Poignant and perhaps our favorite piece so far. The leaves, though wilted, seem to flutter in the frame, possessed by second life:

William Knipscher, Trace No. 5
C-print, 2008, 38 × 28 inches

We hope you won’t neglect to try Souheil Chaouachi’s liquid interpretation of Trace No. 5. By all accounts, it’s delicious and still available at Teatro Goldoni, the winning bar from last year (1909 K St NW).

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Teatro Goldoni
1909 K St NW # 10

Stoli vanil
Shot and a half of Lavazza espresso
Equal parts white chocolate and dark chocolate Godiva liqueur
Dash of Kahlua
…and three espresso beans, “for good luck.”

Brian’s take: If there are two things at which Italians excel–other than wine and gelato and pasta and opera and film and fashion and Vespas and olives–they are art and coffee. So Omar, the head bartender at Teatro Goldoni, was wise to devise the former out of the latter: an artini he calls, with the characteristic flourish of a prestidigitator, “The Goldini.” This caffeinated wonder simultaneously picks you up as it knocks you down, making it the perfect drink for after work or after dinner. As soon as it hit my tongue, this velvety delight conjured a sensory cornucopia of things quintessentially Italian: long walks on the Seine, make-out sessions underneath the Eiffel Tower, yacht parties in Nice, topless first ladies, Reigns of Terror. When, in his Goldini-induced euphoria, Ted commandeered the piano and began belting out my favorite tunes originally written for accordion, I felt a pang of nostalgia for those lost European evenings of old. A coffee martini may not be the most original idea, but Omar has taken a good concept and rendered it his own with simplicity, elegance, and style. Was Leonardo the first to paint the last supper? Was Caravaggio the first to depict Bacchus? Was Bernini the first to sculpt Apollo and Daphne? Was Mussolini the first to hang from his feet in a public square? Surely not–but they were masters, the ones whom history remembers, the ones who looked at the tasks that lay before them and set out to execute them with definitive flair.

On a scale of 1 to 5 olives: 5

Ted’s take: If we’ve learned anything from our artini-fueled wanderings over the past weeks, it is that each artini depends heavily on the bartender who gives it life. Based on the twin criteria of style and result, two bartenders have distinguished themselves from the pack: Rico at Poste Brasserie, and Omar at the Teatro Goldoni. On the latter’s feature night, we sampled the Goldini, not only the classiest dessert martini this side of the Atlantic but also a drink of immaculate balance and pristine presentation. Omar worked behind the bar with deftness and panache, serving up a cocktail sure to please both the moody masses and the effete elite. It is to Omar’s credit that such a classy drink does not prove, as Hamlet once quoth, “caviar to the general.”

On a scale of 1 to 5 olives: 4.5

Indebleu
707 G St. NW

Christiana vodka
Apricot nectar
Orange blossom water
Chinese five-spice
Chambord for color
A splash of soda
…and, as a nod to Demuth, a bit of gold leaf!

Brian’s take: While walking the dark streets of DC in the chilly hours of early morn–cane in hand, top hat on head, corn-cob pipe in mouth–I often find myself pondering the big questions, like, “What is art, and why does it matter?” The other night, the folks at Indebleu gave me a tasty answer: “The Figure 5 in Martini.” This artini endeavors to make drinkable a Charles Demuth painting of the number 5, and like any important piece of art, it is a divisive beast indeed. Some people at Inde Bleu–myself included–really enjoyed this novel drink. Others thought it tasted like shampoo. I maintain that the “Figure 5 in Martini” was an inspired little fella, tapping into sundry muses and sundry ingredients as diverse as orange blossom water and gold leaf. I felt transported to a Japanese garden-meets-Italian cathedral, with maybe just a dash of Herbal Essences thrown in for good measure.

On a scale of 1 to 5 olive branches: 4.273

Oh, and a note on Indebleu’s food. What a delight. Gina and Paul were generous enough to give us a sampling. I ordered the caper-crusted diver scallops, an incredible dish featuring spiced cauliflower, citronelle curry, and a black pepper/raisin purée. The scallops were of the melt-in-mouth variety, and when garnished with equal parts curry and purée made for a taste experience of transcontinental proportions. There is a phrase that I reserve for only the highest of culinary experiences, a phrase I have used once in reference to the Gotham’s foie gras and once in describing the prosciutto al melone at the Hostaria di Bruno a block from the Stazione Termini in Rome. The phrase is num-numz, and though it may sound inconceivable (not to mention juvenile and bizarre), I can proudly say with regard to the diver scallops, “Num! Numz!!!”

On a scale of 1 to 5 popadoms: 4.75

Ted’s take: The ‘Figure Five in “Martini,”‘ based on Charles Demuth’s famous Figure Five in Gold (based on William Carlos Williams’ ‘The Great Figure Five’), is a drink of strong derivation, venerable artistic roots, and a fine finish. The flavors are full-bodied and multi-dimensional, like the collage-aesthetic of the Demuth painting and the reductio ad simplicissimum vibrancy of the original poem. The Chinese five-spice, one must admit, packs something of a punch, and the beverage is far spicier than sweet, but–in the opinion of this critic–these things are all for the best. Kudos to Paul et. al. at Indebleu for one of the most artful martinis so far.

On a scale of 1-5 olive branches: 4.5

This review, however, would be far from complete without a few glowing words about Indebleu’s rather remarkable menu. While dining in unparalleled comfort, Indeblue restaurantgoers can treat themselves to the most successful fusion I’ve experienced in the Capital. While I wasn’t able to try the tandoori pizza (with a special naan crust), I was privileged to hobnob at length with an amazing plate of ahi tuna tartar, garnished with Indebleu’s noteworthy sweet pepper mousse and jalapeño raita. A selection of paper-thin papadoms brought some much-needed crunch to the cushioned suppleness of the exquisite tuna–and I was more than happy to follow Paul’s advice by mixing the mousse and the raita into a Christmas-y confection that defied description. Above all, the plate–like the artini–was a feat of balance…as any good fusion really ought to be.

On a scale of 1 to 5 papadoms: 5

Artistic invocations: Kandinsky, Rubens

Be sure to visit Chancy’s blog, ‘A Not So Capital Idea.’ Not only is she covering the artini madness with a tenacity to rival ours, but she has included an almost inconceivable number of photographs on her site featuring the boys from the City Paper!