The Deconstructed Potato Artini
The boys from the City Paper chase down the ghost of Derrida at Hudson’s Restaurant & Lounge. Oh, Momma!
Brian’s take: I find it ironic that it was not until the very last of these 15 grueling tastings that we got to try an actual, real live, honest-to-goodness, no strings-attached straight-up martini. That is, if you consider a martini with vodka instead of gin to be such. But if you do, this was the real deal: vodka, vermouth, bitters, chilled glass, stirred, not shaken, with a large helping of drink history, anatomy, and physiology from impressive mixologist John Hogan. Upon tasting this expertly made drink, I realized how close I had come to forgetting what a martini is. John jogged my memory. Then he handed me a plate of three homemade potato chips, each with a different dollop on top: one with a Vermouth espuma, one with a vodka espuma, and the last with a bleu cheese reduction. Benissimo!
On a scale of 1 to 5 olive branches: 4.689
Ted’s take: Heroes are made… not born.
On a scale of 1 to 5 olive branches: 4.85
The Byzantine
Brian’s take: There’s nothing I enjoy more than a good basil leaf. (All right, well there are probably a few things I enjoy more, but not many I tell you, not many.) The “Byzantine” at Hook had several such leaves floating in it, which made for quite the aromatic drinking experience. Unfortunately, however, the smelling was superior to the tasting. The olfactory experience was top-notch–the thing smelled like a melted pineapple pizza, which my party and I found to be surprisingly pleasant–but once the concoction hit my lips and trickled across my tongue, I was instantly underwhelmed. And although I like basil leaves, I am not so enamored of soggy, fruit juice-soaked basil leaves. Given the choice between pizza and beer and the Byzantine, I’d spring for the former, fo sho.
On a scale of 1 to 5 olive branches: 3.245
Ted’s take: Nothing on this earth is more seductive than a good basil leaf.
…with the possible exception of that ethereal glimmer in the right pair of gray eyes….
On a scale of 1 to 5 olive branches: 3
The Apple Gêlée
Brian’s take: The artini at Perry’s was about as complex as its name is long: “Perry’s Sangria Pipette and Apple Gelee Martini.” Now I’m a simple guy, but I have to say that in this unique case, more was actually more. Talk about sweating the details–Perry’s artini had psychedelic colors, a titillating texture (imagine what it must feel like to have flavorful specs of apple sauce floating in your drink), and strangely surgical-looking pipettes protruding from the whole ensemble. These pipettes were filled with sangria, a whole separate drink unto itself, and you could do with them what wished: drink the sangria straight from the pipe, inject the sangria into the apple gelee, stir the whole shebang pipette-style, suck the drink into the pipette and then squeeze it out again, shove the pipette into your friends ear and watch him squirm, &tc. The options were apparently limitless, and we sat there playing with our drinks–and devouring all manner of delectable sushi rolls, each of which jived with the flavor of the artini remarkably well–as the liquor went to our heads and the fish to our stomachs.
On a scale of 1 to 5 olive branches: 4.789
Ted’s take: Gastronomical purity and a self-assured cocktail. In the words of Cocteau: “Hell yes, motherf*cker.”
On a scale of 1 to 5 olive branches: 4.9
And the winner is…
With the bracing knowledge that all things must pass, we bittersweetly report that last night was the grand finale of Artini Season ‘08, a climactic
blowout at the Corcoran. We laughed, we cried…we drank artinis (those that were available, that is; only the Goldini, the D’Ici, and the Dolly Madison were in attendance).
Between sips, partygoers got a chance to explore the Corcoran at night–to revel in the Bierstadts, to commune with Warhol’s Mao, to steep themselves in the portraiture of Gilbert Stuart.
As the pulsing music deafened and the night wore on, we were pleased to observe that all the old faces were there–Megan and Kristin from the Corcoran, 
Chancy from A Not So Capital Idea, Alice Appleton–a trooper in the true sense of the word, who made it to the event on crutches– from wherever she comes from, Maureen, Terry, and of course the bartenders and proprietors themselves–John Hogan from Hudson, Rico from Poste, Jeremy from Westend, Joe from Topaz, Omar and José from the Teatro Goldoni, Paul and Gina from Indebleu….
But enough of this wishy-washy sentimentalizing; you just want to know who won!
…drumroll…
And the winner is…the Goldini! That’s right: Omar’s espresso-and chocolate-infused dessert martini took home the grand prize. Omar, me
anwhile, was a very happy man, jumping, dancing, laughing the rest of the night away…like Roberto Benigni after winning the Oscar.
There are still some videos to come, and always more martinis to be…artfully consumed. As we look towards the ‘09 Artini Season–as bartenders bulk up in the offseason, learn new tricks and hatch new schemes–let us remember the abiding truth that, if in wine there is truth, in martini there is ART.
Th-th-th-th-that’s all, folks!
Photos courtesy of Denny Henry: www.dennyhenry.com/artini.
The Dolly Madison
The Park
920 14th St. NW
Tanqueray gin
Bit of Chambord
Lemon juice
…and a splash of cranberry juice
Brian’s take: I enjoyed the Dolly Madison, but I have to say the drink was drowned out by the fierce lights and furious sound system that commanded The Park on the Thursday evening we visited. It was nice to finally have an artini that used gin–I’ve been hankering for something with a little more kick through all these “smooth” and “light” and “tasty” concoctions. Still, no amount of Tanqueray could compete with the sheer spectacle that lay before us: a party thrown by Lebron James, a fashion show, and a bouncer-to-patron ratio approaching 1 to 1. (The bouncers, I must say, were very courteous). I had a great time, of course, for a multitude of reasons, but I do wish I had a chance to ask Lebron what he thought of this dainty little artini. Because, you know, there’s nothing James loves more than a Dolly Madison.
On a scale of 1 to 5 olive branches: 3.5
Ted’s take: Well, hey nonny nonny…it’s the Dolly Madison! Like its namesake, the drink sports a subtle sweetness, though unlike its namesake, it was not born on May 20, 1768. Like its namesake, it is pink in complexion, though unlike its namesake, it did not serve as First Lady of the United States between the years of 1809 and 1817. Like its namesake, the drink is likely to provoke a drunken rabble to strange acts of obscenity and violence–but unlike its namesake, it does not hail from a small Quaker community in the area now known as Guilford County, NC.
So much for Wikipedia. The real story with this beverage is one of sport & intrigue, blood & guts, rape & pillage. Rather like the Hope diamond, the Dolly Madison bears a savage and beautiful curse–it captivates the minds of men who would steal, kill–even die for it. It is a drink of high passion and fine chaos…a vortex of sinful pleasure & wicked kicks….
So go on, try the Dolly Madison. BUT BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU WISH FOR….
On a scale of 1 to 5 olive branches: 3
The Wild Orchid
Lotus Lounge
1420 K St. NW
Vodka
Peach schnapps
Peach nectar
Cranberry juice
Orange juice
Pineapple juice
A splash of grenadine
…and garnished with radish OR cucumber
Brian’s take: I got lucky at the lovely lysergic Lotus Lounge. Now, now, now–get your mind out of the gutter. My luck was wholly wholesome, and came in the guise of a zig-zaggy, spring-like coil of cucumber as a garnish in my Wild Orchid artini. While all of my fellow tasters had some kind of radish contraption floating in their drinks, for some reason I got this curious green little fellow. I have to say, I tasted the other artinis, and my cuke made it markedly better. I could feel the nutrients being digested by my saliva-liva-liva-liva-liva::::
On a scale of 1 to 5 olives: 3
Ted’s take: Creme tangerine and Montélimar–a ginger sling with a pineapple heart– a coffee dessert, yes you know it’s good news…but you’ll have to have them all pulled out after the Wild Orchid.
Cool cherry cream, nice apple tart–I feel your taste all the time we’re apart. Coconut fudge–really blows down those blues…but you’ll have to have them all pulled out after the Wild Orchid!
George Harrison, sometime guru and veteran of many trips, was not present on Tuesday night at the Lotus Lounge. Had he been in attendance, he would have found the Wild Orchid a drink of gooey delectation and thoroughly psychedelic impact. It requires a certain brand of alchemy to fit that many fruit flavors into one glass, but–dig this, man, it was like they all combined to make up, like, one fruit…far out?
On a scale of 1 to 5 olive branches: 3.25
A Unique Bronze Piece
Topaz Hotel
1733 N St. NW
Splash of gin
Organic black tea
Honey
Vodka!
Brian’s take: Maybe this is just me, but I have always considered tea and alcohol to occupy very separate spheres in my liquid life. I generally reserve tea for porches, breakfast nooks, camp stoves and coffee shops, and while alcohol certainly has its place in all these venues, mixing the two potables seems to yield a result that is a bit less than the sum of its parts. Such was my impression of Topaz’s Unique Bronze Piece–it was a rather delicious tea drink, but in the end, I want my liquor to taste like liquor, if only a little bit. To be fair, that is often the problem with these artfully made martinis–the liquor takes a backseat–and I would rather have tea at the forefront of the flavor rather than some abominable gooey syrup. But in the end, I’ll take my tea at tea time, my booze at boozing time, and my kick in the old derriere at closing time.
On a scale of 1 to 5 olive branches: 2.5
Ted’s take: A lovely little drink, in which neither the honey nor the tea overstays its welcome. The only complication I foresee is that it tastes so much like a breakfast drink…and the booze itself is so silkily masked…that this could spell trouble in the early hours of the a.m. A word to the wise: should you have the unique pleasure of sipping this unique drink, you will find yourself lulled into a Zen-like complacency, in which your inner life finds no objective correlative in the outside world. Bear in mind the following koan, and let your spirit be your guide:
A lord asked Takuan, a Zen Teacher, to suggest how he might pass the time. He felt his days very long attending his office and sitting stiffly to receive the homage of others.
Takuan wrote eight Chinese characters and gave them to the man:
“Not twice this day
Inch time foot gem.
This day will not come again.
Each minute is worth a priceless gem.”
On a scale of 1 to 5 olive branches: 4
The Mao Tao
M Bar Lounge
1143 New Hampshire Avenue. NW
An ounce and a half of Grey Goose vodka,
An ounce and a half of Malibu rum
Pineapple juice
Drizzle of grenadine
…and garnished with a cherry
Brian’s take: The Mao Tao artini at M Street Bar is delicious. The people like the Mao Tao, because it is the people’s artini. It is red and golden and good. Go to M Street Bar. Join the Party.
On a scale of 1 to 5 olive branches: 2
Trotsky’s take: “Life is not an easy matter…. You cannot live through it without falling into frustration and cynicism unless you have before you a great idea which raises you above personal misery, above weakness, above all kinds of perfidy and baseness.
“The historic ascent of humanity, taken as a whole, may be summarized as a succession of victories of consciousness over blind forces - in nature, in society, in man himself.
Where force is necessary, there it must be applied boldly, decisively and completely. But one must know the limitations of force; one must know when to blend force with a maneuver, a blow with an agreement.”
– Leon Trotsky
On a scale of 1 to 5 cultural revolutions: 3
Sargent Pepper’s Tango
Westend Bistro
1190 22nd Street NW
A reduced gastrique syrup featuring caramelized sugar
Fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice
Dash of vinegar
Coriander
Ginger
Christiana vodka
…and a bit of pepper on top
Brian’s take: Do you remember what it was like to be a kid trying to sleep on the night before a big vacation? The welling anticipation? The jetsetting jitters? The intoxicating insomnia? If you can’t remember, go to the WestEnd Bistro and try the “Sargent Pepper’s Tango” (and no, that is not a spelling error–it’s what literary folks call a “double entendre,” a playful riff on the John Singer Sargent pieces at the Corcoran). This artini presents a vivid contrast: the luxury of fresh grapefruit juice and the excitement of spicy pepper, kind of like a relaxing vacation on the beach with a few roller coasters nearby. All right, all right, you’ve probably noticed that I’m running out of interesting ways to describe and review artinis (hence the whole vacation theme). Listen to me: “Sargent Pepper’s Tango” is good. Good good good good good. Go try it. Meanwhile, I’m going to fall asleep while reading Roget’s thesaurus.
On a scale of 1 to 5 olive branches: 5
Ted’s take: Though I struggle to find a causal link between the patriotic portraiture of Jonathan Singer Sargent and the exotic fruit bouquet of Sargent Pepper’s Tango, I must admit that both leave me with an indeterminate warm, fuzzy feeling in my belly and a desire to do right by my country. The SPT (as those in the know acronymically dub it) triangulates itself rather elegantly between the sweet, the spicy, and the tart–the healthy dose of tangy citrus cuts the wicked infusion of sweet fruits Jeremy has alchemized so expertly. The drink’s coup de grâce, however, is the black pepper garnish, which holds sway over the subordinate flavors like an admiral over his fleet…
…which is not to say that such discerning connisseurs of artisanal martinis as we don’t have our quibbles. For my part, I would have appreciated a bit more stiffness in the alcohol quotient… as for the rest, I didn’t hear a note of psychedelic Beatles during my entire sojourn at the Westend Bistro. And, while we’re at it, ‘Westend’ seems an unfortunate amalgamation; though there seems to be a widespread perception that typographical liberties spell trendiness, and one musn’t expect Eric Ripert to buck the trend.
On a scale of 1 to 5 olive branches: 4.25
The Bonapartini
Napoleon Bistro
1847 Columbia Road NW
Grey goose vodka
Blue curacao
White cranberry juice
Topped with Champagne…
…and garnished with a kiwi
Brian’s take: I have to say that the Bonapartini at Napoleon, while it may have the best name of any artini we’ve tried, was on the whole a rather bland affair. To be honest, it’s difficult to remember exactly how it tasted. Was it tart? Was it savory? Was it bitter? Was it sweet? Was it bad? No, no, no, etc.–it was none of these things. The only aspects of this artini that weren’t forgettable were its color–a mouthwash-inspired aquamarine–and the one tasty moment that transpired when I took a swig of the concoction while the accompanying kiwi slice was in my mouth. Indeed, this artini’s name certainly belies its flavor. I expected something more out of the Bonapartini. I longed for obsession, despotism, dense flavor–a small drink that packed a mighty punch. Yes, that’s right: I wanted nothing more than for this artini to give me a black eye! But alas, I exiled myself from Napoleon Bistro bitter, bored, and bruise-free.
On a scale of 1 to 5 olive branches: 2
Ted’s take: Dennis Rodman once cannily observed that “the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.” Napoleon, we must here affirm, was never quiet but frequently desperate–which brings us to the Bonapartini.
Not the cute name. “Yes,” you murmur, “but is it art?” Note the inclusion of cranberry juice. “Yes,” you muse, “but is it tart?”
The answer, to both questions, is a resounding no–though this does not bode as ill for the beverage as one might expect. The champagne adds a reasonable bit of panache to the whole affair, and the kiwi, properly squeezed, contains more flavor than the other ingredients combined. I have never before found myself wishing that the bartender had “included more blue curacao,” as I generally find it an insipid mixer, but on this occasion it would at least have kept things tastier. Really, one doesn’t ask much out of these so-called “artini” things–but when the drink offers as little to the buds & brain as the Bonapartini, one can’t help but feel duped…
…much like the huddled masses of France!
On a scale of 1 to 5 olive branches: 2.25
