“The American cocktail,” declares Jared Schubert, “died sometime in early 1950s.”
Schubert can't cite an exact date, but speculates that the cause of death was drowning, brought on by the tidal wave of sugary, pre-bottled tiki-style cocktail mixes that spilled across the suburban barscape at about the same time frozen TV dinners infiltrated the American kitchen. For more than a century before that — even through Prohibition — American saloons had been acknowledged the world over as swaggering, boisterous fonts of beverage innovation.
“Bottled cocktail mixes were part of a bigger culinary trend that damaged the American culture of creativity and imagination,” says Schubert, who tends bar at 732 Social, the new restaurant that's been drawing big crowds and rave reviews since the moment it opened last month on East Market Street in downtown Louisville. “All of a sudden, hand-made drinks were replaced by pre-packaged substitutes — and a whole tradition disappeared.”
Not anymore. The same energetic ferment that shaped the rise of artisanal bakeries and breweries, spurred the growth of America's farmstead cheese movement and informed the burgeoning locavore movement is driving cocktail culture as well.
At a handful of Louisville establishments, a passionate network of bartenders is creating a cocktail renaissance. Some delve into historical techniques and reinvent recipes that date from the 1800s. Others adapt cutting-edge culinary ideas drawn from the rarefied world of molecular gastronomy. All share in common an obsession with fresh ingredients, fresh flavors and a sophisticated command of culinary principles.
And when they get together — as they often do on Sunday nights, to compare notes, experiment with ingredients, and try out new recipes on one another — there's a whole lot of shakin' goin' on.
Jared Schubert and his 732 Social colleague Larry Rice share a comfortably Bohemian house in Germantown, and when I show up on a recent Sunday night, their friend, Volare bartender Christina Schedko, says, “Welcome to a little bit of chaos.”
This is the bartenders' usual night off, but from the looks of kitchen, you wouldn't know it. A wire rack in the corner is packed floor to ceiling with spirits, glassware, spices and bartending implements. A washing machine is completely covered with a global assortment of exotic bottles, courtesy of Josh Durr, owner of the Louisville-based independent beverage consulting firm Molecular Bartending (www.molecularbartending.com).
An absinthe fountain sits on the table, its four silver spigots ready for action. Citrus fruits are piled high, and there are enough zesters, citrus squeezers and cocktail shakers scattered around the room to supply drinks for a thirsty army, and the 15 or so people on hand tonight are all packed tightly into the kitchen.
Like musicians tuning up for a jazz jam session, the bartenders start out with exploratory riffs. Durr uses Batavia arrack — an Indonesian predecessor of rum made from rice and sugar cane — to whip up a citrusy, refreshing punch that might have been served in a public house in the 1700s. He passes it around for tasting, to general acclaim.
Rice experiments with a bottle of Austrian Crème de Violette.
“It's nice,” he says. “But if you're not careful your drink can wind up tasting like an old lady's perfume.”
Then he (at least I think it was him — at around this point in the tasting session my notes turn a bit sketchy) measures out some crimson Plymouth Sloe Gin, adds some Peychaud's Bitters, a dose of Crème de Violette, shakes it up with egg white, spritzes it with lemon and passes around a ravishing, lightly floral drink that isn't the least bit ladylike.
There are times when the rattle of shakers goes on non-stop for minutes at a time, in arm-wrenching displays as noisy and muscular as a Pete Townshend guitar solo. Surrounded by banter, rattling ice, and clinking glassware, Schedko and Reina Shannon, who works at Basa, nonchalantly prep and cook a splendid meal that features blazing hot guacamole and perfectly roasted pork tenderloin. And for just a little while, as plates get passed around, the cocktail shakers are silenced.
Then the night's fun begins in earnest.
Just as jazzmen sharpen their chops in competitive cutting sessions, for the next few hours the bartenders stretch their technical and imaginative muscles in a series of one-on-one cocktail throwdowns. When someone calls out the name of a spirit, the contenders scrounge for ingredients, shake or stir their drinks, arrange garnishes, pass the drinks around, then await the collective judgment of their peers, which, while seldom harsh, is always opinionated and direct.
And if a drink fails, so what? After pouring an unsuccessful innovation down the drain without even passing it around, Mike Padgett of 732 Social mixed up a glass of Bulleit Bourbon, Grand Marnier, sweet vermouth and bitters that couldn't possibly go wrong.
Some of the participants come with secret ingredients up their sleeves.
When someone calls out “bourbon,” Stephen Dennison of Z'sFusion pulls out a spray bottle filled with bourbon that he infused with black cherry tobacco, with which he builds a beautifully structured variation on the classic Manhattan that captures the very essence of Kentucky in its smoky, leathery flavors. Durr, meanwhile, has a spray bottle of absinthe that he employs to finish his drinks with an herbal note.
Nearly every round of the competition seems to set off a discussion, whether it's Durr and Schedko debating competing theories about the physiology of flavor receptors or someone explaining how to keep an egg-based drink from breaking down in the shaker.
Mostly for my educational benefit, a discussion ensues detailing the five elements of a cocktail: something strong (a spirit — whiskey, gin, brandy, etc.); something weak (vermouth, a liqueur or simply water); something sour (most often citrus); something sweet (simple syrup or a sweet confection like Cherry Heering); and something spicy (bitters, perhaps, or actual spices, like nutmeg, cinnamon, or cardamom).
It's this transparent collegiality and generous sharing of information that distinguishes the Louisville cocktail scene from its counterparts in other parts of the country, says Durr, whose consulting business keeps him in the thick of national cocktail trends.
“The cocktail renaissance started earlier on the coasts,” he acknowledges. “But the pace of growth in Louisville is amazing. It's taken hold at places like Proof on Main, the Maker's Mark Bourbon House & Lounge, Z's Fusion and other places. And now, with what Larry and Jared are doing at 732 Social, I think the city stacks up at the national level. And that's really because of the way all these people work together.”
Then he's off again, returning to the fray with a bottle of “peanut fat washed” Ocho Reposado tequila and a bottle of D'Aristi Xtabentun, a Mayan liqueur made from anise seed and fermented honey. And here comes Schedko, with a glass of gin with hints of yellow chartreuse and violet and perhaps just the faintest whiff of ginger.
At least I think it's ginger. That page of my notebook ends up with a long vertical line that looks a little bit like the letter “g.”
The drinks come fresh and fast, nearly always accompanied by a precise recitation of ingredients and techniques — but as for names? Not so much. When Shannon wins a round with an Advocaat-based drink that tastes like an old-fashioned ice cream push-up, I ask her what it's called.
“It doesn't have a name,” she scoffs. “I just now made it up”
