Gut Instinct: Gin Yummy
JOSH BERNSTEIN makes a dignified return to his juniper berry past
NINE YEARS AGO, or maybe it was eight, I met my cousin Jennifer for a wintery dinner in the West Village.We dined at dearly departed, Prohibition-flavored Grange Hall, which has since become Commerce (50 Commerce St., 212-524-2301). It lost Granges neighborhood intimacy and my business, but that is neither here nor there.
What matters most is Jennifers question. I was standing at Granges bar, bottles of amber nectar glowing with the promise of an elevated mood, performing my best imitation of a New Yorker: black Gap slacks, an onyx button-down and obsidian dress shoes as shiny as wax-coated apples. In my Ohio-reared head, I assumed donning this Dracula dress code was the key to making it in the bright lights, big city.
What do you want to drink? Jennifer asked. She was a decade my senior, a seasoned vet at a respected publishing firm.
Im buying.
I froze, the question like an icicle stabbing my cerebellum. At the time, I wasnt indoctrinated into the pleasures of craft beer; to me, a pint of Brooklyn Lager was as exotic as an ostrich. I was better versed in flaming Dr. Peppers and crappy canned beer bearing a 99-cent sticker. Still, I knew that consuming a blazing concoction was not the height of dinnertime chic.
Ill have a gin and tonic, I said, with, uh, Beefeater. A gin and tonic had long been my default cocktail.The vaguely floral beverage spoke of British class, a step up from the proletariats preferred vodka tonic. And during those early days of New York living, I drank gin and tonics nearly daily at the sultry, red-hued lounge Sin Sin (248 E. 5th St., 212-253-2222).
My pal Aaron discovered the bar a few weeks into his NYC tenure. He was drawn in by the $3 happy hour (till 8 p.m.). Most evenings, Aaron and I met at Sin Sin around 6:30.Wed quick-drink three or four gin and tonics, before decamping to old-man-dive Holiday Cocktail Lounge or college haunt Blue and Gold. At each venue, the clear, bitter G&Tgiven a citric edge with a lime twistwas our preferred intoxicant, dulling the edges of our workaday reality.
Really? Jennifer said. She was as taken aback as if Id ordered an Irish car bomb with a chaser of babys blood. Thats a spring and summer drink. Whats your winter cocktail? Summer drink? Winter drink? Id never pondered the possibilities of seasonal imbibing. Gettin drunk was gettin drunk, especially if you were buying. I sipped my gin and tonic quietly, carrying a burning shame as if Id secretly soiled myself.
Soon afterward, I ditched the gin and tonic. Goodbye, old friend. I experimented with craft beer (why are IPAs so bitter?), bourbon (what happened to my pants?) and old-timey cocktails (whered my money go?). Gin was a reminder of an earlier era of bad decisions, like that time I ingested psychedelic mushrooms and slept in a park in Amsterdam filled with bikeriding cocaine dealers. Ive never prayed so hard for sunrise. I was better versed in flaming Dr. Peppers and crappy canned beer bearing a 99-cent sticker. Still, I knew that consuming a blazing concoction was not the height of dinnertime chic. Misguided as my youth may have been, Im feeling nostalgic for it nowadays. Im a bona fide thirtysomething, with the gray nose hairs to prove it.Thus, in my dotage, Im rekindling my teenage love affairs: indie rock, writing typewritten letters and the botanical-scented waters of gin. Ive discovered that these bright, warm days of early spring are designed for the crisp, sour bliss of the Greyhound. (Squeeze some fresh grapefruit juice, add a dollop of decent gin, finish with a seltzer splash. Drink, sigh, repeat.)
Since Ive developed a crush on dark spirits, I now adore Ransom Old Tom. Aged in pinot noir barrels, the tawny, mellow potion is a little bit whiskey, a little bit gin and 100-percent delicious. Served straight up or on a rock or two, the flavors of honey, cardamom and vanilla-hinted oak are as revelatory as that religious burning bush.
Continuing my gin-styled explorations, I sampled Bols Genever. Much like whiskey, its made with fermented rye, corn and barley; its rich and lush, with a malty-sweet current that helps create a novel old-fashioned. But now we get to my much-maligned G&T. Instead of relying on bottom-shelf hooch, Ive reinvented the old standard with a quality gin such as Martin Millers.The British brand packs prickly citric flavors of limes and orange zest, and it marries well with top-notch tonic like the citrus-perfumed Fever- Tree.You scarcely need a lemon squeeze.
Its a taste of the past, fit for my future. C
What do you think of gin and tonics? Tell me at jbernstein@nypress.com.