bulleit bourbon, lemonade, honey, and a healthy pinch of cayenne pepper. The aptly-named beverage is the perfect cure for the wintertime blahs.

Also at Great Bay, don't let the seemingly kooky ingredients list for the East Meets South of the Border ($12) fool you: the cocktail is as smooth as Cancun sand. A warm pool of espresso, Sauza Tres Generaciones, and honey lay the foundation for a mouthful of freshly made, sake-infused whipped cream. No split-personality drink here: the flavors mesh impeccably, with the cream's floral bouquet nicely balancing that ruthless tequila bite, and honey sweetening the deal. "I create every drink I make by taking the flavors of the base liquor and looking for complements," says Henson. "Tequila is woodsy; I wanted to take a different approach to it by using sake. Honey rounds out the flavors and softens the drink."

When we first learned of Newbury's newest restaurant and watering hole, we got a little nervous. After all, with a name like Cafeteria (279A Newbury Street, Boston, 617.536.2233), we were expecting to make an awkward entrance and be immediately transformed into our uncomfortable seventh-grade selves. But despite its trendiness, Cafeteria is wholly inviting. Here, bar manager Steven Kim offers the Golden Honeytini ($12), a confection of Stoli Vanil, honey, Grand Marnier, and amaretto, served in a glass that's rubbed with lime and rimmed with sugar. In fact, the citrus rim is what really gives this drink its character; instead of being sickly sweet, the Golden Honeytini has some tarty sass, due to that wonderful marriage of honey and lime.

A marriage of cultures is what defines the newly rejuvenated Mantra (52 Temple Place, Boston, 617.542.8111). The club/restaurant features French-Indian cuisine and cocktails, but new general manager Demetri Tsolakis is putting his stamp on things, one tinyinfluence at a time. Tsolakis was a child of the restaurant industry: his family owns three Greek restaurants in his native Springfield, and he pretty much grew up in the kitchen. So it's no surprise that he's sneaking some Greek inspiration onto the Mantra menu. Honey is a key ingredient in some Greek cuisine (especially baklava, which fuses honey and pastry into a dense slice of heaven), so it naturally found its way onto the cocktail list. The Madhu ($12) - cutely rechristened the Bee Mine for the month of February - starts with a cocktail glass drizzled with honey, and finishes with a homemade honey-cinnamon-stick garnish. In between, Belvedere vodka meets fresh lime juice, resulting in a richer, sweeter gimlet.

Though grapes usually make their evening appearance in a wine glass, the Muddled Grape Martini ($9) at the West Side Lounge (1680 Mass Ave, Cambridge, 617.441.5566) is a refreshing break from the vino. Muddled green grapes bathe in Ciroc vodka with honey syrup and a squeeze of fresh lemon juice; the result is simple, refreshing, sweet, and sour. And just like wine, the Muddled Grape pairs quite nicely with food, especially fish. Try it with the West Side's perfectly pan-seared salmon with haricots verts and whipped potatoes ($18).

Over at Green Street (280 Green Street, Cambridge, 617.876.1655), queen of the classic cocktail Misty Kalkofen sweetens and sparkles Haitian spirits with the Rhum Cup ($8.50), a subtly fruity blend of cava, Barbancourt Rhum, fresh pineapple juice, and honey syrup. It's a taste of the islands in the middle of the city, and a much-needed cold-weather oasis on the most blustery of urban evenings. @

[Photo by Joel Veak]

Bumbling into Bubbly: A sparkling feet of imagination

Thor Iverson — Wed, 06 Feb 2008 22:10:00 GMT

"OH, I CAN'T. It goes right to my head!" And with this phrase, a thousand eager hands (attached to lusting hearts) reach forth, offering yet another glass of sparkling wine to their dates.

But is it true? Does sparkling wine really accelerate the careening path towards tipsiness and the easy abandonment of virtue? Yes, sort of. (I'll wait for a moment, while you all head out to the wine shop. Okay, let's continue.) The carbon dioxide helps blood absorb alcohol more quickly, or something; it's all too biochemical for me. The funny thing is, despite the many attempts our species has made towards concocting a seduction aid, this one - which actually appears to have some sort of effect - is an accident. Apparently, nature wants to encourage such behavior. And why argue with nature?

So what's that about an accident? Well, it's like this: you know how wine comes from yeasts fermenting grape sugars and turning them into alcohol? (Sorry. It's that nefarious biochemistry again. Just bear with me for a moment.) Anyway, one of the other by-products of this process is carbon dioxide. In a non-sparkling wine, this gas is set free before bottling. Even if it's not, there's no lasting effect; the bottle gets opened, there's a minor and momentary "prickle" of fizz, but eventually the wine ends up bubble-free. You'll see this a lot in light, crisp wines like German riesling or Vinho Verde from Portugal.

But back up a step. If there's leftover sugar, and there's even a single cell of living yeast, eventually there's going to be fermentation. And if this fermentation happens in an airtight container - say, a wine bottle - there's going to be carbon dioxide with nowhere to go. Wine folk call this "spontaneous refermentation" (wine folk are armed with the sexiest terms, aren't they?), and it's considered a grievous flaw, because it's usually accompanied by horrible aromas of rotting feet. Try that on a date and see how it works out for you.

At some point in winemaking's long history, this drew notice. We're not entirely sure where or when, but we do know that it didn't first happen in Champagne, and we also know that the monk Dom Pérignon had nothing to do with it (despite much mythmaking to the contrary). Eventually, winemakers were intrigued enough to try to figure it out. Because the thing was, the wines didn't always smell like fermented feet. Sometimes, they were quite nice.

Through much trial (and undoubtedly much error), someone figured it out. Whoever it was, thanks to centuries of aggressive marketing, the method is now associated with the international home of high-quality fizz, and so we call it the méthode Champenoise (Champagne method) or méthode traditionelle (traditional method), which these days has been refined to an efficient combination of art and science. Basically, it works like this: a still (non-sparkling) wine is made and bottled. Sugar and yeast are added to the finished wine, the bottle is sealed - usually with a crown cap, like on bottles of soda - and turned so that its top is angled downward, and the yeast and sugar are left alone together ... with or without romantic music. Dead yeast cells, having given their all, collect in the neck of the bottle - right up against the crown cap.

When they're all dead, the neck is flash-frozen and the cap, along with its attached "plug" of dead soldiers, is removed from the bottle, which is quickly recorded (with the same cork that you'd find in any bottle of wine, albeit slightly fatter). Pressure eventually forces the cork outward, which is why sparkling wines tend to have a little excursion into cork bondage in the form of a wire restraint. But the key point is that méthode Champenoise bubblies are the only wines that are "made" in the very bottle from which you drink them. Kinda neat, huh?

While this is how the majority of the world's best sparkling wines are created, it's not the only way. The second fermentation can be done in a tank, which is how Prosecco is made. It can be allowed to happen spontaneously under very careful conditions, and it's mostly limited to a few unusual French sparklers (like Bugey-Cerdon). And yes, wine can be carbonated like soda, though the producers that do this aren't exactly known for quality. A good way to spot this latter group is the appearance of the word "Champagne" on a wine not from the French region of the same name. Every country but the United States has agreed to forbid this, and only the worst US producers mimic the term.

And so, one of the most elegant and refined styles of wine in the world is an accident, subsequently perfected in order to avoid wines that taste like bubbly toe cheese. Somehow, I don't think we'll see that in Moët & Chandon's marketing campaigns. @

Thor Iverson can be reached at wine@stuffatnight.com.

Twist: Have a Ball

Heather Bouzan — Wed, 06 Feb 2008 21:58:00 GMT

THE FIRST thing we thought to ourselves when we heard about Adam's Balls (www.adamsballs.com) was, classy name. But although our beer pong (or, excuse us, beirut) glory days are probably behind us, we can't help but giggle over the perfection of said balls for the occasional college-style rager - and yes, even we need one of those every once in a while. Adam's Balls offers high-resolution, full-color customizable beer-pong balls. Simply upload whatever image you'd like - be it a logo, photo, or text - and they'll print it on a minimum order of 25 seamless high-quality balls using smear- and peel-proof technology. (The company soaked a test batch in beer, rum, and grain alcohol for over a week to prove their endurance.) In what is perhaps a nod to penniless undergrads, standard shipping is free - orders typically take one to three days to process and three to five more to reach their destination - though expedited options are also available for a fee. And pricing is nothing to worry about, either: the cost is $2.25 per ball for orders of 25 or more; $2 per for orders of 50 or more; and $1.75 apiece for orders of 100 or more. The FAQ page sums up the company's sentiments quite succinctly: "You can be sure that everyone will marvel at just how nice your balls are."

Riesling Rocks: A grape that leaves no stone unturned

Thor Iverson — Mon, 28 Jan 2008 18:27:00 GMT

AN ACQUAINTANCE of mine once made a personal study of the great vineyards of Germany. His methodology: put whatever stones or soil he found there into his mouth, taste, and compare. Maybe he was part chicken and had some sort of vestigial gizzard, but - especially given that he was a dentist - it didn't strike me as the sanest activity. So what sort of oenofetish would drive an otherwise rational wine lover to gnaw on dirt? There's only one likely culprit: riesling, the grape that tastes like rocks.

Assuming one is moved to start talking about wine - for a living, or just to bore the crap out of your friends - most conversations eventually come around to fruit. The flavors you'll find in wines include cherry, blackberry, plum, grapefruit, gooseberry, apricot ... well, the list goes on (and on). Sometimes, better analogies are to veggies, flowers, and other things that grow.

But of the realm of wines that taste less like the plants and more like the stuff they're grown in, riesling is king of 'em all. It's a grape that, at times, may deliver vague suggestions of apple, a light alpine flower or two, or perhaps a nod in the general direction of some distant tropical fruit. But for the most part, it has very little inherent taste at all. What it does have is a keen interest in geology.

There are many grapes that are highly reflective of the site on which they're grown, but riesling is just about the most "transparent" of them all. Unlike chardonnay (another quite pellucid grape), riesling's winemakers hardly ever succumb to the impulse to burden it with the domineering flavors of new oak. So why does riesling taste like rocks? Theories abound. Contrary to traditional wine mythology, it's probably not because actual vineyard minerals are showing up in the grapes. But apart from that, who knows? Hell, maybe my gravel-munching friend was hot on the trail, before he chipped a bicuspid.

Riesling ages. When it's only average, it hangs in there for five or 10 years. When it's really good, the decades add up pretty quickly. And when it's both terrific and extremely sweet, there's very little chance that any of us will outlive it. Unless, of course, we swallow too many stones along the way.

The high acidity of riesling means it can stand up to crisp, high-acid cuisine, but can also slash through fat and cream like a razor. It has a ravenous affinity for pork of almost any type (a characteristic it shares with the author) and white asparagus, but fish, poultry, and root vegetables all work well. Tomatoes do not.

And now, if you're ready for a little oral geology of your own, here's a short primer on the where and the who of it:

Germany, as previously noted, is pretty much the fatherland of riesling. It used to be that the pride of the country rested with low-alcohol wines that demonstrated a brilliant poise between acidity and light sweetness, but these days Germany succeeds with every style in the book: sparkling, dry, off-dry, and sweet. Of the many German sub-regions in which riesling is grown, the most important are the Mosel-Saar-Ruwer (currently being shortened to Mosel; it's about the only thing on German labels that could be called "short"), Rheingau, Nahe, and Pfalz. And that's about as far as this column is going to go, because if I started explaining the ridiculously precise-yet-misleading German label nomenclature, we'd still be here when those really sweet rieslings were coming around to full maturity. Better, for now, to start with a few of the many excellent producers - JJ Prüm, Dönnhoff, Selbach-Oster, and Kesseler - and let their wines work their mineral magic. Then buy the 15-volume explanatory text and Rosetta Stone . . .

The rest of the Germanic (and post-Germanic) world also does brilliant work with riesling. Austria specializes in a structured, ageable, and quite dry style from top producers such as Nigl, Bründlmayer, Prager, and Salomon Undhof. And just across the border from Germany, France's historically-disputed Alsace region puts up what is probably the best challenge to Germany's worldwide riesling supremacy, with powerful, full-bodied wines that are no less age-worthy than their German counterparts. The region gained fame through the strength of its dry rieslings (plus a limited supply of luxuriously sweet interpretations), but taste trends and global warming have moved a number of the region's producers into a decidedly off-dry realm. The best names include Boxler, Weinbach, Becker, Sparr, Gresser, and most of all Trimbach (whose "Cuvée Frédéric Émile" bottling is the very essence of fermented bedrock).

Outside Europe, the prime sources for riesling are New Zealand (look for Pegasus Bay or Felton Road) and, surprisingly, Australia, where the massive, slick reds on which the country built its reputation are put away in favor of bone-dry rieslings with shocking levels of acidity. Availability is spotty here in the States, but Grosset is one of the can't-miss stars.

And, please, stick to drinking the stuff. Leave rock (in its solid form) to the professionals - whether geologists or lead guitarists. @

Thor Iverson can be reached at wine@stuffatnight.com.

Popular Science: Molecular mixology takes center stage at STIX

Sara Faith Alterman — Mon, 28 Jan 2008 18:14:00 GMT

YOUR SEVENTH-GRADE chemistry class is probably the last thing on your mind when you head out the door on a Friday night. After all, who bellies up to a bar thinking, "I'm parched! Liquid nitrogen sounds fabulous right now!"? You may change your tune, though, after hearing about some of the tricks and twists that molecular mixology has to offer. On the heels of molecular gastronomy, that red-hot foodie trend that still has chefs playing mad scientist with crazy chemicals and contraptions, comes a similar style of bartending that's getting all kinds of nutty with the flavors, forms, and textures of your favorite beverages.

Notable molecular gastronomists all over the country began turning their attention from the kitchen to the bar awhile back, using chemicals like xanthan gum and techniques such as pressurized carbonation in cocktails. The effect is mesmerizing: drinks that look like part art project and part science experiment. Molecular mixology isn't just smoke and mirrors, though. Besides looking cool, chemical reactions can change your entire drinking experience.

STIX (35 Stanhope Street, Boston, 617.456.7849), the hip new sister restaurant of 33 Restaurant & Lounge (33 Stanhope Street, Boston, 617.572.3311), has already caught the attention of adventurous night owls with its edgy architecture, cooler-than-thou design, and quirky menu. But it's what's behind the bar that sparks absolute fascination, leaving even the trendiest trendoids agape. Paul Westerkamp, beverage director for both STIX and 33, lights up like a chemical explosion when he talks about molecular mixology. "Our goal is to be number one in beverage gastronomy in Boston," he says. He's got plenty of tricks and gadgets up his sleeve, some of which he's not ready to unveil to the public just yet. But for now, what's out in the open will astound you.

A SoHo seminar and a subsequent traffic jam were key ingredients in Westerkamp's very first attempt to shake things up behind the bar. "I had been attending a convention on molecular mixology at the French Culinary Institute in New York," Westerkamp remembers, "and on the way back, I got stuck on the Merritt Parkway for four hours. They had talked at the convention about taking personal life experiences and applying them in the kitchen, so I just started running ideas through my head. I thought about my niece, who likes to make a raspberry-lime rickey at home."

Those memories of family recipes and personal experiences (including 12 years spent living in Hawaii), mingled with newfound knowledge of culinary innovations, resulted in Westerkamp's first foray into molecular mixology - with stellar results. The 10 Cane Raspberry Sashimi ($15), a playful replication of his niece's homemade treat, looks like artfully sliced raw fish served in a beautiful Bento box. But it's actually pink "slices" of 10 Cane rum, gelatinized with a fresh raspberry purée. (We like it so much, we already raved about it last month.)

Westerkamp aims to slowly build his molecular mixology menu, drink by zany drink. The near future at STIX will bring drinks built with gelatin, sodium bicarbonate, dry ice, and Pop Rocks, taking the shape of everything from caviar to crêpes. Grabbing center stage in the gadget department will likely be an electrical cold plate called the Anti-Griddle, designed to freeze sauces and purées to sub-zero temperatures, creating a crunchy exterior and creamy middle - perfect for transforming liquor into a thin, French-style pancake. If it seems strange to devote so much equipment and precision to something you're going to gulp down in a few minutes, consider that these drinks are more works of art than they are conduits to a drunken evening. You wouldn't wolf down a meal at L'Espalier the way you would a fast-food burger; the same holds true when it comes to cocktails. Molecular mixologists prefer that you savor and appreciate your drink. After all, a lot of work and respect for ingredients and technique went into your glass. "Drinks are built like pastry," says Westerkamp. "There's an exact formula that you have to follow to get it right."

Is molecular mixology destined to find a solid niche in the bar scene, or will it be relegated to fleeting-trend status? It's too early to tell, though if Westerkamp has anything to do with it (and we think he will), molecular mixology will forever change the palate of the curious gastronome. "Being a food person, I like to watch trends in the industry," he says. "The molecular mixology trend in general creates styles of drinks for people going out with friends to enjoy each other's company. These are more sophisticated drinks for the young professional."

Coming up this month at STIX is a wintery treat that'll knock your wool socks off. The Woodford Reserve Brûlée ($11) will take crème brûlée to a whole new level: Westerkamp's latest creation will have him layering infused bourbon with eggnog piped from a nitrous whipped-cream container. The finishing touch? Right in front of your wide eyes, the top gets kissed with a blowtorch, and voilà: drinkable holiday crème brûlée. "I've always wanted to be able to make an insulated drink," says Westerkamp. "I like playing with tools in front of a customer. With the sashimi drink, there's not a lot of art or showmanship, because everything is pre-made, so with this one, we'll get to show off a little. And what's more fun than playing with a blowtorch?" @

[Photo by Joel Veak]

The Dating Game: Every wine has its year

Thor Iverson — Tue, 08 Jan 2008 18:32:00 GMT

MY DINING companion looked up from the wine list, perplexed. "But it's supposed to be a great vintage."

"Yes, it is. Which is why you shouldn't order it."

He dropped the list on the table, exasperated. "Did anyone ever tell you that you make very little sense?"

"Sure, all the time." But on this issue, at least, I had a point.

Vintage is one of the least understood aspects of wine. Everyone knows what it means on a label - the grapes were harvested in such-and-such a year. And most everyone thinks they know what it means in the glass. Self-evidently, the good vintages are better than the bad ones. Right?

Not necessarily. First of all, it might help to understand what goes into a vintage assessment. It's mostly about the weather. Was it hot? Cold? Dry? Was there hail that damaged the vines? Frost that injured the grapes? A deluge at harvest? All these factors matter, because they affect the way in which the grape's various components 1) ripen, and 2) balance with one another, which forms the chemistry of the grape - and, thus, the taste of the wine.

When most people say a vintage was "great," they mean that it was relatively dry and unusually warm. This is thinking based on historical Old World viticulture, in which the best years were those during which the grapes were able to ripen, perfectly and without interruption. In an average year, that wasn't usually the case - and in a bad year, there might not be any wine at all. But that's the past. "Thanks" to global warming (and improved farming), truly bad vintages are virtually nonexistent, and much of what's currently considered average would have been acclaimed as recently as 50 years ago.

In much of the New World, it's exactly the opposite. Many - perhaps most - New World regions enjoy climates for which Europeans would have bartered their firstborn a century ago. So are the hotter, drier vintages still considered the best? It depends very much on whom you ask. Many vintners in such areas actually prefer cooler years, and their goal is to slow down and lengthen ripening, believing - correctly - that it leads to more complex wines.

Hot grapes are sugary grapes, which leads to high alcohol. Hot grapes tend toward simple-minded fruit. The wines that result tend to be big, dumb doofuses (doofii?), full of immediate jam-like pleasure, but providing little else. Tannin can also be excessive in hot vintages. This is the primary fault of many European reds from 2003, a year of unparalleled heat in which many vines simply gave up, stopped growing, and waited for Mother Nature to turn on the air conditioning - which, in some regions, she never did.

But these are things that concern the winemaker. What about you, the person who's going to have to drink all this meteorological data?

First, it's worth stressing that a vintage assessment is a generalization. The most important qualitative factor for a wine is still, and always will be, the producer. Some will overachieve, others will underachieve, and vintage is in no way a foolproof indicator of results. And so, to generalize:

The "great" years tend to need aging. That's need. Full of powerful structure that can obscure much of what's going to be great, these are bottles to put down and forget for years, and sometimes decades. It's not that they can't be appealing in their youth - it's that they're a mere shadow of what they'll eventually become. Wine folk have a word for premature uncorkulation: infanticide. Extreme, yes, but wine nuts take their babies seriously.

Top vintages are also expensive. And why wouldn't they be? Everyone who believes they're great will want to own them, driving demand through the roof. This is an effect that is magnified over time, which is why such absurd prices are paid for older wines (almost always great vintages) at auction. Your average oenophile billionaire will have a cellar stocked with only the greatest years. And why not, if he or she can afford it? But the rest of us need a different strategy.

Wines from less acclaimed vintages tend to be cheaper, certainly, but they also tend to be more accessible in their youth. Maybe they're not going to age as long and thus are "ready" sooner, or maybe the winemaker saw their more limited potential early in the process and took deliberate steps to make what he or she could from the materials at hand. In either case, for the non-billionaires among us, these are the smart buys in a restaurant setting: cheaper, easier to drink, and providing more of what the wine can accomplish at an earlier time in its life.

Which isn't to say that one should ignore the great vintages - only that a steady diet of them gets very expensive and requires a great deal of patience. And a big cellar, or at least a wallet fat enough to mimic one on a whim. Plus, what are you going to do while waiting for the great vintages to mature? Watch the Weather Channel? @

Thor Iverson can be reached at wine@stuffatnight.com.

Get Well Soon: Maybe you can with one of these cocktails

Sara Faith Alterman — Tue, 08 Jan 2008 18:29:00 GMT

IT'S INEVITABLE this time of year - freezing winds bluster, slush carpets the sidewalk, and snow dusts your shoulders each morning on your way to work. Someday in the very near future, you're going to get sick. And when you do, you'll probably feel like spending the weekend bundled up in a blanket on your couch, remote control in one hand, bowl of chicken soup in the other.

Good news, sickies. There's no reason (or excuse!) to sit around stewing in your own petri dish of illness when a wealth of "get well" cocktails are close enough to drink. (Just let go of that wad of Kleenex first, okay? Thanks.)

Ingredients such as tea, orange juice, vitamins, and yes, sake, all have healing and soothing powers that will help you beat the winter sniffles without missing a beat. Plus, alcohol kills germs. (Right? Just go with it.) On to the drinks!

The great irony of this particular column is that, as I write it, I am battling a monster of a cold. I can barely think straight, much less drag myself to a bar. But once I get to 33 Restaurant & Lounge (33 Stanhope Street, Boston, 617.572.3311), my cough and swollen glands are all but forgotten and I order up a Chamomile-teani ($14). This soothing blend of honey liqueur, Bombay Sapphire gin, chamomile tea, and fresh lemon tastes like a comforting, home-brewed elixir. "Tea is a very hot infusion right now," says 33's beverage director Paul Westerkamp, who prides himself on his restaurant's use of all-natural ingredients. As well he should! That homey chamomile flavor shines through, and you'll forget that you're actually enjoying a cold martini instead of a warm mug of tea. Equally tea-licious - sorry - is the Tea Cane ($14), featuring 10 Cane rum, Chambord, crimson berry tea, honey syrup, and muddled berries. "These are complicated, intellectual drinks," Westerkamp notes. "A lot of [bartender Jen Harvey's] drinks are like wine and art. People may or may not like them, but they can be appreciated, because they're complex."

Hip-hop enthusiasts will appreciate what Vox Populi (755 Boylston Street, Boston, 617.424.8300) is rollin' out. The 50 Carat ($11) amps up a night on the town with Glaceaú vitaminwater. But not just any vitaminwater: Formula 50, to be precise - also known as 50 Cent's foray into the beverage industry. This grape-flavored health drink is actually tasty and - surprise! - provides 50 percent of the recommended daily dose of vitamins. At Vox, the 50 Carat starts with a splash of Champagne, into which a rock-candy stirrer is plunged. Bartender Leah Guerrette adds Cîroc Snap Frost vodka, white cranberry juice, and a splash of Chambord. The cocktail is surprisingly light and not too sweet, making it easy to drink. And drink. And drink. After two 50 Carats, you'll have taken in 100 percent of your recommended daily vitamins and be well on your way to recovery.

Sake has long been hailed for its medicinal benefits. The Japanese rice spirit (contrary to popular belief, sake is not a wine) is rich in amino acids and vitamins and is said to strengthen the immune system and lower blood pressure. It's also great for the hair and skin, which is why sake is cropping up all over the place as a key ingredient in beauty products. At Clio (370 Comm Ave, Boston, 617.536.7200), the Saketini ($11) - featuring Momokawa sake, Ketel One vodka, and cucumber - and the Ginko-Bai ($11), with plum-infused sake and mountain peach, will leave you feeling healthy and zen-like. Meanwhile, the healing powers of the Smoking Ginger($17), with Hangar One Buddha's Hand citron, yuzu, shiso, and ginger-lemon tea, are nearly instantaneous.

There's nothing like a hot toddy to warm you up on a winter night - and, as a bonus, to clear your head (and your nose). The steaming whiskey concoction has been around for centuries and is widely used as a "cure" for colds and flu. The Hot Toddy Alchemist Style ($8) at the Alchemist Lounge (435 S. Huntington Avenue, Jamaica Plain, 617.477.5741) is a fresh, fruity take on the old Scottish classic, heating rye up with honey, orange and lemon juices, and a clove-spiked orange. One sip of this drink and suddenly you're breathing easy. Of course, ordering a hot toddy on a jam-packed Saturday night in a bar might get you some strange looks, but hey - you're feeling sick and old lady-ish. Embrace your inner Scottish granny. @

[Photo by Ian Barnard]

Twist: Coming soon to a bar near you

Heather Bouzan — Tue, 08 Jan 2008 18:26:00 GMT

NEW YEAR, new cocktail. We're looking ahead, dying to discover what we'll be sipping in 2008. We went to Kevin Murphy, bar manager at Excelsior (272 Boylston Street, Boston, 617.426.7878), for answers.

Make-your-own mixers: "One of the best new trends with mixers is fresh. We're trying to do our best with it - we don't want to buy things, we don't want things frozen, we don't want somebody else to make it. We want to make it fresh here.

Cognac: "Not just cognacs as themselves anymore, but to actually mix cognacs into mixed cocktails. There's a lot of citrus already in the cognac as it is, so you can really complement that with some of your juices."

Old-world wines: "I see a lot of people moving away from their extreme love of California. They want to expand their palate to a lot of Old World wines, Bordeaux and things like that, that are not so much on the forefront in the wine community."

Good-for-you cocktails: "A lot of people are getting more healthy aspects, putting actual purées in their drinks."

Modern twists on the classics: "A lot of the classic cocktails are coming back for a new, younger generation that's never seen them. There's a fair amount of people who are actually making fun little twists on those drinks and bringing them back to a new age. Mixing them up with newer ingredients instead of the old. They're using orange flower water in certain drinks, but they're making it on their own now. They're not buying it from some guy who's been bottling it for 10,000 years."

Wines from South America: "South America, definitely, is coming up right now. I think that really started last year, but I think it could explode [in 2008]. I think South America's where it's at."

[Photo by Dejan Djordjevic]