The Drink: Bin 14

The Location: Cork, 1720 14th St. NW, (202) 265-2675

The Buzz: I’ve been trying to catch up on all the new wine bars that have opened, so the other night I stopped by the infant Cork, located where Sparky’s used to be. Who knew Sparky’s space had so much potential? Instead of a cramped, cafeteria feel, this new restaurant is pretty roomy, warm, and inviting. Call it sacrilege, but I think wine bars are the perfect places to start out with a cocktail. You need that extra time to sort through the extensive wine list. Plus, I had heard rumors that the bartender at Cork can work magic. So I told our server to have the bartender make me a cocktail of his choice, and he sent out this gorgeous drink he called a Bin 14, a nod to how they label their wines for easy ordering (Bin 14 is a delicious Domaine Paul Garaudet white Burgundy). Although he was a little secretive, I was able to find out that it was a variation on an aviation (gin, maraschino liquor, lemon), but he added wine, spices (including cinnamon and star anise), and possibly some other undisclosed ingredients. And the result is perfection. I was floored. It was refreshing like an aviation but still winter appropriate with the spices, and the citrus was perfectly balanced so it wasn’t sour. It was so good that I almost didn’t want to switch to wine. But then I got over that.

The Drink: Bourbonesque

The Location: Westend Bistro, 1190 22nd St. NW, (202) 974-4900

The Price: $12

The Buzz: I decided awhile back that winter ‘07-’08 is the winter of the Manhattan. Unfortunately, this is also the winter of my great disorganization, and I have not gotten my act together to buy a couple ingredients, like the sweet vermouth and the bitters. But it just so happens that I’ve been stocked with Maker’s Mark and maraschino liquor, so it has become the winter of the modified Manhattan. (Delicious, by the way.) The other night I finally checked out the swanky new Westend Bistro, and I couldn’t help but order the Bourbonesque. It’s Maker’s Mark, muddled strawberries, and maple syrup. Brilliant! I couldn’t detect the syrup (which is probably a good thing), but there was the perfect amount of sweetness to balance out the spice of the bourbon. And the strawberries were well pulverized so there was no mojito effect (you know, when you feel like you’re drinking chunks and left with souvenirs between your teeth). For such a young restaurant, Westend is nailing the cocktails; there wasn’t a loser out of the three (or four?) that I tried.

The Drink: Dirty martini

The Location: Your office

The Price: Who cares? You didn’t pay for it.

The Buzz: As business-casual fan Andrew Beaujon recently blogged (just scroll down a bit), the sweater-vest-wearing David Knauss is leaving our ranks. Today we tried to give him a proper farewell. First there was pizza. That didn’t quite do it. Then there was cake. Almost there. And, finally, it was cocktail hour. I think that did the trick. But the valuable lesson, kids, is that martinis are flexible things. Give someone a bowl of ice, a plastic cup, and a plastic spoon, and you have a shaker. Throw in some Grey Goose (City Paper’s getting classy! No jug wine at this party!) and Down & Dirty Martini Mix (which doesn’t actually list olives in the ingredients), and after a little swirling and a little spoon-straining, you have a lovely, supersalty martini…in a pint glass.

David, we will miss you. And the rest of you, find a reason for an office cocktail hour.

The Drink: Margarita

The Location: Oyamel, 401 7th St. NW, (202) 628-1005

The Price: $29 for a pitcher

The Buzz: Why, you ask, am I writing about margaritas again? And why am I drinking margaritas in December? Well, because they’re delicious. And because I went to Oyamel for dinner. You don’t go to Oyamel and not order margaritas. Seriously. Go to Oyamel. Don’t not order margaritas. While they offer a couple varieties of the tequila cocktail, the only one by the pitcher is the classic: Sauza silver tequila, lime juice, triple sec, and a splash of orange juice. No nasty sour mix here. Just citrusy, fresh cocktails. Which is more than I can say for the brown lime garnish, which I wouldn’t let near my drink. When the pitcher was gone, someone at my table snuck an order in for this:

This crazy margarita (I know, it’s a tad blurry. But this was after the pitcher was gone.) is called the Oyamel and supposedly is chef-owner Jose Andres’ personal favorite. It’s Cuervo, lime juice, and Cointreau. And salt air. Whatever the hell that is. All I can say is there was cappuccino-like foam on top of the liquid that tasted salty. The brilliant part is that you get salt in each sip instead of drinking around the rim of your glass, trying to ration out each grain of salt. Now you just have to worry about rationing the sips other people are going to take of your Oyamel.

The Drink: Martini

The Location: Anywhere, everywhere

The Price: Varies slightly

The Buzz: I was on assignment Wednesday night. I needed a cocktail. It just so happened that I was meeting some friends for dinner at Logan Tavern. I was in the midst of studying the cocktail menu while others were pondering their own drinks, when someone at the table announced that it was Sinatra’s birthday. All menus hit the table and martinis were ordered without a second thought. I went with Hendrick’s (possibly the best gin ever), completely dry, with olives. A beautiful martini. (Apologies if the photo is not its usual quality. But not bad for a camera phone, right? Thanks Brett!) But my insistence on drinking my Hendrick’s with olives was met with some resistance. My fellow Hendrick’s devotee feels that a bitter, briny olive doesn’t belong in the herbacious, cucumber-heavy gin. He is loyal to the twist. He finds it refreshing. That night he was drinking Grey Goose, completely dry, with a twist. The age-old question: twist or olives? For me, it’s simple. I love olives. If I want to eat some olives, I order a martini. But what matters here, is Ol’ Blue Eyes. And according to this very reliable source, Sinatra drank a vodka martini, dry, with olives. So we both won that night. But, really, with martinis, everybody wins. Cheers, Frank.

The drink: Jewbelation Eleven

The location: Your home

The price: $6.29 a bottle at Total Wine & More in McLean.

The buzz: To celebrate its 11th anniversary, Shmaltz Brewing is turning itself into Dogfish Head Brewery. At least that’s the impression I got after tasting Shmaltz’s anniversary brew, the latest incarnation of Jewbelation Eleven. The massive brew—both in size and structure—reminds me of those hop monsters that have made Sam Calagione the darling of microbrew nuts everywhere. True to Shmaltz’s cheeky approach to making and marketing its beer, Jewbelation Eleven is brewed with 11 different malts and hops, which gives the brewery plenty of opportunities to quote Nigel Tufnel’s famous line about volume—and more of it. Jewbelation Eleven reminds me a bit of Dogfish Head’s 90 Minute IPA, though without the heavy hits of caramel and raisin. The best thing about Jewbelation Eleven is its hoppiness, which isn’t just some palate stress test. The hop blend gives the beer a complex, aromatic bitterness that I prefer over any of Dogfish Head’s hoppier bottlings. Don’t believe me? Determine for yourself on Wednesday, Dec. 19, when Shmaltz’s Jeremy Cowan puts Jewbelation Eleven to the test as part of The Brickskeller’s Annual Holiday Beer Challenge.

The drink: Mongolian Motherfucker

The location: The Red & The Black, 1212 H Street NE, (202) 399-3201.

The price: Whatever the bartender decides.

The buzz: My closest friends in D.C. are a sextet collectively known as the Shitheads. We adopted the nickname after our habit of behaving badly in public, the pinnacle of which occurred when one of us (name withheld to protect the not-so-innocent) loudly mocked a blind man for knocking over a jug of olive oil and then not cleaning it up. (Disclaimer: The Shithead in question didn’t know the man was blind at the time, though he still believes blind people can be assholes.) I say all this as background for the Shitheads’ recent visit to The Red & The Black. We already had a martini in us when we arrived. I badgered the bartender, Jason, to make us his signature cocktail. He hemmed and hawed, asked what we like, and then confessed that he makes a bad-ass “Mongolian motherfucker,” which he said included 12 different ingredients. It sounded ridiculous, really, sort of the mixologist’s version of the Hollywood mad scientist’s potion. I almost expected the drink to bubble and smoke when it arrived. Jason graciously outlined all the ingredients of the Mongo Mofo. You might want to hit the toilet first before reading the next sentence; it’ll take awhile to finish. The drink includes sloe gin, melon liqueur, peach schnapps, triple sec, black raspberry liqueur, amaretto, citrus liqueur, coconut rum, dark rum, spiced rum, light rum, Southern Comfort, rail tequila, grenadine, and orange juice. I got the sense Jason was making this shit up as he went along. The real beauty of the Mongo Mofo is watching Jason pour it. He tilts a stack of small rocks glasses—or are they large shot glasses?—so that each has an opening just large enough to pour the rust-colored liquid into them. (See pic above.) I swear Jason must have the steadiest hand in town. We followed the barkeep’s orders and downed the drink in a single gulp. I was surprised that it didn’t taste like jenkem. Instead, it tasted like you were drinking Hawaiian Punch with a fresh wad of Bazooka bubble gum in your mouth. The Shitheads were pleased. So pleased we ordered another. Then one of the Shitheads of the female persuasion suggested that the Lady Shitheads needed to thank Jason with a kiss, which they did. (Frankly, one of them seemed to be heading toward lower parts of Jason’s body.) We broke out the camera and took endless pictures. We started to talk loudly. We even made my wife’s sister an honorary Shithead. Yep, if there’s a house drink at Chez Shithead, it’s the Mongolian motherfucker.

The Drink: The Zola, aka The White Knight
The Location: Zola, 800 F St. NW, (202) 654-0999
The Price: $9.50
The Buzz: When you don’t work in downtown D.C., it’s pretty easy to forget that this is the nation’s capital. But even with this convenient amnesia, I function under a rule of avoiding possible tourist traps at all cost. Which is why I’ve never been to Zola. I’ve heard only good things about the restaurant, but its proximity to the (children-attracting) Spy Museum made me wary. Would I spill my drink when a fanny pack bumped into me? After a matinee at E Street (If you haven’t already, go see No Country for Old Men.), I ventured in. I’m not sure what it’s like in peak hours, but the bar is the perfect place to be midafternoon. It was almost empty, with huge, gorgeous windows that offer a nice view. Their cocktails have cutesy spy-themed names (Black Tie Bawl, the Blue Sting), but the concoctions are the real deal. I chose the White Knight, which is similar to a cosmo but a bit classier with the use of quality liquor (Turi vodka, a rye vodka from Estonia, and Cointreau), a substitution of white cranberries for cranberry juice, and crushed limes instead of lime juice. It’s the right balance of still tasting like vodka (I don’t care what people say, vodka has a taste), but having enough fruit to take the edge off and add some more flavors. And the best part is the little pile of liquor-soaked Craisins sitting in the bottom of the glass. I had no shame eating them with my fingers. And at least if someone had given me a look, I could always just claim I was from out of town.

The Drink: The One Night Stand
The Location: Bar Rouge, 1315 16th St. NW, (202) 939-6422
The Price: $10
The Buzz: The other night, some friends and I went to Theater J to see David Mamet’s Speed-the-Plow, a play that revolves around a temp secretary who uses her seductive charms to sway a Hollywood producer. Afterward, we wandered down the street to Bar Rouge, inside Hotel Rouge. We walked into a fairly full lounge, worked our way toward the bar, and found ourselves front and center for the wrap-up of that night’s speed dating. While we tried to get a cocktail list, a woman was shouting to hand in name tags, fill out forms, and “be generous” with our decisions. As things finally settled down, with a lucky couple lingering here and there, I perused a menu with drink names like the Cabana Boy and the Playboy. Giving in to the night’s theme, I ordered the One Night Stand, a martini made from Absolut Ruby Red, X-Rated liqueur (vodka infused with blood orange, mango, and passion fruit), and a splash of grapefruit juice. The drink came without its advertised sugar rim, which was a bonus. It was fruity (one person said it tasted like Hawaiian Punch), but its irresistible feature was its sour tang. I was perhaps the only person to leave Rouge that night enjoying the bitter taste in my mouth.

The drink: Bourbonesque

The location: Westend Bistro by Eric Ripert, 1190 22nd St. NW, (202) 974-4900.

The price: $12

The buzz: D.C. has never struck me as a town that hosts coked-up, see-and-be-seen, Gotham-style glamour events where hookers compete with barkeeps for a gentleman’s wallet. We do state dinners and spittle-spraying marches on the mall. But events that mandate slinky new cocktail dresses and wad of fresh Benjamins? Not really. That said, Thursday’s opening of Westend Bistro by Eric Ripert felt like an event, not that I noticed many hookers among the sea of humanity bobbing around the Ritz-Carlton (though maybe a few scenester whores). Ripert, New York’s darling of stove and small screen, was there, inspecting dishes in the kitchen and walking purposefully through the dining room, a graying pontiff in chef whites. When I arrived around 8 p.m., the place was booked solid for the entire evening; not even some late-night two top by the toilet was available. My only hope for food was a seat at the bar. I satisfied myself with a drink from the cocktail menu, which includes such concoctions as “Eric’s Primo Margarita” and the “Ripert Favorite” (Jose Cuervo Reposado with pomegranate and tangerine). I wasn’t about to suck on any Ripert-branded drinks—isn’t that like virtual sex?—no matter how many awards he’s won. Instead, I ordered the “Bourbonesque,” mostly because it seemed like such an odd mixture of winter and summer seasons. Served in a frosted martini glass, the drink combines Maker’s Mark with crushed ice, muddled strawberries, and maple syrup. It seems like the kind of syrup Dean Martin would pour over his pancakes after a night out with the Rat Pack, sweet but with a marked bourbon burn. The cocktail’s dandy for a few sips but gets boring fast. Yet I keep slurping on it, drawn to its continual sugar rush, not unlike that bowl of chocolates you can’t keep your hands off during the holidays. I have higher hopes for Ripert’s food, whenever I get to try it.

The Drink: Sidecar
The Location: Open City, 2331 Calvert St. NW, (202) 332-2331
The Price: $7.50
The Buzz: Tryst and the Diner in Adams Morgan function under a shared mantra: Keep it simple. In taking the time to perfect the basics (espresso) and provide the comforts (grilled cheese), this mini restaurant group has acquired a large, devoted fan base. Open City, the group’s newest addition in Woodley Park, seems to be following their lead—at least as far as cocktails go (which is as far as I got on a recent visit). The list is mostly straightforward classics, including some old-school classics like the rusty nail and sidecar, the latter of which I couldn’t resist. The bartender kept it upscale and used Rémy Martin instead of brandy, then he added triple sec, lemon juice, simple syrup, and, unexpectedly, soda. The drink was heavy on the lemon but not to a fault—it was refreshing, and the soda kept it light. I wouldn’t have minded a bit more cognac, but it was still delicious, and at $7.50, it took me back in time.

The Drink: DIY Margarita

The Price: Feels like free

The Location: Your apartment

The Buzz: It’s been a depressing few weeks. And lately it’s been rainy and dreary. These things probably should have made me seek refuge at a bar, but instead, they made me refuse to leave my apartment except for work. So this week’s cocktail is not designed by a professional from the wealth of materials at a restaurant but is foraged from my quickly depleting kitchen. The other night was looking dire. The beer was gone, the wine was gone, and there wasn’t a mixer in the house. What do you do when you’re in a drinking emergency? You muddle.

I took some pomegranate seeds that I had left over from a salad and threw them into a shaker with a couple wedges of lime. After mashing them up, I added ice, tequila, and triple sec (I did a roughly two-to-one ratio), and then shook and strained over ice. It turned out rather tasty—fruity but not sweet, and the tequila still had a strong presence. That’s one of the beauties about margaritas: As long as you have tequila in your house, you can make some variation with whatever fruit you have lying around. And it will cheer you right up.

The Drink: Tanqueray Taj

The Location: JoJo Restaurant and Bar, 1518 U St. NW, (202) 319-9350

The Price: $9

The Buzz: On a muggy fall night I step through one of the opened-up windows of JoJo (only later did I realize it was actually a window, and perhaps I should have used the door like a civilized person) and take a stool at the quiet bar. Only a couple of seeming regulars lounge about, some of them not even drinking. The cocktail menu is rum heavy, and while there should be an ocean nearby for this kind of weather, I’m in a city, and it’s a weekday, and I’m not in the mood for a fruity drink. I figure the Tanquery Taj has potential since its base is Tanqueray Rangpur, one of my favorite lime-infused liquors. The bartender shakes it with melon liquor and adds a splash of sour mix and sinks the dreaded maraschino cherry into the bottom. Despite my effort, I end up with a fruity drink. The Tanqueray is a waste in this drink where rail gin would have had the same effect. Beyond everything else, the melon flavor prevails, and it’s sickeningly sweet. That said, if you’re the kind of person who orders appletinis and wants to feel like you’re on a booze cruise at happy hour, this cocktail just might be all right. But I’d prefer to rescue the gin and put it straight up.

The Drink: Vanilla Julep
The Location: Restaurant K, 1700 K St. NW, (202) 974-6545
The Price: $9.85
The Buzz: After a renovation and a new chef, Jimmy’s on K recently reopened as Restaurant K, with the much-heralded Alison Swope at the helm. While the ambience feels hotel lobby-ish, the bar is handsome, and its centerpiece is a display of tempting house-made infusions. It may seem like the infusion world is getting exhausted (Seriously, Stoli, you need to settle down), but there is plenty of fertile territory left—basically anything other than vodka. Restaurant K infuses bourbon with vanilla beans, a process that takes roughly a month, and uses it as the base for a mint julep. The bartender rubs the inside of a martini glass with mint leaves and drops them into the bottom. He adds a splash of lime juice, a splash of simple syrup, and strains the shaken bourbon over top. The variation on the Southern standard is a perfect union of flavors: the bourbon, the mint, the vanilla—they’re all present without trying to outdo one another. It’s comfort in a glass. And if you’re not in the mood for a laid-back cocktail, I have to recommend a martini made from their cucumber-infused gin. The bartender poured me a small shot, and I was in love. It’s in the same vein as Hendrick’s, but the cucumber is more prominent, and it’s smoother. Which is one of the beautiful things about infusions: They make liquor, even rail liquor, perfectly sippable.

The Drink: White Sangria

The Location: Bar Pilar, 1833 14th St. NW, (202) 265-1751

The Price: $18 for a carafe

The Buzz: On these unseasonably warm, humid fall evenings, refreshing drinks are in order. I thought I’d hit a wellspring of refreshment when I saw white sangria on the cocktail list at Bar Pilar. Something fruity, bubbly, and light seemed like the perfect thing to distract me from the fact that I was sitting in a bar sweating my ass off. I ordered the carafe of white sangria (yes, I was sharing it) and watched the bartender throw some lemon and lime wedges, mint leaves, and cherries into the bottom. Then he poured triple sec and brandy in and filled it up with sparkling white wine. He plopped it down in front of us and said, “Here’s your instant hangover!” We tried to laugh, but it did make me eat more than my share of the apps, trying to fend off the rough morning coming. The worst part was that the drink wasn’t worth a hangover. It tasted like very slightly minty sparkling wine. The triple sec and brandy were barely detectable, and the fruit was held hostage in the bottom of the carafe until the last pour, when I was able to shake a couple pieces loose. My recommendation: Order it if you’re in the mood to sip wine through a straw but don’t go in expecting to relive past cocktail hours in Spain.