This month’s two-day Manhattan Cocktail Classic was, theoretically, a dry run for the big five-day extravaganza planned for May 2010. But the closing night gala, held at the New York Public Library’s uber-swanky Astor Hall, didn’t feel like a rehearsal for anything – it was the main event, a glorious, glamorous coming-out party for cocktail enthusiasts, craft bartenders, writers, educators, historians, big business muckity-mucks, and anyone else with a thirst big enough to match the $100 ticket price.
They got their money’s worth. For cocktail geeks, it was celebrity-spotting time. Check it out, it’s Dale and Jill DeGroff! Oh, look, David Wondrich! Is that Gary Regan? And why has he seemingly changed his name to “gaz”? The music, by vintage jazz specialists Vince Giordano & The Nighthawks, was red-hot. The food, served buffet-style and patterned after the pre-Prohibition “Free Lunch” found in many a New York saloon, was spectacular, featuring everything from fruit to freshly shucked oysters to whole roasted suckling pig – which was delicious, even though I’m not a huge fan of looking into the face of the thing I’m eating.
But the star of the evening, of course, was the cocktails, of which there were plenty, and the first-rate hooch flowed like, um, wine. Small bars were liberally studded throughout the main floor and balcony, each featuring a pair of cocktails made with one or two sponsored spirits. After a weekend of massive imbibing at the Cocktail Classic’s various seminars, bull sessions, parties and other gatherings, I was not in ideal shape for sampling so many potable delights. But inspired by a sense of responsibility and devotion to the art of the mixed drink, I strode forth into the grand, ornate hall, taste buds at the ready.
As we entered, each guest was given a guide to where each spirit was represented, the cocktails’ names and ingredients, and even the names of the ‘tenders whipping them up, which should have made it easy to approach the cocktails on offer in an organized, methodical manner. But after 30 seconds, it became clear that the modus operandum of the evening would be: see bar, order drink, consume drink.
My plan of attack, shared by most of the evening wear-clad crowd, was to take a few sips of as many different drinks as possible, and then leave the near-full glasses on the nearest available flat surface for the small army of servers to take away. It was the only way to sample the full range of cocktails on offer without being carted out in a body bag – which really would have put a damper on the evening.
As such, my first cocktail of the evening a Morehouse Mollifier, made by Elayne Duke for Ketel One vodka. I usually disdain vodka-tails, but this one – which also employed Grand Marnier, fresh lime juice, and orange flower water – was a dandy. Vibrant, refreshing and sweet without being the least bit cloying, it was all I could do to abandon my glass at the half-full point.
There were, by my count, 22 cocktails to be sampled in the few short hours allotted to us, and I wound up sampling half of them; to the Southside, Florodora, New York Cavalcade and others which did not pass my lips, I apologize. The ones I did try were a mixed bag. Some drinks, like the overdressed guests at the party, tried just a little too hard. Others were understated and elegant. My favorite cocktail of the evening was, surprise surprise, another vodka libation. The Rockette, adapted from the Diners’ Club Drink Book and assembled by Franky Marshall, featured Crop Organic cucumber vodka, lemon juice, simple syrup and fresh mint. The ingredients harmonized with each other like a barbershop quartet, each one complementing and enhancing the other. And the Crop was probably the best flavored vodka I’ve ever had – they make a nifty tomato vodka as well.
The Michter’s Rye Manhattan, also made by Franky Marshall, was beautiful. Michter’s Rye is a national treasure, and as long as you don’t drown it in vermouth, it makes a drink worthy of the borough for which it’s named. The Bulleit Bourbon bar featured a Hungry Manhattan, which featured a rinse of 16-year-old Lagavulin single malt Scotch, along with Punt e Mes, Zwack, Campari and Angostura bitters. An impressive roster of ingredients, but I was overwhelmed by the Campari and the Lagavulin, and was sad that I couldn’t taste more of the Bulleit, which I like very much.
Along with the vodka cocktails, the Grand Marnier Crusta, adapted from a classic Jerry Thomas recipe, was my most pleasant surprise of the night. It takes skill to craft a Grand Marnier-based drink that’s not on the syrupy side, but the muddling team of Alex Day, Andrew Friedman, Jacquie Patterson, Chris Bostick and Todd Appel pulled it off. Using maraschino liqueur, fresh lemon juice and Angostura bitters, the orange came through loud and clear, but the bitter notes of the Angostura and the lemon managed to keep the sugar in check.
There weren’t any outright duds (how on earth could there be?), but the Don Julio Jalisco Sidecar and the Don Q Rum Brooklynite were both just too sweet for my palate – the former used cane sugar syrup, the latter used honey. I had to put each one down after a couple of sips. Which, by that point of the evening, may have been a good thing. I could already feel my stomach beginning to churn and the first wisps of a hangover headache forming as I staggered out of the Public Library. After two days of nearly nonstop revelry, I was beginning to feel like one of the suckling pigs splayed out on the buffet table.
I’m already looking forward to next May’s full-on Cocktail Classic, but at five days in length, I have serious doubts about my ability to survive the festivities intact, or at any rate upright. I’m going to have to learn to pace myself – and rent a hospital bed just in case the lessons don’t take.