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Fall For It: Local Bartenders Think Seasonal

Ruth Tobias — Mon, 06 Oct 2008 16:04:00 GMT

On a chilly November night two years ago, an old friend and I slid into a booth in a quiet, candlelit New York bar for what was to be a quick drink and a chat. Several hours later, we slid out, in tears and in love — drunk on the potion that was hot buttered rum.

Thus owing my whole sex life to a winter warmer, I tend to look rather sentimentally forward to cold snaps.

So like a Cherokee doing a rain dance in full headdress, I’ve been working frantically to hasten the season by beseeching the gods — or at least some local mixologists — to send cocktails: rich, dark, tummy-tingling cocktails. And lo, they have heard my calls and promised to deliver. Though not all the concoctions they’re crafting are toddies, all share dear alcohol’s wondrous ability to “increase[] the volume of warm blood in the skin” and thereby produce a “feeling of warmth,” as authors Haven Emerson and Gerald N. Grob put it in Alcohol and Man: The Effects of Alcohol on Man in Health and Disease. That may not sound so romantic in the flush of Indian summer, but read on — the scoops I got should set your capillaries stirring.

Actually, according to co-owner Alon Munzer, you can have your rocks and get them off year-round too at Hungry Mother (233 Cardinal Medeiros Avenue, Cambridge, 617.499.0090). Though the Pappy van Winkle 15-year-old bourbon ($12) Munzer just added to the menu “warms you up with one sip,” those who take their corn poison over ice should know that he’s making his own dilutionproof cubes. Just as a small cube, which has a relatively large surface area, melts relatively fast, Munzer explains, so a large cube does the opposite: if you strain a chilled drink over “two big, solid, really cold ice cubes, then [they] keep it cold rather than melting” to the chagrin of “those who like to linger over their drinks.”

Drinks like, say, the #41 ($9). Though served on the rocks, this new addition to Munzer and crew’s selection of afterdinner nips goes autumnal all the way with equal parts Jacques Cardin brandy and Amaro Meletti, an Italian digestivo with, in Munzer’s words, “a little bit of sweetness, a little bit of warm spice — cinnamon, cloves. We wanted to introduce people to bitters that they’ll actually like the first time they try them” (kerpow, Fernet). A finishing dash of Boston-based Bittermens Xocolatl Mole bitters “has got that cocoa and cinnamon” savor you can really cuddle up to. And it’s garnished with chestnuts roasted on an open fire. Kidding. Meanwhile, the #43 ($9.50) combines Old Overholt rye with Ferreira 10-year tawny port, Vermont maple syrup, and Angostura bitters to positively smack of harvest-gold field and forest. Munzer credits bartender Duane Gorey with devising it in the middle of a move, from whatever he hadn’t already packed. “As soon as he tasted it, he texted me. We had all the ingredients at the bar, so I mixed one up too. I added an orange twist to give it a bit of acid, and the drink was born. It’s a classic cocktail story. The guy just needed a drink.”

Speaking of classic cocktail stories, Gary Benacquista’s got one: “Central Kitchen will be unveiling its first drink list in the coming weeks.” And we all lived happily ever after! Oh, wait, there’s more. “We’re known for our rustic Mediterranean fare and our wine list,” he admits, “but there’s a lot of experience — and liquor — behind that bar, and we want to call attention to that, too. We’re not afraid to squeeze a little fruit.” After all, Benacquista is also the bar manager at the Enormous Room (567 Mass Ave, Cambridge, 617.491.5550) directly upstairs, where the ladies like the frou-frou. There, in fact, he has just debuted the Black Bear Martini ($9) with Stoli Blueberi, Domaine de Canton ginger liqueur, and blueberry puree, plus a garnish of candied ginger — a flavor pairing redolent of the juicy crispness of early fall. Later in the season, he’ll be adding a spiced Manhattan ($9): “The vanilla beans have to soak in the bourbon for about six weeks; then I’ll most likely add some cinnamon. It’ll be shaken and strained into a martini glass with a cinnamon stick.”

Meanwhile, the drink list at Central Kitchen (567 Mass Ave, Cambridge, 617.491.5599) will put a greater emphasis on the classics — but since “it isn’t a high-volume cocktail lounge,” Benacquista notes, “we can spend more time on more elaborate drinks” as well. Ask sweetly, for instance, and he may even whip up a toddy or two: “I hope [they] make a comeback. It’s hard to find a good one because there isn’t a ton of demand for them until the dead of winter.”

True that, though visions of sugarplums are already dancing in the head of Persephone (283 Summer Street, Boston, 617.695.2257) bar manager Chris Graeff, who says that come fall his thoughts turn to “whiskey, brandy, darker fruits — currants, figs, plums — and richer spices like clove, cardamom, and cinnamon with some chili-pepper-esque heat, as well, to act as the primary components of our drinks.” Just what will those be? “We’re still tweaking things,” he says, but “my bartenders and I are considering some interesting recipes focusing on digestifs such as Fernet Branca, Averna, and Benedictine and other herbed brandies.”

And that’s only the beginning for Graeff, a human cornucopia of seasonal ideas. “We’re also turning to fall standards like squash purees: Georgia candy roaster, butternut, and the obligatory pumpkin puree for cocktails. We’re going to match them up with local hard cider and high-end bourbon, adding a little cranberry or lemon juice for acidity. Campari is going to factor in as a mixer as well; we’re all still in love with that sweet-bitter orange aperitif.” Finally, he adds, “as our infatuation with tea as an essential, non-cloying yet flavor-imparting component of cocktails continues, you’ll be sure to find some genmaicha, white peony, chai” and others sprinkled throughout the drink list, too. For instance, Graeff’s working on a mixture of Belle de Brillet pear brandy, cider (which “has to be light, yet flavorful”), dry vermouth (“for balance and aromatics”), apple-infused simple syrup, and “over-steeped” English breakfast tea: “the earthiness of the tea yields the slightest hint of fall fruit pie or pastry.” Sounds like an aphrodisiac to me.

Bitter sweet

Liza Weisstuch — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 18:07:00 GMT

Bittermens comes to Boston

It’s business as usual at Green Street on a recent Wednesday night. The barflies’ conversation adds up to a clamorous but comforting din, a row of ice-filled martini glasses sits chilling on the bar, soul music plays over the sound system, and the bartenders add their own rhythmic enhancement to the soundtrack with the rattle and jangle of cubes in shakers. Janet and Avery Glasser are perched at the bar when I arrive. She’s working her way through a beer, he’s just about in need of a new drink. When bartender Andy McNees approaches, Avery has a special request: could he please make a Manhattan and split it into two small glasses? “Sure,” says Andy, affable as always. Avery then instructs McNees to add a few dashes of Angostura to one and a few dashes of Bittermens’ Xocolatl Mole Bitters to the other.
The Glassers, a husbandandwife team, make Bittermens themselves with formulas they derived through many rounds of trial and error. They use meticulously chosen roots, barks, spices, peels, and herbs, daunting amounts of neutral grain spirit, and a collection of vats, jars, and jugs in their kitchen. That’s how they did it when they lived in San Francisco; when they moved to Manhattan in 2007, they turned their closet-sized kitchen into a lab. Since April, they’ve called Brookline home, so that’s where the bitters are presently formulated — to the delight of the select bartenders who are lucky enough to have them behind their bar. (At press time, Eastern Standard, No. 9 Park, and Green Street were the only spots selected to carry them.) Bittermens, which the Glassers make in six exotic flavors (plus a few top-secret custom batches) aren’t yet commercially available, which is to say they can’t be sold for legal tender. (More on that later.) So for now, consider a few dashes your bartender’s gift to you.

And gifts they are indeed. The flavors concentrated in the tiny cobalt-blue bottles have the power to take a familiar drink and imbue it with surprising dimension. This becomes remarkably clear when I taste the two Manhattans side by side. Compared with the standard Manhattan, the sample with a few dashes of Xocolatl doesn’t so much have a chocolate flavor as an echo of chocolate. The bitters round out the cocktail’s other components with a hint of zesty cocoa, underscoring herbal and spicy elements in the vermouth and rye whiskey, respectively. Experiencing the difference reminds me of that moment when Dorothy emerges in Oz and objects and faces that are readily familiar come to new life in Technicolor. The Glassers, who both sport tattoos and glasses that make you wonder if they also own an art gallery, have another way of explaining it.

“It’s like making an extract, just like bakers have peppermint, vanilla, and lemon extract,” Avery says. “You throw that into a cake and it completely changes the nature of the cake.”

His analogies to cooking are legion. The Squirrel Nut Bitters, he says, started out as a joke, an off-the-cuff idea inspired by a drink made by noted bartender Brian Miller at New York’s Death & Co. The base was pecan-infused bourbon.

“We wondered if you could use the same concept to make a bitter,” Avery recalls. “Sometimes you just want to have a sense of the nut, not have the nut overpowering as the primary flavor. It’s just like in cooking: if you want lots basil flavor, you use pesto. If you want a hint of basil, throw some chopped on top.”
Bitters, let’s not forget, are the ingredient that historically defined a cocktail, thereby differentiating it from a plain old mixed drink. Before the word “cocktail” came into play just over 200 years ago, folks in tri-corn hats mixed spirits, fruits, and fizz in various proportions to make drinks — be it a highball, a punch, a sling, a cobbler, or a sour. They weren’t technically a cocktail until bitters — a catch-all term for concentrated infusions of herbs, spices, roots, barks, and alcohol, traditionally used for medicinal purposes — came into the picture. Today there are various mass-produced bitters, Angostura being the most common. But as the classic-cocktail renaissance surges, a growing number of bartenders are eager to get their hands on and experiment with boutique brands, if not make their own.
Tom Schlesinger-Guidelli, assistant bar manager at Eastern Standard, recently began steeping and soaking herbs and roots in-house to create his own bitters. He can attest that finding the perfect balance for new flavors can be like attempting a round of badminton on a blustery tundra. But there are other reasons he’s excited to tinker with Bittermens.

“These offer something I’ve never had to play with before. The Xocolatl is spectacular — there are such distinct spices,” he says, unpacking a brown paper bag stuffed with sacks of quassia chips, dried orange peels, gentian root, wild-cherry bark, and other ingredients he’s used in his experiments. Another one of the Glassers’ popular styles is the Elemakule Tiki Bitters, laced with West Indian flavors that are characteristic of classic Polynesian drinks, like clove, nutmeg, and all-spice. “I think their Tiki Bitters could revitalize the tiki movement,” Schlesinger-Guidelli notes.

The Xocolatl bitters remain the signature of the Bittermens line, which the Glassers have been making since late 2006 in San Francisco. Longtime cocktail aficionados, a trip to the local Gin 209 distillery triggered a revelation: something was missing in the cocktail world. They’d sampled several experimental batches made by others, but most were riffs on an already existing tune. They wanted to compose a new song. Thus, the spicy Xocolatl.

The pair had no plan, no sales pitch. They were simply curious to find out whether their concoction was any good. So they took it to Bacar, one of their local haunts in San Francisco, and asked the bartender to tinker with it in a few rounds. It was validation and then some. Not only did it work with tequila, going boldly where no bitters had gone before (read: into a margarita), it also played well with spirits that know bitters well. “[The bartender] made a Manhattan and it just tasted like Christmas,” Janet remembers.

Of the six varieties in their line, one was the consequence of a “happy accident” (a batch of Mole with too much cacao became the recipe for Sweet Chocolate Bitters). The rest resulted from conversations with elite bartenders, especially once they moved to Manhattan and became mired in the mixology scene. In keeping with what was becoming tradition, when they settled in Boston, they designed a bitters as a token of thanks to the bartenders who welcomed them here. The Boston Bittahs, as they’re called, pack a mighty punch of citrus with slight hints of chamomile and basil, and tastes as strong as summer feels after a New England winter.

“That one is really representative of what that couple can do,” Schlesinger-Guidelli says of Boston Bittahs. He, for the record, was the first bartender to get his hands on a bottle and experiment. A favorite composition to date involves Yellow Chartreuse, Plymouth gin, Lillet Blanc, St. Germain, and Boston Bittahs. “I’ve had success with that one. Those citrus notes, when they hit Chartreuse, there’s a perfumed, almost violet flavor. It reminds me of a perfume that my mother used to wear,” he muses.
As of now, the Glassers are still awaiting approval on their recipes from the Alcohol and Tobacco Trade and Taxation Bureau. They’re filing to have their bitters classified as non-potable (as opposed to potable varieties, like Campari and Averna). The TTB, which handles all things containing alcohol, is split into various departments: one handles distilled spirits, another handles beer, another wine, and still another handles everything else. That includes, among other items, vanilla extract, mouthwash, and ethanol. If you’re a small producer making bitters and you’ve submitted an application for government approval, it likely ends up in a pile with applications submitted by McCormick and Proctor & Gamble. Guess whose will be looked at first?

Until they get the bureaucratic green light, the Glassers can only give their bitters out to bars. All they want in return is feedback, which hasn’t been tough to solicit.
“It gives bartenders the option to change things subtly without changing an entire recipe,” says Avery.

Or, as Schlesinger-Guidelli puts it, uncapping a little blue bottle of Boston Bittahs and taking a deep breath, “This is just fucking fun. Think of how cool that is: this is the first batch, the first bottle.”

Bottled up: on magnums, flutes, and goat scrotums

Thor Iverson — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 19:13:00 GMT

I’ll never forget my first magnum.

It was in Alsace, and after a particularly lengthy tasting, the owner offered a gift: an oversized container of his house’s best riesling. The traditional Alsatian bottle is called a flute: taller than average, thin, and tapering to a graceful neck. It’s the same bottle that’s used in most of the German-speaking world, and it’s a somewhat rigid, almost stern receptacle that represents the wine inside quite well.

But in magnum (two-bottle) size, it’s ... well, positively priapic. You know those Japanese pillow books in which the man sports an appendage larger and thicker than either of his legs? Well, it kinda looks like that. The girl I was with mused that she might leave me at the winery and continue the journey with this new companion. I, on the other hand, wondered how I was going to fit the whole thing into my luggage. Those familiar with unusually large ... bottles ... will recognize the problem.

Back in the day, wine bottles signified their place of origin. A flute meant Germany, Germanic (like Austria), or post-Germanic (like Alsace and northeastern Italy), and the choice of green or brown glass indicated regions within Germany. A straight bottle with a quick shoulder (the part where it turns towards the neck) was a symbol of Bordeaux, while a slightly larger, more graceful, and decidedly more feminine bottle with a gently sloping shoulder traditionally came from Burgundy. And there were others, too: a sort of bulbous thing for Provençal rosé, a fat-bottomed, straw-covered fiasco for Chianti, and so on.

Some of this still holds true. The flute remains, mandated by the regions in which it’s employed (though a few mavericks have started to use “foreign” shapes, largely for export markets), and most Burgundy still comes in its traditional container. The Bordeaux bottle is typically used by wineries making similarly conceived cabernet sauvignon/merlot blends, pinot noir producers tend to stick with the Burgundy shape, and the Germanic grapes (Riesling and gewürztraminer, along with a few others) usually end up in flutes, whether they’re from Oregon or New Zealand.

But that’s pretty much where the tradition ends. The Chianti fiasco, for example, is only used by a few low-quality producers; most have moved on to Bordeaux shapes. And even within each category, there’s a wide range of variations. Angled sides, oversized flanges (the rims at the top of the neck), etchings, thoroughly opaque or bright blue glass, unusual heights — even bottles shaped like fish.

However, the most common variation is size and its constant companion, thickness. For reasons that are no doubt well-supported by expensive marketing surveys, wineries have concluded that fatter, heavier bottles indicate prestige to the average consumer. In other words, it’s not the length, it’s the girth. Until recently, this has been helpful to the observant consumer, because it’s been a safe assumption that heavy, thick bottles contain wine done in a modern style: more intense fruit, less acidity, a lavish use of new oak, and all--around power given prominence over elegance.

Whether or not this makes any sense isn’t up to me to decide, though it has always struck me that these sorts of bottles are expensive, which (in addition to the prestige-driven price hike) means you’re spending a lot of money on something other than the purpose: the liquid within. I can tell you that retailers are not at all fond of the trend, because hauling cases of the things is a backbreaking exercise. But these days, the popularity of the form has led to a lot of very traditional producers adopting the bottles in an effort to compete with their more overtly endowed brethren. So the generalization about style no longer holds quite as well as it used to. And there is one unquestionably negative effect: the bottles don’t fit well into traditional wine racking. They simply won’t pass through single-bottle slots, and they don’t rest well atop one another in multi-bottle spaces.

But then there’s the bocksbeutel. You’ll rarely see it here, but in the German region of Franconia, it’s the legally mandated bottle shape. It’s round, flat, and squat, and the name coupled with that shape has led many historians of German wine to conclude that the name is derived from the, uh, lowdangling scrotum of a goat. No, really.

So get a few Franconian wines together with an Alsatian magnum, and you’ve got yourself a party. Or some really salacious modern art. Hey, maybe there’s an NEA grant in this ...

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

Pinot envy

Thor Iverson — Mon, 19 May 2008 19:32:00 GMT

It’s the guy issue, and what subject is of more interest to guys than their pinots? Walk into any wine cellar and you’re likely to find a bunch of guys talking about them, bragging about them — sometimes even taking them out and looking at them, just for the sake of comparison. That’s usually a good time to beat a hasty retreat.

What’s most interesting about pinots is their variety. Some are pale-white, youthful and innocent. The red kind seem to promise greater stamina, but they’re also the most sensitive to ill treatment. And then there are the gray ones, which no one quite seems to know how to handle.

Why are there so many different kinds of pinot? Mutation. Pinots can change on a whim, gaining and losing structure, or turning from white to pink to red (and back again). Some that look white are actually red, and some that look pink are actually white.

Confused? Maybe getting your hands on a few will help. Here, I’ll talk you through it. Starting from the top, and slowly working our way down:

Pinot noir is the big red one. Most red grapes are actually purplish-black, or at least very deep blue, but pinot noir is a lot lighter than that, which is reflected in the naturally lightcolored wine it produces. In its purest form, it tastes of berries: sometimes red, sometimes black. Earth and freshly-picked mushrooms are also common. Pinot noir is highly sensitive to and reflective of site, which is why so many carry individual vineyard names. (And doesn’t everyone eventually name their pinot?)

Historically, pinot noir reached its apogee in red Burgundy, with wines ranging from simple quaffers to majestic, unbelievably complex wines that require decades to reach maturity — and are priced commensurately. But these days, good pinot comes from all over: Oregon, New Zealand, California (especially the Russian River Valley, Anderson Valley, and various locales northwest of Santa Barbara), northeastern Italy (as pinot nero), and even Germany (where it’s called spätburgunder). It’s also one of the three major grapes of Champagne, though only in rosé is it allowed to contribute any color to the finished wine.

Pinot meunier is the other red one, but the only reason anyone cares about it is that it’s a minor blending grape in Champagne. It’s a pinot with an inferiority complex.

Pinot gris, a/k/a pinot grigio, grauburgunder, and pinot beurot, comes from reddish-purple-skinned grapes — yet it’s a white wine. This viticultural schizophrenia continues into the finished product, which can be insipid, watery swill — which describes most of what comes from northeastern Italy (the Veneto, Trentino, Alto Adige, and FriuliVenezia Giulia regions, which are blanketed with this grape), though intense, mineraldriven — or rich, thick, and heady (the preferred style in Alsace) — versions are available. Germany and Austria lean toward the better Italian style; New Zealand and Oregon attempt — but usually fail — to ape the latter. Spiced pear or fennel are classic descriptors for the dense version, while sweetened lemonlime is about all you’ll ever get out of cheap pinot grigio. In other words, it can be great, but you can’t always rely on a gray pinot. Sometimes they’ll let you down.

Pinot blanc, also known as pinot bianco or weißburgunder (weissburgunder), is the only pinot that actually looks white on the vine. It, too, is grown all over, but its qualitative home is the historically Germanic core of Europe: Germany itself, Austria, northern Italy, Switzerland, and Alsace. It’s crisp and clean, with very light citrus, melon, or stone fruit flavors, and isn’t usually much of an ager. It’s capable of promising solo performances in Oregon, but usually prefers to work in groups.

Because pinot (the catchall name for these grapes) is prone to mutation, this list doesn’t cover all of the possible variations. As always, pinots have a mind of their own. There is, for instance, an “albino” pinot noir carefully preserved in Burgundy, which tastes like a noir but looks like a blanc. But because the grape is so mutable, some confusion remains. Pinot auxerrois, for example, isn’t a pinot at all, though it’s almost always present (usually as a 50/50 blend) in Alsace wines labeled pinot blanc.

And then there’s the strange case of “pinot chardonnay.” Chardonnay is the white companion to pinot noir in Burgundy, and while it was often thought to be a sibling, it’s not. It’s actually a bastard offspring stemming from a one-night stand between pinot and a grape no one’s seen before or since: gouais blanc. Which demonstrates what can happen when you don’t keep a close eye on your pinot. And anyone who tells you otherwise is spouting phallusies.

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

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.

'Tis the Seasoning: Spices are turning up in cocktails all over town

Sara Faith Alterman — Wed, 12 Dec 2007 17:50:00 GMT

PARSLEY, SAGE, rosemary, and ... chipotle? Spices from all over the globe are popping up in local cocktails, and we couldn't be happier. Herbs and spices add depth to your favorite dishes, so it makes sense that adding a pinch or a dash to your drink will do the same. And these days spices serve as more than just last-minute sprinkles and mix-ins. Infusions of savory herbs are becoming more popular, and the heat of cayenne and dried chipotle is heating up the tongues (and watering the eyes) of Bostonians faster than they can grab a glass of water.

It's new to the Boston scene, but Church (69 Kilmarnock Street, Boston, 617.236.7600) is already making us eager converts. Part restaurant, part pool hall, part nightclub, and part cozy neighborhood hang, Church is a conglomeration of style and sophistication - and so is its specialty cocktail menu. They've got seven drinks for seven sins, so there's a drink that's perfect for your mood, no matter how the devil may choose to tempt you. Feeling selfish, you little piggy? You'll love watching the bartender plunk a fistful of cucumbers into your glass to start building a Greed martini ($10). Drowned in Hendrick's gin and St. Germain, sprinkled with white pepper, then strained into a martini glass and garnished with a salted cucumber, this delicately spiced cocktail will have you craving more. And more. And more. Speaking of more, lustful barflies can't get enough, well, Lust ($10), a drink that's just as bold and complex as l'amour itself. Lavender and honey give Spanish brandy a well-deserved spanking in a naughty drink that will leave you dizzy (in a good way).

A tribute to the ultimate sinner can be enjoyed, guilt-free, at the Met Bar at the Metropolitan Club (1210 Boylston Street, Chestnut Hill, 617.731.0600), where the Fallen Angel ($11) embodies all things indulgent. A satisfying, nearly addictive concoction of Angelique, mango purée, and jalapeño syrup, what really makes this drink sing like a cherubim choir is its rim of sugar and smoked chipotle. Smooth, spicy, salty, and fruity, the Fallen Angel pleases every facet of your palate. It's primarily a brunch drink, but if you flirt nicely, we think the staff at the Met Bar will whip one up for you. Many of the drinks here are takes on modern classics, with general manager Stephen Zeneski and bar manager Leo Neves taking inspiration from whatever's on the shelf or in the produce section of local markets. There are no synthetic ingredients to be found anywhere near the Met, and your taste buds are better for it. That means no Pucker, no Rose's Lime - everything is made and/or infused in-house, including pepper vodka, lemongrass and ginger tequila, and a cilantro-infused gin that's used in the Modern Martini ($11). That earthy, soapy aroma hits you square in the kisser when you lift your glass, and the grape-tomato garnish absorbs a lot of flavor if you let it marinate. Hang on to it for a savory post-martini treat.

Also at the Met, nutmeg, cloves, and cinnamon take center stage in the Ipanema ($11), a tall and lovely Brazilian version of the classic Hot Toddy. In it, cachaça is infused with orange and classic cold-weather spices, then served warm in a snifter. The aroma is cozy and intoxicating, the taste even more so.

The soft lighting, über-trendy furnishings, and floor-to-ceiling windows at Rocca Kitchen & Bar (500 Harrison Avenue, Boston, 617.451.5151) set the scene for a hell of a night out. Cocktails here have an aura of mystique, enhanced by unusual ingredients. Try a sophisticated Vino Francesca ($9), rosé wine that's infused with sage and blended with lemon and honey, served cold and brimming with fresh sage leaves. It's a surprisingly savory drink, with the sage adding a pungency that balances the honey and lingers on the tongue. For a cocktail that's not for the faint of heart (or taste bud), sip - and we mean sip - the Devil's Garden ($9): Svedka Clementine with jalapeño, lime, and fresh thyme. Bartender Dave Nasiff describes this as a "progressive" drink: the longer it sits, the spicier it becomes. Usually peppery cocktails deliver a pure, concentrated heat, but here the thyme adds dimension and character. This is definitely a drink with which to take your time, as the spice will catch in the back of your throat. It's pleasant if you're going slow, excruciating if you try to gulp.

You're not the only one cursing the recent drizzles and snow flurries. At Dante (Royal Sonesta Hotel, 40 Edwin H. Land Boulevard, Cambridge, 617.497.4200) the Damn the Weather ($12) is a warming blend of gin, orange cardamom, and fresh lemon sour, perfect for chasing away the stormy-day blues. Equally inspiring is the Mango Cocktail ($12), made with house-infused liquors, pineapple, mango, and a dusting of cayenne pepper. The drinks are as sexy as Dante's neo-sleek atmosphere; if you feel like really heating things up, book a room upstairs at the Sonesta for a post-cocktail romp in the sheets. We won't tell. @

Size Matters: Watch out for great whites

Thor Iverson — Wed, 17 Oct 2007 18:15:00 GMT

IT'S DRILLED into our wine-drinking subconscious: first white, then red. But why?

While it's tempting to blame the usual "bigger = better" delusion, everyone else does it this way as well. And there's a sensible reason. Bigger wines obscure their lighter brethren, trumping elegance and complexity with superior force. It takes careful concentration to pick up the nuances of a delicate wine after your palate's been pummeled by something brawny. And who wants to work that hard?

However, all this traditional good sense relies on an unsupported assumption: that a red is always the bigger wine. We've already talked about lighter-styled reds in this space, so now it's time to talk about their counterparts - the plus-sized whites that compete in a heavier weight class than most of their tinted peers.

When wine folk talk about size, they tend to mean a few different things. The first is what one might term the raw power of the wine: the initial impact that fruit and other components make. This is where reds usually have the advantage, with the bite of dark, intense berries paired with tannin - the structural, drying, and sometimes embittering component that very few whites possess in identifiable quantity, as it comes from the skins and seeds with which white wines are in only brief contact during the initial steps of winemaking. (That's why they're white, as color comes from the same steps.)

But the second, and the real key to size, is body, a measure of a wine's "fullness." The best way to conceive body is using a dairy-products analogy: skim milk would be light-bodied, whole milk medium-bodied, and heavy cream full-bodied, with all the variations in dairy fat inhabiting the continuums in between.

Body in milk comes from fat; body in wine comes, primarily, from alcohol. The more alcoholic a wine, the fuller-bodied it's likely to be. Thus, grapes from warmer places, where the sugars at harvest are high, ferment into fuller-bodied wines than their cooler-site counterparts. Secondarily, body is supplied by something winemakers call "dry extract" - other solids that survive the journey from grape to wine - which also tends to be higher in fruit from warmer climates. Sugar also plays a role, which is one reason many supposedly dry wines carry a significant bit of sweetness these days (the other is that you'll never go broke selling sugar to Americans).

While winemakers can influence a wine's body by leaving residual sugar in the wine, they can also add to it with the use of new oak during fermentation and/or aging. Oak adds flavor (butterscotch, chocolate, vanilla, toast, spice, etc.), it adds tannin (from the wood), it adds color, and it adds heft. But, for the most part, the size of a given wine is largely predetermined by the time its grapes leave the vineyard, based on their sugars, their dry extract, and, also, their varietal identity. Because some grapes are just bigger than others.

The biggest, baddest brawler on the block is probably gewürztraminer, with its fat, oily texture and its waves of spicy, nutty stone fruit - often with, no kidding, a significant and smoky porcine element. Alsace is the key supplier of this grape's heftier qualities, as it's just about the hottest region where it's successfully grown; a few areas of New Zealand - especially Gisborne - also show great promise.

Sticking with Alsace for a minute, there's also pinot gris to consider. And here's an example of why heat matters: elsewhere, pinot gris (a/k/a pinot grigio in Italy) is lighter, crisper, and more refreshing. In hot-summered Alsace, it's big, spicy and pear-dominated. And there's something else: despite it being used to make white wine, pinot gris is actually a red-skinned grape, so in Alsace it's the white wine they serve with red meat. Yes, really. Give it a try sometime.

Speaking of white wines that act like red wines - and this example ups the tariff a bit - look for ribolla gialla, a relatively obscure yellow white-wine grape from Friuli, in northeastern Italy. In the hands of a few producers, most notably Gravner and Radikon, it takes on so much weight, color, and tannin from long exposure to the skins (a very unusual and controversial technique for whites) that it needs to be served at room temperature, like a red wine. It's very individualistic, and not for everyone, but it certainly doesn't lack for size.

The other major member of the pantheon of love-it-or-hate-it grapes is roussanne. It forms part of white blends in the southern Rhône Valley (Châteauneuf-du-Pâpe, Côtes-du-Rhône, Hermitage, St-Joseph, and Crozes-Hermitage), and it plays the same role in both similar and single-variety wines from the New World (notably Paso Robles in California). Wide-bodied and chock full o' nuts, sun-baked stones, and Provençal earth, it's a grape that's completely indifferent to your affection; take it, or leave it - it couldn't possibly care less. In other words, it's the cat of the wine world.

The fat cat. @

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

Cento box: 100 bottles of wine on the wall

Thor Iverson — Fri, 10 Aug 2007 17:24:00 GMT

THIS IS A list of interesting wines. No more, no less. By no means is this a “best of,” which can easily be found from all the usual wine-critic suspects. Some wines are cheap quaffers, others are expensive and meant to age, and a few you’ve seen before. I’ve made no attempt to be balanced or fair; Bordeaux, Burgundy, South Africa and Spain (among others) are grossly underrepresented, while South America is entirely absent. Vintages are not included by intention, but if possible avoid 2003s from Europe and 2002s from the Rhône Valley, as they’re the products of bizarre weather and won’t necessarily provide a typical experience.

On to the list, which is broken down by country, state, or region as appropriate:

Alsace
1) Sparr “One” (a fun blend)
Three different expressions of liquefied minerals:
2) Trimbach Riesling
3) Trimbach Riesling “Cuvée Frédéric Émile”
4) Boxler Riesling Brand
5) Weinbach Gewurztraminer Altenbourg “Cuvée Laurence” (a spice explosion that’s impossible to ignore)

Eastern/Southeastern France and Corsica
6) Renardat-Fache Bugey-Cerdon (pink, frothy, fun)
7) Raymond Quénard Chignin Mondeuse (a stern Alpine red)
8) Arena Muscat du Cap Corse (the maquis in dessert form)
9) Château d’Arlay Vin de Paille (an utterly unique digestif wine)

Provence
10) Mas de Gourgonnier Coteaux d’Aix en Provence Blanc (a drinkable mistral)
11) Tempier Bandol Rosé (Peter Mayle in a glass)
12 Tempier Bandol (a red capable of more funk than Bootsy Collins)

Rhône Valley
13) Beaucastel Châteauneuf-du-Pape Blanc (nuts and stone fruit)
And a lineup of big, leathery, meaty reds:
14) Beaucastel Châteauneuf-du-Pape Rouge
15) Domaine du Cayron Gigondas
16) Allemand Cornas
17) Graillot Crozes-Hermitage
18) Jamet Côte-Rôtie
19) Texier Côtes-du-Rhône-Villages Séguret “Vieilles Vignes”
Plus, the succulently sweet:
20) Domaine de Durban Muscat de Beaumes-de-Venise

Languedoc-Roussillon
21) Hugues Beaulieu Picpoul de Pinet (a better bargain white you’ll rarely find — except in the next section)
22) BeauThorey Vin de Table “Bogus” (a light, elusive red)
And another procession of brawny, muscular, slightly un-tamed reds:
23) Domaine de La Rectorie Collioure “Coume Pascole”
24) Château d’Oupia Minervois
25) Château La Roque Pic Saint-Loup “Cuvée les Vieilles Vignes de Mourvèdre”
26) Domaine de Fontsainte Corbières
27) Piquemal Vin de Pays des Côtes Catalanes “Pierre Cuvée Audonnet”
28) Domaine de La Rectorie Banyuls “Cuvée Léon Parcé” (this last one’s slightly sweet and almost chocolate-y)

Southwest France
29) Les Vignes Retrouvées Côtes de Saint-Mont (white and silly cheap)
30) Château Courtiade Bergerac Sec (a more refined white)
31) Château Lamartine Cahors (big and red)
32) Château de Perron Madiran “Coeur de Tannat” (big and black)
33) Domaine Etxegaraya Irouleguy (a Basque treasure)
34) Domaine Cauhapé Jurançon “Symphonie de Novembre” (elegantly sweet and beautiful)

Bordeaux
35) Château Graville-Lacoste Graves (white and summery)
36) Château Léoville-Barton St. Julien (a classic Bordeaux built for decades of aging)

Loire Valley
37) Huet Vouvray Pétillant (the most ethereal bubbly you’ll ever meet)
38) Ollivier Muscadet Sèvre & Maine “Sur Lie” Clos des Briords “Cuvée Vieilles Vignes” (oysters beware, though this is much more versatile and ageable than most muscadet)
39) Huet Vouvray Demi-Sec Le Clos du Bourg (one of the world’s great wines, with many decades of development in its future; it’s very shy in its callow youth, but have faith)
40) Cazin “Le Petit Chambord” Cour-Cheverny (utterly unique)
41) P. Cotat Sancerre La Grande Côte (not always dry, but always delicious)
42) Clos Roche Blanche Touraine “Cuvée Gamay” (age-able but irresistible now)
43) Breton Bourgueil Les Galichets (combining Bordeaux-like structure and a cool, earthy elegance)
44) Château Pierre-Bise Coteaux du Layon Chaume (decadently sweet)
45) Huet Vouvray Moelleux “Cuvée Constance” (deathless ambrosia, though not cheap)

Beaujolais
46) Brun “Terres Dorées” Beaujolais Blanc (definitely not your average chardonnay)
And a trio of light(ish) reds that distill the pure essence of joy:
47) Brun “Terres Dorées” Beaujolais “l’Ancien Vieilles Vignes”
48) Coudert “Clos de la Roilette” Fleurie
49) Foillard Morgon Côte du Py

Burgundy, Mâcon, and Chablis
50) R&V Dauvissat Chablis Les Clos (crushed-seashell chardonnay, with powerful aging potential)
51) Guillemot-Michel Mâcon-Villages (a kooky village crank masquerading as chardonnay)
52) Maréchal Bourgogne “Cuvée Gravel” (pure essence of pinot noir)
53) Chevillon Nuits St. Georges Les Vaucrains “1er Cru” (a more masculine interpretation of the same grape; needs age)

Champagne
54) Pierre Peters Blanc de Blancs (clean, lemony, and sharp)
55) Bollinger “Special Cuvée” Brut (rich and redolent)
56) Jacquesson Avize “Grand Cru” (the vintage version, which is beautiful now but can age)
57) Lassalle Chigny-les-Roses “1er Cru” Brut Rosé “Réserve des Grandes Années” (rose-tinted seduction)

Spain
58) Ameztoi Txakolina (one of the most vivacious whites you’ll ever taste)
59) José Pariente Rueda Verdejo (more subdued but delicious)
60) Muga Rioja Rosado (a rosé for a dry and dusty afternoon)
61) Piñol Terra Alta “Ludovicus” (balanced and evocative red)
62) Clos Mogador Priorat (beautifully structured and straddling the line between tradition and modernity)
63) El Grifo Malvasia Dulce (a sweet Canary Islands stunner)
64) Toro Albalá “Don PX” Pédro Ximénez “Gran Reserva” (the most overpoweringly sweet wine you’ll ever taste — dates, figs, dried plums, and molasses — with a finish that lasts for months)

Portugal
65) Auratus Alvarinho/Trajadura (crisp and pure)
66) Herdade Grande Alentejano (like an ultra-ripe Burgundy, but much cheaper)
67) Quinta do Noval Late Bottled Vintage Port (sweetly berry goodness)

Germany
A trio of appealingly off-dry whites, of ascending intensity:
68) St. Urbans-Hof Riesling QbA
69) Dönnhoff Oberhauser Brücke Riesling Spätlese
70) JJ Prüm Wehlener Sonnenuhr Riesling Auslese
71) Kesseler Spätburgunder “Cuvée Max” (pinot noir from Germany — and an appealing one)

Austria
72) Bründlmayer Grüner Veltliner Kamptaler Terassen (green-hued minerality)
73) Jamek Ried Klaus Riesling Spätlese Smaragd (piercing, strong, and highly ageable)

Italy
74) Tenuta Pederzana Lambrusco Grasparossa di Castelvetro (a red froth)
75) Gravner Ribolla Gialla “Amfora” (the producer just might be insane, but this fascinating white is utterly convincing, and there’s nothing else like it on the planet)
76) Lageder “Tòr Löwengang” Pinot Bianco Haberlehof (mountainous and mineral-driven)
77) Fèlsina Chianti Classico Riserva “Rancia” (better than almost any other Chianti on the market, though it’s more powerful than most)
78) Sella & Mosca Cannonau di Sardegna “Riserva” (a red for the seashore)
79) Tenuta Migliavacca Monferatto Freisa (if one could ferment the color purple ... )
80) COS Cerasuolo di Vittoria (strong Sicilian flavors lend a certain sun-baked elegance)
81) Poderi Sanguineto I e II Rosso di Montepulciano (quirky and delicious)
82) Maculan Breganze “Torcolato” (one of the best sweet wines in the world)

California
83) Edmunds St. John “Shell & Bone” White (flowers, stone fruit, and minerals, with a balance that’s rare in California)
84) Edmunds St. John “Bone-Jolly” Gamay (Beaujolais given a shot of manifest destiny)
85) Ridge Geyserville (the California classic; let it age)
86) Dashe Zinfandel Todd Brothers Ranch (for those who think the Geyserville could be a little bigger)
87) Tablas Creek “Côtes de Tablas” Rouge (one of the most compelling Rhône-style wines anywhere outside France, and still grossly undervalued)

Other USA
88) Westport Rivers Brut “Cuvée RJR” (home-grown bubbly of unquestioned quality)
89) Domaine Drouhin Oregon Chardonnay “Arthur” (quite possibly the best domestic chardonnay)
90) Scott Paul Pinot Noir “Audrey” ( ... and from just down the road, one of the best domestic pinots)

New Zealand
91) Pegasus Bay Riesling (German-styled, though perhaps a little fruitier and heavier)
92) Montana Patutahi “P” Gewürztraminer (fiery spiced lychees)
93) Felton Road Pinot Noir (or the world-class Block 3 & Block 5)
94) Fromm “La Strada” Pinot Noir (a heavier expression of this always fickle grape, with a Kiwi twist)

Australia
95) Grosset Riesling Polish Hill (shockingly severe and age-able)
96) Tyrrell’s Semillon “Vat 1” (one of the most under-appreciated whites in the world, but it must age)
97) Voyager Estate Shiraz (big, fruity fun)
98) Torbreck “Cuvée Juveniles” (see previous comment, yet it’s different)

South Africa
99) Onyx “Noble Late Harvest” (a dead ringer for Sauternes)

Lebanon
100) Château Musar red (given that this wine’s harvest sometimes falls victim to matters of life and death, it has no right to be as good as it is; it’s very individualistic but frequently brilliant, and there’s a story in every bottle)

Gang green: You don’t have to embrace tofu to fall in love with environmentally friendly alcohol

Sara Faith Alterman — Fri, 10 Aug 2007 17:07:00 GMT

THESE DAYS, everyone from Leonardo DiCaprio to Al Gore is trying to get you to go green. But though you can reduce, reuse, and recycle your little heart out, let’s be honest: there are few chores less exciting than sorting your glass from your plastic from your biodegradables. It’s important stuff, though, and you should be proud of your efforts. Proud enough to reward them, of course! And since you’re taking such good care of the earth, shouldn’t you extend that care to your super-fine self? After all, your body is an organic temple of sorts.

Even tree huggers, greenies, and the crunchiest of granola types enjoy a drink or two now and then. And you don’t have to love tofu, Whole Foods, or patchouli to fall in love with the slew of organic, eco-friendly liquors and wines that are hitting the market. Everyone knows that organic food is better for the bod, so it makes sense that booze made from organic grapes, hops, barley, and other distillery staples would be too. Besides the fact that they’re better for you, their absence of pesticides, sulfides, and preservatives also makes a world of difference on the palate. Many of Boston’s hottest bars and restaurants are catching on to the green trend, so you don’t have to look far to enjoy cocktails and vintages that are kind to the earth and won’t muck up your system with chemicals. Go ahead: be pleased as organic punch.

When distilled properly, vodka can be smooth, velvety, and light-as-clean-air on the tongue. One “green” vodka that’s worth writing home (on recycled paper) about is Square One Vodka, a self-described “eco-chic” spirit that proudly claims to be the world’s first 100-percent-organic American rye vodka. Using spring water from the Teton Mountains and organic rye from North Dakota, the creators of Square One are dedicated to the production of this pure, environmentally sound liquor that’s as smooth and clear as it is green. Even the packaging reflects Square One’s respect for Mother Earth: the label is printed on paper made from sustainably grown materials. Bostonians are lucky enough to be able to enjoy Square One at a bunch of local bars and restaurants, including OM (92 Winthrop Street, Cambridge, 617.576.2800) and Skipjack’s (199 Clarendon Street, Boston, 617.536.3500).

Some of the most crystal-clear vodka on the market comes from Iceland. It’s a seemingly unusual origin for Russia’s national beverage, but the makers of Reyka Vodka are giving the Russians a run for their rubles. On top of its astoundingly seamless finish, Reyka is as eco-friendly as it gets. The distillery, located in the village of Borgarnes, uses geothermal energy through steam, which is drawn from local hot springs, and makes use of naturally abundant resources such as lava rocks, which are used in place of charcoal to heat the still. The result is amazingly refreshing: Reyka shimmies effortlessly down your throat, and, when coupled with lots of fresh lemon, is the perfect accompaniment to a starry summer evening. See for yourself at Bambara (25 Edwin H. Land Boulevard, Cambridge, 617.868.4444). Manager Bill McKinney takes pride in Bambara’s spectrum of organic and sustainably farmed products, including the wine list, about 20 percent of which is comprised of organic wines. (He hopes to get the organic wine selection up to 50 percent by the end of the year.) Try a glass of the Bonterra cabernet or chardonnay ($12) or a bottle of Benziger chardonnay ($34): all organic, all excellent.

Tequila gets a bad rap. After all, anything that has you licking salt off the necks of strangers or that can knock you to the floor like a UFC champ’s right hook can’t possibly be good for you, right? Thank goodness for Herradura Blanco and Sauza Tres Generaciones Anejo, both 100-percent-blue-agave tequilas from the Jalisco region of Mexico, and both made by companies that are developing eco-friendly production techniques. Salsaon in to the Cactus Club (939 Boylston Street, Boston, 617.236.0200) and sample the good-for-you salty sweetness of one of their signature margaritas made with Herradura ($8), or the Perfect Margarita ($10), a complex, biting blend of Sauza Tres Generaciones, Cointreau, and fresh lime juice that forgoes the sticky-sweet nightmare that is sour mix and instead emulates the original simplicity of a traditional margarita. Ay yi yi!

If beer’s more your speed, no worries. Vermont brewery Otter Creek (793 Exchange Street, Middlebury, Vermont, 800.473.0727) makes Wolaver’s Certified Organic Ale, using natural Vermont water and organic domestic malt and hops to produce satisfying beers such as their creamy, smooth Brown Ale and the delightfully light and fruity Wit Bier. Visit www.wolavers.com for a list of distributors so you can refresh yourself organically.

See, “eco-friendly” doesn’t have to be synonymous with hemp, dreadlocks, and Greenpeace. Quite the opposite, now that global warming is finally being given the attention it deserves and energy-conserving products are being touted as trendy — even chic. You don’t have to compost or go vegan to help save the planet. Even the hippest urbanites can do their part simply by choosing wisely when out for a wild and crazy Saturday evening and consuming products that aren’t consuming (or destroying) the planet. The environment will thank you for it. So will your taste buds, your immune system, your gastrointestinal tract ... @