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.

Mixology, Bartending and Me

What triggers a passion?

Well, I certainly drank my share in college and beyond. I have specific drinks tied to specific locations and events: beer by the pitcher at Rick’s in Ann Arbor (leading to my only public singing experience in New York City), crap-but-cheap Long Island iced teas at Uptown in Bowling Green OH on Tuesday nights, fuzzy navels by the lake at Rose Hulman on a warm spring day, my first sip of julieska at the Arosa Keller in Essen Germany. For the most part, though, a drink was something that was combined with another activity or experience.

With games, my epiphany was at the hands of James Ernest, showman, poker player, game designer and CEO of Cheapass Games. James was the first person to challenge me to separate the game experience–the social involvement, metagame aspects and material components involved with playing a game–and think about the mechanics and rules that make up a game as a device for social experiences. It let me experience (and, nowadays, evaluate) games not only for their emotional and social pleasures, but to appreciate WHY a game does or does not work on a purely mechanical level, and then see how the game experience either magnifies or obscures a design’s mechanics.

For alcohol, it was a 2007 NPR interview with Jeff Berry, upon the publication of Beachbum Berry’s Sippin' Safari. The book is a celebration of the tiki craze in the US, and the interview focused on the Zombie–a drink normally presented as five random rums, pineapple juice, and whatever else fruit juice was on clearance at the dollar store last week. This is a drink that was shrouded in mystery and history, and Jeff told a story of corporate espionage, detective work, and sheer joy for the topic that absolutely hooked me (well, at least made me go out, buy the book, and act as the starting point for another story that I’ll tell later this year).

All of a sudden, alcohol became a medium of creation isolated from the usual social trappings. With a palette of ingredients millennia in the creation, I now had a sense of how to play with a well-stocked bar to make drinks and appreciate how the component parts combine to create something better.

This also brought me into the mixologist craze, and what an interesting experience that has been. I’ve discovered some great bars, tried some fairly exotic mixers, liquors and drinks, and certainly broadened my appreciation for what can be done with alcohol. Things like shrub and falernum are now recipes I can rattle off from memory, and the complexity and subtleties of a contemporary cocktail can be a marvelous opportunity to simultaneously drink and dissect.

That said, a 2011 issue of Imbibe featured an interview with Ray Foley, a voice for working bartenders and bar service for decades and who has both a passion for bartending and scorn for those who would push the occupation of bartender into a niche, boutique corner of the industry. This is the man who invented the fuzzy navel, and say what you want about the joys of homemade cardamom-infused limoncello, Ray Foley has been responsible for serving more drinks than you or I ever will. A good drink should be shared, and the easier and more accessible a drink is, the more people that will have the opportunity to enjoy it.

I am not an expert, or even trying to achieve that status (I have friends who are far more gifted in that regard), but on this blog I’ll try to walk the line between highbrow and lowbrow, a hand extended into each world, trying to snag things that everyone will find, if not necessarily practical or to their tastes, at least interesting to hear about.

Tomorrow: a reason to talk to me!