Liquid : drinks

Sweet 100: 2008

Thor Iverson — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 18:37:00 GMT

Bring out your shopping carts

It was a hit last year, judging by a tripling of Massachusetts’s annual wine revenues and a commensurate escalation of my salary. (Okay, okay, none of that happened. Sigh.) And so here it is again: a list of 100 wines you should try. You’ve seen some of them before, perhaps, but consider this a second recommendation if so. Not a “best-of.” Not tied to any particular price range. And not with any agenda in mind. Just good wines. Let the drinking commence.
(A word on vintages: I haven’t included them here, as most of the wines listed are regularly solid performers, but the entries are inspired by recent releases I’ve tasted over the last year. You’ll still want to be wary of 2003s from Europe, when the extreme heat led to many highly a-typical wines.)

Italy
1. Monastero Suore Cistercensi S.O. Trappiste “Coenobium” (nun wine, but exciting and exotic; who knew?)
2. I Clivi di Ferdinando Zanusso Galea (reserved and mineral-driven, with class)
3. I Clivi di Ferdinando Zanusso Brazan (the Harry to Galea’s Prince William)
4. Tenuta Roveglia Lugana (spring fruit and bivalves ... really)
5. Bellotti “Cascina degli Ulivi” Gavi (swirling melon tea)
6. Bellotti “Cascina degli Ulivi” Gavi “Filagnotti” (sauvage minerality with a nutty finish)
7. Roagna Langhe “Solea” (a blend of chardonnay and nebbiolo — no kidding — that tastes like the best of both; stump your friends!)
8. Radikon Ribolla Gialla (a red in white clothing; thermonuclear Rainier cherries)
9. Radikon “Oslavje Riserva” (another red that’s white; unimaginably complex and stunning)
10. Castel Noarna Vigneti delle Dolomiti “Salvanel” (a blend, and it tastes like it)
11. Maule “La Biancara” Gambellara Pico (breath-taking minerality and post-hurricane desolation)
12. Mionetto “MO” Rosé “Sergio” (very much a red wine, but with bubbles)
13. Argiolas Isola dei Nuraghi “Serra Lori” Rosato (pink neon on a rocky beach)
14. Corte Gardoni Bardolino Chiaretto (summer in laser-beam form)
15. Martilde Oltrepò Pavese Barbera “la Strega e la Gazza e il Pioppo ...” (extremely ageable needs meat or the cellar)
16. Vajra Barbera d’Alba (freshly-baked but unsweetened pie in autumn, with precise acidity)
17. Vajra Langhe Rosso (simple yet beautiful; party wine for wine geeks)
18. Brovia Barolo Rocche dei Brovia (dried flowers and deep, deep roots)
19. Le Piane Colline Novaresi (delineated but feral, if that makes sense)
20. Le Piane Boca (tightlywound, aromatically stunning, very reserved)
21. Boccadigabbia Rosso Piceno (ripe berries and black pepper with broad shoulders)
22. Bellotti “Cascina degli Ulivi” Barbera “Mounbè” (wild and shocking red fruit; a throwback)
23. Pira Dolcetto d’Abla (big, big, BIG)
24. Hauner “Carlo Hauner” Salina (earth, flowers, dried honey, and stone fruit)
25. Roagna Barbaresco Pajé (roasted nuts, dandelions, red fruit, and gentle complexity)
26. Occhipinti Il Frappato (soil, strawberries, and flowers in crescendo)
27. Occhipinti “Siccagno” Nero d’Avola (espresso bean, licorice, black fruit, pomegranate ... you name it, it’s probably in here; this wine buzzes with electricity)
28. Bera Barbera d’Asti Ronco Malo (pulses with earthiness)
29. Mayr-Nusser Lagrein “Riserva” (quartz, verbena, and mint given a Teutonic chill)
30. I Clivi di Ferdinando Zanusso Galea Rosso (gray earth and black truffles)
31. Bera Moscato d’Asti “Canelli” (denser than most, with a sophisticated yet still-sweet elegance and real presence)
32. Fondiari “Mola” Aleatico dell’Elba (the kind of sweet red that might have sustained Napoleon)

Alsace
33. Mallo “Special Delivery” Pinot Blanc (light, fun, quenching)
34. Sparr Riesling Schoenenbourg (crushed flowers and chalk, with some residual sugar)
35. MeyerFonné Riesling Pfoeller (sandstone-textured with a hint of sweetness)
36. Albrecht Pinot Gris “Cuvée Romanus” (smoky pears)
37. Barmès Buecher Pinot Gris Rosenberg de Wettolsheim “Silicis” (shattered minerality, structured, and brilliant)
38. Ehrhart Pinot Gris Brand (pears and minerals; very ageable)
39. Mittnacht-Frères Pinot Gris “Terre d’etoiles ...” (minerality abounds, but drink soonish)
40. Mallo Gewurztraminer “Cuvée SaintJacques” (classic, with a bit of zing)
41. Mittnacht-Frères Gewuztraminer “Terre d’etoiles...” (see previous note)
42. Sparr Gewurztraminer Mambourg (intense and crystallized, with light sweetness)

Loire Valley
43. Roussel & Barrouillet “Clos Roche Blanche” Touraine Sauvignon “No. 2” (chalk as interpreted by sauvignon blanc)
44. Jessey “Domaine du Closel-Château des Vaults” Savennières “La Jalousie” (chalk as interpreted by chenin blanc)
45. Pellé Menetou-Salon Morogues Blanc (cold fruit and high-minded greenness, with sharp edges)
46. Augé “Domaine des Maisons Brulées” Vin de Table Français “Le Herdeleau” (sing it: pinot noir and gamay, live together in perfect harmony)
47. Joguet Chinon “Cuvée Terroir” (razor-edged green, with structure)
48. Richou Anjou “Les 4 Chemins” (wedge-shaped fruit wrapped in a garland of thyme)

Southern France
49. Miquel “Domaine de Barroubio” Vin de Pays d’Oc Muscat Sec (everything about the perfume says “sweet,” but it’s dry as a bone)
50. Côté Tariquet Chardonnay-Sauvignon Blanc (intense fruit salad)
51. Bonfils “La Chapelle de la Bastide” Coteaux du Languedoc Picpoul de Pinet (sharp and crisp, with hints, teases, and touches; a perfect summer wine)
52. Lafage Vin de Pays des Côtes Catalanes Blanc “Côté Est” (simple stone-baked pleasure)
53. Parcé Frères “La Rectorie” Collioure Rosé “Coté Mer” (explodes with flavor, but never loses its transparency)
54. Durand & Valentin “Château de Lancyre Pic Saint-Loup Rosé (roses, blood oranges, and lavender)
55. Iché Vin de Pays de l’Hérault “Les Hérétiques” (one of the great wine values; solid darkness)
56. Fonquerle “l’Oustal Blanc” Vin de Table “Naïck” (a strange blend with strange-but-wonderful complexity)

Champagne, Beaujolais, Burgundy, Bordeaux
57. Brun “FRV100” (unbeatable fun; soda for adults)
58. Larmandier-Bernier Champagne “1er Cru” Brut Blanc de Blancs “Vertus” (mineral soda as conceived by Frank Gehry)
59. Gaston Chiquet Champagne “1er Cru” à Dizy “Tradition” Brut (gritty and warming)
60. CoudertAppert “Domaine de la Chapelle des Bois” Fleurie (a prettier wine you’ll never taste)
61. Bertagna Bourgogne “Les Croix Blanches” (spicy red fruit that feels, but isn’t, carbonated)
62. Rieussec Sauternes (baking spices, butterscotch, and incredibly rich sweetness; not cheap, though)

Rhône Valley
63. Michel “Le Vieux Donjon” Châteaneuf-du-Pape Blanc (nuts, stones, and spices)
64. Delorme “Domaine de la Mordorée” Côtes-du-Rhône “La Dame Rousse” (plays way above its age bracket)
65. Perrin “Coudoulet de Beaucastel” Côtes-du-Rhône (ripe fruit, earth, meat, and a surprising drinkability)
66. Costières & Soleil “Sélection Laurence Féraud” Séguret (sundrenched dark berries and vine smoke)
67. Vignerons de Caractère “Domaine de la Brune” Beaumes de Venise “Vin Emotion” (reddish-hued quartz and smoked meat)
68. Texier Côtes-du-Rhône Rouge (classic, but with sharper acidity than most of its type)
69. Stehelin Gigondas (a brutish monster that needs a lot of time)

Spain & Portugal
70. Ameztoi Txakolina (crystals and lime; a brilliant distillation of light)
71. Santa Vitória Alentejano Branco (hides hewn from grapes, melons, and apples; a bracing white)
72. López de Heredia “Viña Tondonia” Rioja Rosado (utterly unique; the ’97 is the current vintage)
73. Primitivo Quiles “Raspay” Alicante (like being hugged by the earth while being fed berries; stunning)
74. Viños Piñol “Sacra Natura” Terra Alta “Viñas Viejos” (spicy red fruit in a blender with structure and zest; gluggable)
75. Telmo Rodríguez “MR” Málaga Moscatel (perfumed and quite sweet; Thomas Jefferson drank this wine’s ancestors)
76. Burmester “Late Bottled Vintage” Porto (balanced and full-fruited, with plenty of sweetness)

Germany & Austria
77. Laible Durbacher Plauelrain Traminer Spätlese Trocken (arctic gewürztraminer)
78. St. UrbansHof Leiwener Laurentiuslay Riesling Spätlese feinherb (elegant, soft, and incredibly long, with a great future)
79. JP Reinert Wiltinger Schlangengraben Riesling Spätlese feinherb (a laser beam with a quartz rod rammed through it, or vice-versa)
80. St. Urbans-Hof Piesporter Goldtröpfchen Riesling Spätlese (beautiful peach flower, with balance and purity)
81. Pretterebner Blauer Portugieser (a little red tease)

California & Oregon
82. Scholium Project “Heliopolis” Delu (one of the strangest, most wonderful whites you’ll ever taste)
83. Edmunds St. John “Heart of Gold” (an immediate white, with great character and bracing structure)
84. Easton Sauvignon Blanc (sauvignon blanc fruit done in an aggressive New World style)
85. JB Cellars “Margaret Anne” Arneis/Tocai Friuliano (pure, clean fun)
86. Edmunds St. John Gamay Noir Rosé Witters (there’s pink Beaujolais, too, but this is better)
87. Scott Paul Pinot Noir “La Paulée” (lush pinot in the first flush of youth)
88. Adelsheim Pinot Noir “Elizabeth’s Reserve” (big and fulfilling)
89. Calera Pinot Noir Jensen (the most accessible of Calera’s brilliant, sophisticated pinots)
90. Edmunds St. John “Rocks and Gravel” (the Southern Rhône with a laidback California vibe)
91. Tablas Creek Tannat (deep, dark, mysterious, and intriguingly murky)
92. Tablas Creek Vin de Paille “Sacrérouge” (a sweet dried-grape mourvèdre that tastes of figs)

New Zealand & Australia
93. Vavasour Sauvignon Blanc Awatere Valley (dry, chalky gooseberry)
94. The Crossings Pinot Noir (crisp to the point of whiteness)
95. Wild Earth “Blind Trail” Pinot Noir (an insane value, done in a burly style)
96. Wyndham Estate Shiraz “Black Cluster” (old vines make the difference; balanced, intense, and complex)

South Africa
97. Southern Right Sauvignon Blanc (rum, sodomy, and the lash)
98. Neil Ellis Sauvignon Blanc (stark, sharp, yet airy)
99. Vergelegen Sauvignon Blanc (green under a spotlight; flawless)
100. Southern Right Pinotage (a fruit explosion that’s impossible to ignore)
Thor Iverson can be reached at wine@stuffatnight.com.

Twist: Back to our roots

Erin Souza — Fri, 25 Jul 2008 18:12:00 GMT

Remember when you thought drinking a root beer could get you drunk? Fast forward about 25 years: now root beer actually can get you a little tipsy. Three Olives Vodka has added yet another flavor to their repertoire: root beer. The original root beer dates back to the 1860s, when a Philadelphia pharmacist mixed vanilla, cherry tree bark, licorice root, sarsaparilla root, nutmeg, and molasses, then tried to sell it as a miracle elixir. But Three Olives’ version will probably do a better job of curing your ills (at least temporarily, anyway). Its sweet flavor has a hint of mint and is smooth enough to drink on the rocks. But we recommend the Root Beer Floatini — a combination of the flavored vodka and amaretto, shaken and served with a mini scoop of vanilla ice cream. It’s the adult version of the drink we used to love during our pigtails-and-overalls days. If that’s a little too juvenile for your oh-so-adult tastes, opt for some Brotherly Love, a simple mixture of root beer vodka and lemon-lime soda over ice. This British-born vodka is served on our side of the pond at the Good Life (28 Kingston Street, Boston, 617.451.2622); it’s also available by the bottle ($19.49) at Blanchard’s Liquors (103 Harvard Avenue, Allston, 617.782.5588).

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.”

Sipping Style

Thor Iverson — Fri, 11 Jul 2008 16:37:00 GMT

The frontiers of fermentation

Now that it’s clear that cutting-edge liquidity can’t be left in the hands of financial types, it’s time for those of us interested in the liquids themselves to take that edge back. Usually, hipster quaffing is left to the cocktail set, or to the world of craft brews. Wine has so much bourgeois baggage (words can’t describe my dismay at the number of times per week I hear, “Oh, but I’m not a connoisseur”) that it’s risky to praise bottles that run ahead of the pack.
But what the hell ...

Jean-Paul Brun is a man who likes a good pun almost as much as he likes great Beaujolais. He’s managed both in his frothy “Terres Dorées” Mousseux “FRV100,” a light red sparkling wine made from gamay, the grape of red Beaujolais. (For those confused about the wordplay, say the last sequence of letters and the number in French.) It’s lightly sweet and fairly low in alcohol, with a burst of red berries and an excited-puppy appeal that just can’t be denied, though it probably won’t pee on your leg. Serve it with a light chill.

The appeal of the Ameztoi Txakolina, from Basque country in northern Spain, is definitely not its almost offensively lurid label. It’s the wine within, which tastes of ripe grapefruit and other zesty citrus (including the ever-exotic makrut lime), sugar crystals without any actual sweetness, vibrancy, verve, and a healthy dollop of fun. If you don’t like this, it’s possible that you don’t actually like wine. (By the way, it’s cha-ko-lee-nah.)

Whites from Jurançon in southwestern France aren’t new, but they’re virtually unknown in the States. Part of the problem is the range of styles, which range from dry to incalculably sweet; people don’t know what to expect. But the wines are full of site-derived flavor, are tasty in their youth, age wonderfully, and are remarkably agile with food. Two producers appear on local shelves, and I’ll concentrate on the dry versions. The first, Barrère “Clos de la Vierge” Jurançon Sec, tastes of herbs in the ultra-saturated air that lingers after a rainstorm, with a jittery, nervous texture that’s hard to pin down. (If I could, wouldn’t that description make more sense?) The second, Ramonteu “Domaine Cauhapé” Jurançcon Sec “Chant des Vignes,” is heftier, with pine nuts and bitter almonds alongside grass, pineapple, and a little tsunami of green apple.

If pinot noir was hip in the aftermath of Sideways, it’s now well into mass-market ubiquity. Gamay, from Beaujolais
or elsewhere, has pretty much never been hip. And a blend of the two from a region that’s not exactly world-famous for either? Crazy. From the heart of the Loire Valley in central France, the Augé “Domaine des Maisons Brulées” Vin de Table Français “Le Herdeleau” is just such a blend and brings the best of each variety to the fore: the brighter, racier red fruit of gamay and a deeper, blue-black berry component from the pinot. It’s sort of like a well-behaved older brother and a fidgety younger brother managing to peacefully co-exist for a few hours. And it’s very tasty.

Part of trend-setting is being the first to see the hidden qualities in an awkward misfit. And few grapes have failed to fit in as much as pinotage, one of the most derided wines in the world. While a few brave souls have transported it elsewhere, its past, present, and future lie in South Africa — a decision I’m sure they’d like to have back. When it’s bad (and it too often is), it tastes of varnish, paint thinner, and the sharp bite of tannic, acidic, and underripe grapes. But when it’s good, it’s absolutely fascinating, the sort of wine that makes people lift a Spock-ish eyebrow and ask, “What is this?” The Southern Right Pinotage from Walker Bay, which is just about as far south as South African vineyards go, turns that varnish into a benefit, polishing dark berries into a well-buffed glow, then adding fine structure and a little jig of complexity.

But that’s only drinking on the cutting edge. It’s possible to go farther: drinking on the bleeding edge.

On second thought, let’s leave that to vampires.

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

Freeze, Out

Sara Faith Alterman — Thu, 10 Jul 2008 20:16:00 GMT

Forget frosty spring break versions and order up a classic margarita

A margarita is the ideal summer beverage, a refreshing combination of citrus and salt that helps you de-stress on hose sweltering nights when beer and wine just seem too heavy. But where does the cocktail come from? There're plenty of stories about the history of Jimmy Buffett’s favorite drink, but he most popular is that of bartender Carlos Herrera, who worked at a bar near Tijuana called Rancho La Gloria. Legend has it that, sometime in the 1930s, Herrera invented the now-classic blend of tequila, lime juice, and salt for a young actress named Marjorie King, who didn’t like the taste of tequila. Herrera, taken by the woman’s beauty, wanted to invent a special drink for her that would make tequila more palatable. He tinkered with flavors and proportions, and voilà: the margarita was born.

Another story attributes the margarita to an Acapulco bar owner named Margaret Sames, who was said to hobnob with the hotel and restaurant industry elite. Sames allegedly combined tequila, Cointreau, lime juice, and salt for some party guests in the late 1940s, and her friends were so impressed that they helped her introduce the cocktail to their upscale patrons.

Regardless of how and when the cocktail was invented, a good margarita finds the perfect balance between its ingredients so that none of the flavors overwhelm the others. Sadly, too many versions turn the classic drink into a sloppy frozen smoothie for springbreakers. But if you want a truly reverent, thoughtful margarita in Boston, a few locales go above and beyond the mixing basics. Besides balance, the key to any great margarita is the combination of fresh fruit and highquality tequila. Many local bartenders use Herradura, a Mexican tequila that dates to the 1870s and features 100 percent pure agave, a Mexican plant that produces a sweet sap. There are four Herradura tequilas; the most popular, Herradura Silver, is bright, light, and great for mixing.

Margarita purists will enjoy the La Verdad Margarita ($8) at — duh — La Verdad (1 Lansdowne Street, Boston, 617.351.2580). It’s made from Herradura Silver and fresh lime and sweetened with agave nectar. This margarita is subtly sweet and mildly citrusy, balanced with a salty note. Even more refreshing is the Watermelon Margarita ($12), which combines the same ingredients with Midori and housemade watermelon agua fresca. It’s crisp and lightly sweet, tasting indeed like a glass of freshsqueezed watermelon, if you can imagine such a thing. Nibble on a plate of the extraordinary Oaxacan wings ($5.95), six plump chicken wings drenched with a complex mole negro and fresh salsa verde and sprinkled with scallions and cilantro. Thank you, Ken Oringer, for singlehandedly kicking the Buffalo wing in the pantalones.

Watermelon margaritas are en fuego right now, none more literally than the one at Masa (439 Tremont Street, Boston, 617.338.8884). Here, the Habanero Watermelon Margarita ($9) will just about melt your face off (in the most pleasurable way possible). Sauza Gold tequila is infused with habanero chilies and cooled down a few degrees with watermelon purée, lime juice, and Triple Sec. The result is an asskicking, heatpacking pink mouthful that, surprisingly, won’t numb your palate.
Speaking of pink drinks, I’m usually pretty wary of them, thanks especially to the infuriating gender stereotypes that seem to accompany any cocktail with a rosy hue. So when the bartender at Rudy’s Café (248 Holland Street, Somerville, 617.623.9201) plunked down a Prickly Pear Margarita ($7.62) that looked like an exasperated academic had cracked his highlighter pen into it, I was a little nervous. No need. Made from Cuervo Gold, Patron Citrónge (an orange liqueur), and prickly pear juice, this margarita floods your mouth with a rush of salt that quickly dissipates, giving way to a pleasingly fruity finish. Squeeze the lime garnish into your glass to really balance out the flavors and kick the drink up with some citrus notes.

Muddled drinks usually scream “summer,” but chances are you’re already Mojitoed out, and it’s barely the hotweather halfway mark. Instead, check out the Muddled Margaritas ($11) at Olé Mexican Grill (11 Springfield Street, Cambridge, 617.492.4495). Choose from raspberries, strawberries, or mangos for your muddle and watch as the bartender smushes all of that fresh fruit goodness with sugar and a little simple syrup, then adds Herradura Silver, Patron Citrónge, and fresh lime juice. The raspberry version is the picture of tart and velvety smoothness, while the strawberry is highly sweet, fruity, and light and crisp like a ripe berry. If fruit’s not your thing, order up Olé’s version of the classic, the Platinum Margarita ($8.50).

Finally, this season’s hottest ingredient, St. Germain, just keeps getting hotter. The artisanal liqueur, made from elderflowers handpicked in the French alps, is as sweetly sophisticated as its fans, who love it on its own or mixed with other delicate ingredients that mingle harmoniously. Francophiles and Mexicrazies alike will go loco, bien sur, for the margarita with a French twist at Prezza (24 Fleet Street, Boston, 617.227.1577). The St. Germargarita ($12.50) combines the floral elixir with Patron Silver, fresh lime juice, and agave nectar.

Twist: gin city

Heather Bouzan — Fri, 13 Jun 2008 19:51:00 GMT

We have a friend who never drinks gin — apparently it brings out the no-holds-barred bitch in her. Perhaps that’s just because she can’t hold her booze, but we wonder if it has something to do with the spirit’s sometimes-harsh taste profile. A new gin recently hit the market, though, and it boasts a smoother, more approachable flavor. In fact, it’s being touted as “so good, you can consume it straight.” We shuddered a bit at the thought, but our interest was piqued. New Amsterdam Gin is named for the Dutch settlement that eventually became New York City (it seeks to honor both the spirit’s heritage and the style and sophistication of the modern-day metropolis), and the bottle’s design evokes a sleek city skyscraper. But on to the important stuff: when it comes to flavor, gin is all about the botanicals. They all begin with a neutral spirit base and the incorporation of juniper berries, but the additional botanicals are what truly differentiate one formula from the next. New Amsterdam’s blend emphasizes an element of citrus and downplays the juniper berries, which are often blamed for gin’s harsh taste. While we hate to follow the crowd, New Amsterdam has already won over the experts, taking home top honors from the San Francisco World Spirits Competition. Taste for yourself at Kappy’s (10 Revere Beach Parkway, Medford, 781.395.8888), where a liter is $15.99. As for that friend of ours? We’ll just match her cocktail for cocktail; if her bad attitude returns, we’ll be too buzzed to care.

Match game

Thor Iverson — Fri, 13 Jun 2008 18:50:00 GMT

Playing with your antisocial food

Like alcoholic dinner guests, there are foods that bring their personal problems to the table. They might be perfectly charming in isolation, but in the presence of drink, asking them to play nicely with others leads to a night of acrimony and shattered crockery.

Okay, maybe I took that comparison a little too far. The point is, while most foods find happy accord with a wide range of wines, some just don’t. Or at least, that’s their reputation. So in a rare display of actual service journalism (don’t get used to it), here’s some help with a baker’s halfdozen of the most problematic dishes.

For all the asparagus we eat, it’s surprisingly difficult to match those spears with wine. (And I think we all agree that the Spears should probably avoid alcohol.) The white kind, dominant in Europe but much less popular here, is an excellent foil for dry riesling (from Alsace, Austria, sometimes Germany) and dry muscat (pretty much just Alsace). The green spears work with riesling but are also amenable to grüner veltliner and dry muscat, or chenin blanc from the Loire Valley (Savennières, dry Vouvray) for a more delicate partner. And then there’s Quincy, a Loire sauvignon blanc that’s often derided for tasting like fermented asparagus. You won’t see much of it on local shelves, but if you do, give it a shot.

Other green vegetables seem happy with grüner and chenin, as well as sauvignon blanc from the Loire’s Sancerre, Pouilly-Fumé,and Menetou-Salon. New Zealand works too. Grüner veltliner is an excellent choice, even more so than with asparagus. But note: all these wines are white. If a red must be served, it should be the lighter-styled cabernet francs of the Loire. Rather than brawny Chinon or Bourgueil, look to Saumur or Saumur-Champigny, reds labeled cabernet from the Touraine, or the occasional outlier from farther east (which will be labeled Vin de Pays du Jardin de la France). These reds are even more welcome when vegetables turn somewhat bitter, like kale, beet greens, or fiddleheads, or Jennifer Aniston.

And that brings us to salads. If there’s a vinaigrette, forget the wine (if you must have both, replace the vinegar with citrus juice, or better yet, a few drops of the wine you’re serving). Otherwise, the match depends on the ingredients. For pure leaves, see the previous entry. If there’s fruit, consider something offdry like German riesling kabinett, or bubbly and fun moscato d’Asti. Once fish and meat start entering the picture, their usual matches apply, except that it’s best to lighten the wine a step or two. In other words, if you’d choose a big California cabernet sauvignon with steak, think about something Old World (or made from cabernet franc) with steak salad. If you like pinot noir with your salmon, try gamay (Beaujolais or domestic) with salmon salad. And so on.

Spicy food comes in many forms, so precise matches are difficult to provide ahead of time. Really spicy food just doesn’t go with wine; choose beer, lassi, or something else heatcombating. With a milder burn, the wine keys are low alcohol (spice emphasizes it) and residual sugar (which counteracts heat). That’s German riesling again — kabinett, spätlese, or auslese — but also other German whites like silvaner, grauburgunder (pinot gris), weissburgunder (pinot blanc), and muskateller (muscat). A frothy off-dry, pink wine like Bugey Cerdon or brachetto d’Acqui also works, as does Lambrusco, a bubbly red from Italy — the off-dry kind.

The difficulty with soup isn’t flavors, it’s temperature: cool wine is a problematic contrast with hot liquid. But Spain brings us the solution — Sherry and/or Montilla-Moriles. I’m not quite sure why this works, but it does. Use the drier styles (fino, amontillado, palo cortado, or manzanilla) for light soups, and oloroso for bigger, richer versions.

There’s controversy about eggs, which some find the perfect foil for wine, but others find an absolute disaster. Obviously, any accompaniments play a major role in wine choice, but for the unadorned ova, choose the most delicate wine you can find, whether white, pink, or red. On the pale side, that might mean chenin blanc (Vouvray and Montlouis) or dry muscat, or a wine with a bit of a pinkish blush, like a rosato from Northern Italy; among reds, it pretty much means gamay, blaufränkisch from Austria, or the very lightest of red Burgundies.

And finally, the wine-killer: artichokes. There’s apparently a chemical involved; I’ve almost never had a truly excellent match. Either the artichokes turn sugary or the wine becomes deformed and sickly. One exception is Bandol rosé. It’s one of the priciest pinks you’ll ever encounter, but it’s all I’ve got. And your crockery will thank you.

Twist: From Russia, with love

Tamara Wieder — Fri, 30 May 2008 20:48:00 GMT

It's berry season, which means our smoothies are more varied, our fruit salads are more colorful, and our berry cocktails — well, those are always in season, thanks to the new Stoli Blakberi, the latest in a long line of inspired flavors from the Russian brand. (When we say “long line,” we mean it: Stolichnaya was the first premium vodka to be exported to the United States, way back in the 1960s.) Smooth enough to drink on its own, Stoli Blakberi also pairs well with all kinds of liquid mixers and herbs. Do your own experimenting, or take one of Stoli’s suggestions for a tried-and-true creation (after all, they are professionals): the B&B (Stoli Blakberi, Italian sparkling lemonade, and basil); the Mint Summer Nightini (Stoli Blakberi, fresh cucumber juice, simple syrup, and mint); the Blakberi Blues (Stoli Blakberi, Stoli Blueberi, cranberry juice, simple syrup, raspberry liqueur, lemon, and sage); or the Blakberi Lavender Fizz (Stoli Blakberi, fresh lemon and lime juice, lavender-infused agave nectar syrup, and club soda). Pick up a bottle ($18.99/750 ml; $24.99/liter; $29.99/1.75 liters) at Atlas Liquors (156 Mystic Avenue, Medford, 781.395.4400), or try the spirit in a cocktail at 33 Restaurant & Lounge (33 Stanhope Street, Boston, 617.372.3311).

Anti-freeze

Sara Faith Alterman — Fri, 30 May 2008 20:27:00 GMT

Forget the frosty neon versions from spring breaks past; it’s the original daiquiri that truly delights

Bostonians have, over the past several years, grown accustomed to schizophrenic weather. We’re hit with random snowstorms in April; heat waves in October; the odd two-and-a-half-minute half-frozen rainfall that launches a sneak attack, ninja-style, while we’re walking to the T with nary an umbrella or doorway in sight. We get fleeting tastes of summer weather — a few delicious moments of bright skies, of warm breezes that start to envelop our shoulders — only to be yanked away after a pause.

Summer is a cocktease.

Still, those moments of quick sunshine are enough to make me snap out of my winter doldrums. Every time the sun flirts with me, even just to fuck with me like a knowing teenager, I am reminded of my favorite warm-weather pastime.

Drinking, of course, What did you expect?

And my favorite summer drink? The daiquiri. No, no, an emphatic NO, not the syrupy, whipped-cream-smothered frozen kind, that puddle of strawberries and cheap liquor frantically slapped together in a gigantic machine that produces hohum concoctions of convenience-store consistency.

No, my drink is the original daiquiri, a classic marriage of rum and lime, so satisfyingly crisp and cool that one sip will ruin you for all the other “daiquiris” you’ve wasted your taste buds on. Sorry, sorority girls and cabana boys: no banana, strawberry, whipped cream, plastic cups, or paper umbrellas to be found anywhere near this strong, tart treat. Those congealed monstrosities are best left to Myrtle Beach cougars and spring breakers who, bless their hearts, just don’t know any better. For a real warm-weather cocktail, the daiquiri is where it’s at.

The origins of the daiquiri are debatable, but it’s generally believed that the drink was invented in Cuba in the early 1900s. (There’s a beach in Santiago called Daiquiri; legend has it that the drink was first created nearby.) Originally a combination of light rum, sugar, and lemon, somewhere along the way the lemon was swapped for lime, which has remained a key ingredient ever since. The drink was made famous with a little help from my own literary role model and favorite boozehound, Ernest Hemingway, who used to consume daiquiris in quick succession at his home away from home, El Floridita, in Havana.

No need to travel for a taste of Cuba, though. Plenty of Boston hangs can make the classic drink — some even put their own twist on it. But be warned: if the daiquiri isn’t described on a drink list, ask about it when you order. I had a close call with a bartender who went off in search of a blender and whipped cream before I could stop him. I shudder to envision what I might have been presented with had I not flagged him down.

For a true daiquiri experience, nibbling on Cuban food alongside your cocktail is a must. Slip into Chez Henri (1 Shepard Street, Cambridge, 617.354.8980) for a truly flavorful experience. Here, the Original Daiquiri ($8) is a perfect balance of sweet and sour, with fresh lime juice and sugar adding some kick to Cruzan light rum. Order up some homemade chorizo ($6.95) as an accompaniment; it’s a spicier version of bangers ’n’ mash, with the sausage nestled in a sea of buttery mashed potatoes and sprinkled with scallions.

Another traditional daiquiri ($9) can be found at the B-Side Lounge (92 Hampshire Street, Cambridge, 617.354.0766). Belly up to the bar for another smooth swallow of light rum, sugar, and lime. I don’t suggest pairing it with the free hardboiled eggs (one of the many beloved reasons to visit this hipster hang); instead, sip slowly and take in the ruckus around you. When I ordered a daiquiri here, the bartender raised his eyebrows in surprise, then made sure that I wasn’t looking for one of the aforementioned frozen concoctions. Nope, just the classic, please. Just like that, I earned his respect. My daiquiri, a little bit sweeter than the Chez Henri version, appeared instantly, shaken and poured right before me at the bar. Delightful.

Eastern Standard (528 Comm Ave, Boston, 617.532.9100) makes frequent appearances on my cocktail radar; they’re leading the small pack of local eateries and lounges that truly care about the quality and innovation of what they mix and actually want to make a name for themselves not just as bars but as cocktail institutions. Here, the Hemingway Daiquiri ($10) is a tribute to the way the author is said to have enjoyed his daiquiris. White rum blushes pink with maraschino liqueur and lime juice, then is poured over a mound of shaved ice, making for a very grownup snow cone. I can’t imagine a better drink on a steamy summer night. The cocktail is alternately known as La Floridita, but any of the super-savvy bar staff here will know exactly what you’re talking about.

Even one of the new kids in town is getting into the daiquiri spirit. Lobby (131 Broad Street, Boston, 617.261.5353) serves their own modern version of the daiquiri. Simply called Lobby’s Daiquiri ($10), the drink features Bacardi light rum, grapefruit juice, and sage syrup. It’s an intriguing combo for an equally intriguing bar, one of the latest additions to the Financial District. This daiquiri pairs excellently with food; yet another reason to avoid treading down the frozen-daiquiri path ever again. Can you imagine drinking one of those along with your pricy steak?

So leave the neon booze smoothies behind once and for all. It’s time you associated the word “daiquiri” not with beaches and hookups but with literature and culture, flavor and class. It’s a worthwhile swap.