The Black Rose

...or, more accurately, Schwarze Rose Cocktailbar. This is a bar right around the corner from the hotel we stay at in Essen every year. It's got the vibe of a neighborhood bar - live music, a basic floor layout that puts the bar in the center of everything, and a small garden area in front to accomodate the overflow crowd (or the people who just want to drink in the absence of the live music).

They also have an amazing drink menu. Sorted by strength of drink (beware too many drinks off of the "Taxi" page), they have a nice variety of classic drinks, revised fan favorites, and a few homegrown libations. And every drink comes out of the back with a presentation that looks like a fruit truck collided with a candy shop. Seriously.

It would be easy enough to dismiss it as a bit of bar theater, unnecessary to the drink, but for me it goes to something deeper. When I visit Germany, one of the things I look forward to most is an ice cream sundae. And not just any ice cream sundae, but one with liqueurs, and nuts and sprinkles, and fresh-made whipped heavy cream, and streamers, and party favors, and a pony. Okay, not a pony, but an ice cream sundae, from ice cream parlors from Munich to Frankfurt to Essen, all seem to be built around not only amazing ingredients, but a sense of presentation.

No one needs an ice cream sundae, in the same way that no one needs a drink. Which is to say, of course, that we have both because we ideally are choosing to take a flight of fancy and whimsy - to have something that we choose to want. And, for things like these that have at least a kernel of frivolousness at their core, bringing a sense of theater and presentation to the experience seems natural upon reflection. I've had amazing drinks around the world, and many of them have been served with care, and craftsmanship, and an attention to detail that was stunning. And the process of creating a perfectly-proportioned drink in a basic rocks glass can be as much theater as a tiki drink magically appearing from a back room with a shaved ice scoop and half of Samoa's vegetation thrusting out of the top of the mug. Making a commitment to the experience of a drink, whether it be "tableside mixology" or lavish presentation, all contribute to the emotions of pleasure and exploration a voluntary experience should be.

It's easy and uncomplicated to make a drink for myself at home, and perhaps a hour or two of mise en place for an audience of one is unnecessary. But things like a Spanish coffee at La Dolce Vita, or a Zombie at the Mai Kai, or even watching the bartenders put together the Tuesday punch at the Alley Bar, all provide entertainment as well as a tasty glass. Places that understand the value of theater as part of a quality evening out, and exemplify it in every glass, or bowl, or plate that is produced, should be celebrated when it accomplishes its mission.

But I still give away my gummi rings on my Schwarze Rose drinks. Someone else is welcome to that little bit of drama.

Happy Holidays to Us!

If you do a search on "weihnachtslikör" on Google, you get 1410 hits in English, and 369,000 in German. The English links are mostly useless, so I can only conclude that they're hiding it from us. Until now.

Hütt'n is a little restaurant on the way up from the Hauptmarkt towards the castle. It's basic fränkisch food, but they're currently blowing through the last of their Weihnachtslikör. It's made from scratch from apple, cinnamon, vanilla, hazelnut and lebkuchen liqueur, all aged in barrels for 9 months. It's like drinking a baked apple finished in an oven where you're baking gingerbread. It was well worth braving the -11C weather to walk back and get a bottle to bring home. Just wow.

The Local Custom

I'm in Nuremberg right now, working at the annual toy fair. Eighty thousand people, and we all either make games, sell games to others, and/or write about games. It's a hard life, but I manage.

We had the opportunity to frequent a local chain in town, Landbierparadies. The beer was wonderful (I recommend the Meister), the food was basic, hearty and delicious, and their are many more fränkische delights on the menu to try next time.

Wait a minute. I thought I was in Bavaria. Why are these "fränkische" items?

Fränkische Schweiz (Franconian Switzerland) may be part of North Bavaria, but as my local guide pointed out, this is a region with its own rich history, and a fiercely independent personality. Calling the food or the beer Bavarian would have, at best, gained me a bit of stony silence.

I have blundered my way through some awkward cultural faux pas as only us loud Americans can, but I'd like to believe that when I am informed of a custom, I can respect it and try to understand it in context. Hence, kruglegen.

Kruglegen is another manifestation of the practicality the inhabitants of the region are known for. The mugs that are used for serving beer are, of course, opaque. Sure, the server could come over, ask you if you are done or need another, but that's not very efficient, is it? Instead, you simply tip your mug over onto its side - kruglegen - and a refill appears quickly.

Just like ordering a pils in Köln (hint: DON'T), regions have customs that range from practical to emotional to the simply expected. Sitting in the back room of Landbierparadies, watching the locals play schafkopf at long wooden tables, there was some comfort in knowing that, although I would be instantly recognizable as a visitor the moment I opened my mouth, it's pleasant to know that at least I know how to get another beer with a smile from the waitress.

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!