As if you needed any more proof that we’re mired in a recession, just check out the top posts from this week: They’re focused on good, old-fashioned drinkin’. Here’s to better times, y’all…

In the meantime, the most-read posts from the week:

1. Women of Craft Beer: A Quick List (*)
2. Paste Names Best 25 American Breweries
3. The Passenger Set to Open Tomorrow
4. D.C. Dish Hall of Fame Leaderboard: Same As It Ever Was
5. Yaku to Close and Turn into a Rock ‘n’ Roll/Sushi Concept

* A certain light-drinking Budweiser beer was, once again, the most-read item, but we’ve stopped counting it.

Photo by Darrow Montgomery

Take some of D.C.’s best-known cocktail and wine bartenders and you get…a good neighborhood beer bar, obviously.

Well, not quite; I have selective vision that turns pretty much all bars into beer bars. But The Passenger, which opens tonight at 5 p.m., is nay Cork nor Gibson, the wine and cocktail pedestals that the Brown brothers are known for. It’s a relaxed bar with a neighborhood drinking-room feel and some tasty beers, wines, and even cocktails if you ask nice.

The space at 1021 7th St. NW, which was formerly the bar space at the Warehouse and home to Punch Club, still has all its best parts: unfinished walls, old wood floor, and sweet wrought-iron tables. (Disclosure: I organized/bartended a non-beer event there once.) (Disclosure pt. 2: I really, really like this space.) The bar top is bigger and more comfortable, and what was once dead space in the back is being rebuilt to mimic a dining car.

Read More “First Look at The Passenger” »

If there’s anything that grips Y&H readers, it’s tragedy, and it doesn’t get much more tragic than the homicide of Nori Amaya, the co-owner of Coppi’s Organic on U Street. People were obviously desperate for information on the strangulation. Even our negligible little item was widely visited.

Here’s how the week shook out:

1. Nori Amaya’s Friends and Fans Express Their Grief on Her Facebook Page
2. A Certain Goddamn Budweiser Beer That People Can’t Stop Reading About
   
3. Birch & Barley Opens Today. What’s Inside? (This item is quickly entering Select 55 territory.)
   
4. Tom and Derek Brown to Channel Spirits and Iggy Pop at the Passenger
   
5. D’Acqua Shutters, Ping Pong Dim Sum Set to Open Next Month
   

Tom and Derek Brown have pour, mixed, and stirred drinks at some of the best spots in the District: Komi, Citronelle, Palena, the Gibson, Corduroy, and Cork. But when the brothers decided to open their own joint, The Passenger, they didn’t want anything as formal as their former places of employment.

“I wanted a place where I could drink wine and play Motörhead,” says Derek Brown, the younger of the two siblings who grew up in Olney. “I’ve grown in my tastes. I haven’t grown in my want for a laid-back environment.”

True to their word, the brothers Brown are building a watering hole high on quirkiness — and low on pretension. It begins with the very building in which the Passenger is housed: the former bar/cafe space at the Warehouse at 1021 7th St. NW.  The space, co-owned by Paul Ruppert (who’s also a partner in the Passenger), dates back to 1890 and once was home to Ruppert Hardware, a fixture in D.C. for nearly 100 years.

Read More “Tom and Derek Brown to Channel Spirits and Iggy Pop at the Passenger” »

When Cocktail first hit theaters in 1988, I have to admit I had no interest in seeing it. Why would I want to watch a Tom Cruise vehicle in which bartending was made to look like dorked-out synchronized swimming with 750 ml bottles? I would have preferred being clocked by a broken whiskey bottle than watch Cruise twirl bottles and shakers in a barroom crammed with adoring, sloppy drunks.

In fact, I stuck to my guns on this until recently when, in a moment of weekend weakness, I watched a good chunk of Cocktail on cable. It was pathetic, and I loved every second. Turning a poor overworked gin-slinger into a rock star is practically Jungian in its brilliance. It taps some deep psychological chord in every raging American male, of a certain post-Greatest Generation age, who wants a job that combines rock ‘n’ roll, copious amounts of booze, drunk women (or men), and the ability to sleep late the following morning.

I can’t believe it took Hollywood so long to make it. I also can’t believe Cocktail is celebrating its 20th anniversary on Thursday at the Penn Station T.G.I. Fridays, where much of the movie was made and where screenwriter Heywood Gould (wooo-hooo, the writer!) gets honored for his ability to see inside an adolescent boy’s soul. I should note Gould’s a former journalist. 

Thinking about Cocktail got me thinking about some of the conversations I’ve had with Derek Brown, the master mixologist with the master plan to, once again, make bartending a respectable profession, like a sommelier without the pretentions. I wondered what Brown thought about Cocktail.

Read More “20th Anniversary of ‘Cocktail’: Jello Biafra’s Kind of Movie?” »

Before Y&H does anything else on his first day back, I’d like to give a big round of applause to Derek Brown, Orr Shtuhl, Tammy Tuck and Bruce Falconer for their informative, funny, and hang0ver-free Two Week Bender. C’mon, folks, give it up for these two-fisted all-stars! (I say that, even though I think Mr. Brown needs to enroll in Dick Cheney’s Remedial Torture Techniques class before suggesting that a simple Indian rug burn would be punishment enough for the next person who puts whipped cream on a daiquiri.)

As for me, I spent that past two weeks roaming the Yucatan, where I managed to successfully avoid Montezuma’s notorious vengeance, despite wolfing down just about every food I encountered, from smoked sausage in Temozon to homemade popsicles in Izamal to roadside chickens in Piste to the best damn Mayan barbecue grouper on Isla Mujeres.

Read More “What I Ate on My Summer Vacation: Guacamole” »

If you’ve ever cared to ask my opinion on the Dirty Martini, you’d find a generally gregarious and soft spoken me replaced by an opinionated jackass shouting down the masses for their frivolous tastes. I know that’s undoubtedly pretentious but all bartenders are allowed one hated drink be it the Mojito or Fuzzy Navel. It doesn’t mean we won’t make them, but it does mean that every time you ask for extra, extra-extra and Christina Aguilera “triple-r” Dirty Martinis that we feel entitled to a little grumbling.

I’m not alone in my complaint. “Head Mixtress “of PS7s, Gina Chersevani, compares Dirty Martinis to a salt lick. In her characteristic Long Island way, with a torrent of gestures and raspy voice, she jokes that she should coat the walls with salt and charge people per lick. Too right! But I think she may have found a better method to supplant the dreaded extra-dirty salt-delivery system with her Peter’s Pickled Martinis.

It turns out that D.C. has been a long proponent of pickled martinis. A 1959 Time magazine article reports:

“They are still at it: last week Washingtonians were drinking something called a ‘dillytini’—a martini with a two-inch green bean, pickled in dill vinegar—which tastes, according to one experimenter, ‘like crabgrass.’”

As I sip Gina’s pickled martini, I must say that crab grass is far from my mind. As I snap into a pickled pearl onion–reminiscent of a Gibson–all the flavors of heavily spiced vermouth come to mind and it marries perfectly in an alcoholic stew. You can order it with vodka or gin, but gin is Gina’s favorite. Mine too.

Chef Peter Smith, owner of PS7s, provides Gina with a steady stream of pickled vegetables including pickled artichokes, ramps, cherry peppers, string beans and even kumquats. (Thus the name Peter’s Pickled Martini.) Thankfully we reap the results of Peter’s pickling prowess.

This all begs the question: if you’re in a pickle, need a pickle or getting pickled, what better drink exists? So for savory sippers, dumping the Dirty Martini may yield life changing results not just for the sake of variety but to save the ire of your ‘tender.

According to industry stats, we’re all drinking more at home. But I can assure you that the worst way to beat the recession is by becoming a home bartender. The home bartender is a peculiar creature, one that collects, buys and builds their dream bar piece by piece at ghastly expenses and long toiling hours.

Scott Wolfson of Germantown, MD and his wife Jen spent four-and-a-half months and approximately $11,000 building their dream bar. I must say, it’s glorious—a Tiki lounge that rivals Trader Vic’s. Replete with Tiki paraphernalia and Moai heads, they dubbed it the Moai Lounge. It’s where I want my last Zombie to be served to me before I’m dead and buried.

You see, for Scott and his wife it’s more of a culture than just another room in the house. They are Tiki fanatics and love a great drink. They’re not alone.

Damon Fodge of Northwest, Washington, D.C., a close friend and home bartender, explained to me how diligently he makes cocktails for himself every night at his home bar. It’s a way for him to relax. He also stays abreast of new cocktail books and has even flirted with becoming a professional bartender, but has settled for having a dream bar in his basement under a map of his sailing exploits along the Bay. His is a sailor’s bar.

As we walk through, he describes his latest addition to the bar–a working sink. The “wet bar” is the crowning achievement of any home bartender. Damon muses that, “It is that little sink that makes all the difference between a serious home bartender and the rest.”

I have to say that as a professional bartender I’m somewhat envious. Even though I know that must sound strange. Living in an apartment lacks the pizzazz of treating your closest friends to a round of homemade juleps, even if I serve them day-in and -out at a real, working bar. It’s the act of hospitality that exceeds the commercial exchange. It’s the passi0n behind their endeavors. You bypass foofy cocktail lists, humiliating acrobatics to get the bartenders attention and crowds of dirty martini-stoned post-adolescents and instead get a well-made drink for the simple love of the craft. Even better, you get to do this in the privacy of your own home.

Happy DC Beer Week! I’ll leave beer to the experts, but it’s worth mentioning that beer is used in more than a few cocktails. Below is my favorite “beer-tail” for a Sunday morning (or Monday morning if you choose).

It was about two or three years ago that I decided it was time to switch from the Bloody Mary to the Red Eye, a healthful combination of tomato juice and beer (at least a doctor friend assures me that this is true). I’d started to detest the Bloody Mary, over-spiced with little spent carcasses of horseradish and long stalks of celery that generally get used for table décor rather than the stirrer they imply, and I figured beer and tomato juice would be a good sub for a Sunday morning recovery. Also, if the Red Eye is composed of Blood Mary mix, the beer acts as a kind of buffer for the spice by adding malt character and in some cases sweetness, and the bartender wouldn’t dare put celery in beer, would they?

Bourbon in Adams Morgan was the testing ground. So I ordered away. The only confusing part was when I asked for the Red Eye by name, which most people relate to the coffee drink. Had I just asked for beer and tomato juice or Bloody Mary mix over ice it wouldn’t have been met with an initial pause (or maybe so, how many people order beer and tomato juice?). It was delicious—devoid of greenery and sufficiently balanced to my palate.

In the past year or so, I’ve found another beer and tomato juice combo making the District-rounds, via south of the border, the Michelada. This one is equally delicious. The Michelada, which is purported to mean “my cold beer,” may be different in each respective Latin American country but generally involves tomato juice, lime, hot sauce, Worcestershire and Maggi (soy sauce).

For the Michelada, soy sauce is key. It adds “umami,” a savory characteristic. It has a little more depth than your standard Red Eye, although it depends on what formula you choose. At a certain point the Michelada and Red Eye start to resemble each other, especially if you’re using Bloody Mary mix in your Red Eye (Worcestershire also adds umami). Perhaps the main difference then is that the Michelada has a salt rim.

There’s no reason to waste expensive beer on the Michelada or Red Eye, although it should be a beer you can drink on its own. I’ve had good Micheladas at both Bar Pilar and Agraia. Both use Tecate. I have to admit that usually use light beer in my Red Eyes but also Brooklyn Lager works for a heartier mix.

Perhaps some of you are ready to make the switch too?

I’ve heard of so many ridiculous cocktail combinations that it often barely registers, much like the hum of traffic outside of my apartment window. Truthfully, I count blue martinis and lemon drops as the checkout line of mixed drinks where an array of candy stands before the buyer and their exit. I like candy too, you know, but everything in its place.

Yet every now and then it’s worthy of a warning shot, if only to see if anyone realizes how utterly ridiculous these drinks really are and how humanity in its infinite advancement sometimes still drags its knuckles when it comes to quality imbibing, especially in restaurants. Is anyone else astounded that the very first thing you’re likely handed in a dining establishment is just plain crap?

Yesterday’s “Ask Tom” chat for the Washington Post Online lends a ready example:

While dining in Williamsburg at a rated restaurant, I ordered a frozen strawberry daiquiri — is it wrong to have such a drink before dinner? The drink arrived without warning with a heap of reddi whip, definitely not real whipped cream, on top. I objected but all the restaurant would offer was to have the bartender remove the topping. The server said they always make the drink with a topping! Is this something new? Yuck.

I’m not a snob–a nerd, yes, but not a snob. However, the thought of anyone putting whipped cream on a Daiquiri, especially on the 100th year anniversary of this brilliant, simple combination is worthy of lesser form of torture such as the Indian rug burn or Charlie horse. “Yuck” is right.

The obvious line of defense, dining critics–who would rip into an establishment for serving boxed macaroni and cheese or microwave-ready burritos–adopt an “anything goes” attitude toward these drinks in spite of public interest and the cocktail’s place at the table. Yet my ire is not toward them–the bar has always been a democracy to the totalitarian dining experience and cosmos often accompany steaks and chocolate martinis Caesar salad. So be it.

My ire is toward so-called fine dining establishments who list the farms they use on the menu, insist upon the highest standards of service and are content to use store-bought mixes and serve bubble-gum sweet drinks. Fine examples of local restaurants that take cocktails seriously include Restaurant Eve, Bourbon Steak, PS7 and Rasika. Yet cocktail lists needn’t be complex or over-studied. The Daiquiri is composed of rum, sugar and lime and not whipped cream or whatever else tends to accompany the designation “frozen,” in which case it is a perfect aperitif for an excellent meal.