Good Drinking Through Bad Planning

This week's drink begins with bad preparation on my part.

I'm at home, and my thought is to have a drink. This is a thought that I am adequately prepared for, so I consider my options. Orange juice sounds good, so perhaps a simple screwdriver would work. I snag a glass, pour a shot of vodka, and head upstairs to the refrigerator.

Well, the reason orange juice sounds so good is that we don't have any. So I now have an ounce of vodka in my glass, and it's not going to drink itself, so I rummage through the fridge for mixers. And, towards the back of the fridge, I find an unopened bottle of apple cider.

Now, for those of you not within the Apple Belt, this is not the season for cider. Any cider that I find has been in the fridge for some time, and may be dangerously close to being a bottle of science project rather than juice. So, we follow the Three Scientific Steps of Refrigerator Food Validation:
- Visual inspection: Okay, nothing growing and the bottle has not become an inflated balloon...
- Sniff test: Smells like cider...
- Taste it: No tingling on the tongue, and I'm not dead after a minute. Hooray!

Now, this little project has taken me away from my primary project, which was Get Alex a Drink. I still have my shot of warm vodka, and now a desire to have a bit of cider. So, why not?–I pour a glass of cider on top of my vodka.

This Painted Daisy

Goblet (16oz), is 

available on the 

Contemporary Complements

website.

Unfortunately, I'm now in mixing mode, which means I can't just enjoy my vodka and cider, but need to evaluate the rest of the cabinet and see if anything else catches my eye. So, I wander back downstairs to the bar (making a note to buy orange juice so I don't have to go through this much work next time), and dig around the collection.

And lo and behold, I have something that intrigues me. SNAP is a spirit made by Art in the Age, as an homage to the flavor set found in lebkuchen (a German ginger cookie). Molasses, nutmeg, cloves, ginger and other spices makes SNAP spicy, but not sweet. It's not a sipping drink, as the lack of sugar means the alcohol bite shines through more than I would like, but it makes for a great mixer in other drinks. So, in goes some SNAP, and both Julie and I are pretty happy with the result.

The drink starts with the great sweet-tart profile that a good cider should have, and the SNAP gives us the complexity of spices bubbling around inside. The vodka serves two purposes: it shaves some of the sweet off of the cider, and, somewhat paradoxically, takes some of the alcohol bite away from the drink. (I note that while trying to recreate the drink for this blog, I tried to use a midrange vodka, with less good results. You're going to need a very good, neutral vodka for the proper profile on this one.)

In addition to validating the ratios, in the name of due diligence I also tried the drink hot instead of cold. Doesn't work; all it does is let the alcohol become the dominant taste in the drink. This is a cold drink, either shaken with ice and poured, or over ice (but melted ice does the drink no favors).

Cidersnap

6 oz. fresh apple cider
1 oz. vodka (Watershed Distillery was the go-to here)
1 oz. SNAP

Serve chilled.

The Best Vodka That Wasn't

In 1999, the Leopold brothers (Scott and Todd) opened a brewery in Ann Arbor, MI, named, appropriately enough, Leopold Brothers. It was founded with the goal of minimizing the environmental impact of the brewing process, which by default creates a lot of by-product. The goal was certainly noble, and the brewpub itself was marvelous--long wooden tables in the public house tradition, and an open, inviting atmosphere. Unfortunately, to my palate, their beer was always inconsistent--I never was able to settle on a beer to call my own, and there were significant variances when I would try a beer over multiple sessions. The bar did very well, so take my observations with a grain of salt, but I was an infrequent visitor due to the other, better beer options in town (but always willing to go with others for a beer, if for no other reason then to support their goals).

This Bullseye Etched 

Flare Shooter (2oz), is 

available on the 

Contemporary Complements
website.

Fast forward a few years, and it comes to my attention that they are now doing microdistilling--and my friend is gushing about their vodka. Always one for an exploration, I dutifully took the walk over to the brewpub and asked for a glass.

And it was good. VERY good. You let it sit in your mouth and envelop your tongue in a cold, clean, clear blanket. Smooth, a hint of a flavor note but a very neutral palate overall, and great viscosity. This was a microdistillery that Had Arrived. Delighted, I ordered a bottle. Delivered to me, I read the label: Silver Tree...Orange Brandy?

I looked up. The bartender shrugged her shoulders and managed a half-smile. "Michigan liquor laws."

Apparently, the liquor laws are so draconian and convoluted in Michigan that in order to sell their vodka, they had to package it as orange brandy (by, I don't know, waving an orange in the direction of their still or something). Eventually, it became so ridiculous to maintain the charade that they moved up and out of Ann Arbor and found their way to Denver, Colorado, where they remain a happily successful operation distilling vodka, absinthe, gin, rum and pisco. I continue to work down my stockpiled supply of Leopold Brothers Orange Brandy, but for those of you who are beneficiaries of our loss, I recommend a look at our
displaced entrepreneurs and their excellent spirits.

Walking in the Woods

"No," Joop said. "I gave you your change."

At that moment, I could feel the temperature in the bar get colder around me. With it came the sudden, terrifying realization that the next words out of my mouth should be carefully chosen.

Let's backtrack a bit. I'm in Amsterdam, and the goal of the night is to audition a couple of bars. I like having favorite haunts wherever I go, and it's time that I had a few in Amsterdam. Since I have zero interest in the coffeeshops (except for The Coffee Company, which is a shop that sells actual coffee), bars would seem to be the next logical choice. And, I've got one that's at the top of my list to visit: De Drie Fleschjes, a small place just off the Dam in the center of the city. I'd walked by it on my last trip, but it officially got onto my radar courtesy of Anthony Bourdain. (Check out The Layover series; the bar is featured in the Amsterdam show. But why, oh why, Anthony, did you spend most of the show telling me how much you didn't smoke pot, and instead tell me where to find the GOOD street food?...)

When you walk into De Drie Fleschjes, you're going to immediately feel like you've stepped back in time a few years (understandable, as the bar dates to 1650). To your right are rows of small barrels, private casks for companies and frequent guests. To your left is a bar, with a few hunks of cured meat hanging out by the register and chalkboards near the ceiling with the drink specialties. It's small, there's no seating, but it feels cozy - the kind of place where you really can escape the bustle of the city.

When I arrived, there were four others in the place, some twenty-somethings getting their drink on for a night out. They were charming and welcoming to me, including me in a round of drinks (more on that in a bit). They left, and then it was time for the reason for the visit - genever.

I'll save the details for later (since it should be an entry on its own), but suffice it to say that it's a gin precursor that has a unique enough profile to have an enthusiastic slot in my bar. Joop, the proprietor (or "Uitbater" as his card reads) walked me through the differences between oude and jonge genever (not aging, but old-style and new-style), and the different ages of genever (his tip: 6-year oude is the best balance of age and price, which is why I have a bottle of it). I even asked to buy one of the small glasses that the genever is served in, and it was handed to me gratis. I handed over my tab money, admiring my new glassware and basking in the warm glow of several glasses of genever and other house specialties. Joop began to wash glasses behind the bar, as it's just about closing time for them (this is not a late-night bar on weekdays, take note). I waited for a moment, then breezily commented "I'll just get my change, and be on my way."

Joop continued to wash glasses. "I paid you."

Still distracted, I continue. "I gave you a ten, so I just need the change."

"No," Joop said. "I gave you your change."

So, we're now back to that cold wash of adrenaline that we began this entry with. If I say one more word that implies that I did not get change, I will have officially accused my host - the man who has been generous with his time, knowledge and glassware - of being a thief. As comfortable as I might be traveling around, I still am sensitive to the fact that I am not as familiar with foreign customs, body language, and understood societal norms as I would prefer to be, and the fact that this conversation is being held in English as a courtesy to me does not make it any less forgiving if I misspeak right now.

Inside, I'm beginning to feel panic bubble up, and trying very hard to calm myself but quickly react, I assess the situation. My wallet is out, and I can see that the front bill is a five. I'm pretty sure that I came in with a ten in front, so that five might very well be the change of which he speaks. I'll admit that the glass was distracting me, and I'm the one that's had four drinks here, not him...

And then, in a moment of perfect clarity, I realize that I am wrong. This is not some weighing of the facts and deciding that the majority of the evidence points to his assertion (which it does); this is the sudden glorious acceptance that Joop is correct and I am wrong. I have trouble imagining what it would be like to run a bar in a city that caters to vices the way Amsterdam does, and to do so in a way that is respectful to the centuries that De Drie Fleschjes has existed and reflects, I am sure, the personality of Joop himself. This is a classic bar, that serves classic drinks, in a setting that's not flashy or sterile, but offers a top-notch bar experience at a fair price. Joop has been the consummate bartender: attentive, aware of all of his guests while keeping up with the never-ending tasks that a bar generates, and letting his generosity be displayed not through some faux charm or forced friendliness, but in his actions and his service. In this moment, I believed - and still believe - that Joop told me that he gave me my change because, well, he gave me my change. There was no doubt in the way he said it, and the trust that I placed in him all evening had no reason to end now.

This week's glass
is from De Drie Fleschjes,
and is not for sale.

I don't remember the specifics afterwards; I was still a bit jittery from the moment, and I desperately wanted to get everything else right so that I could come back again and pick up where I left off (and not be that American guy that tried to cheat him out of a five-spot). This week's drink is the first drink I had in De Drie Fleschjes, and as much as the reason for the visit was the genever, I've chosen A Walk in the Woods, a drink that the bar uses as a signature shot, as my drink this week to say thank you to Joop for taking care of me. Next time, I'll do better.

A Walk in the Woods (Boswandeling)

3/4 oz. vodka (this week, from Watershed Distillery)

1/4 oz. triple sec (Bols 42-proof)

Dash bitters (Angostura for the moment, though I'm open to forests elsewhere...)

Serve chilled.