What’s Tony Drinking? This Week the Companions Shine Bright

Drinking With the Legends

Within about three hours on an otherwise-ordinary Wednesday, I got to meet — and tipple with — two of the most legendary luminaries in this world we call food and drink. First round was at 4:00 at Dante’s flagship location on Macdougal St. with Elayne Duff. She’s a brand ambassador whisperer, beverage consultant, and seriously cool in general. But we all play second fiddle when sitting with Salvatore Calabrese, who’s firmly in the pantheon of the all-time great bartenders who helped to usher in the cocktail renaissance of the last few decades. The Maestro, as he’s known, was on loan from The Donovan Bar at Brown’s Hotel in London as part of Dante's “Taste Of Italy” program, which brought some of Italy’s brightest hospitality lights to the Big Apple. Right-hand man Federico Pavan mixed up the cocktails while Signore Calabrese held court at a corner barstool. “How about we start with something to wake you up?” he asked me. I wasn’t about to say no. I was presented with a Negroni Svegliato (Bombay Sapphire, Martini Riserva Speciale Bitter, Martini’s Rubino vermouth, and rich, strong coffee). It's a less frou-frou version of the espresso martini, and I could have had another, but I’d already told the Maestro I’m into rum cocktails, so he had Mr. Pavan whip up a Trust In Me, with Bacardi, pineapple-green cardamom marmalade, lime juice, Pino Mungo pine cone liqueur (!), and pineapple soda. It too was stunning, and I desperately wanted to stay for more banter and round three….

… but I had to get downtown to Nobu to meet the great chef himself, Nobu Matsuhisa. I’ve been going to Nobu almost since it opened way back in the late 20th century, so it was an honor and a privilege to thank the man in person for all the deliciousness, even if our meeting was a mere 30 seconds or so. I did, however, get to drink his tequila. Agave spirits may not automatically spring to mind when Japanese cuisine is mentioned, but apparently the chef is a big fan, and he’s released a very limited edition single vintage tequila in collaboration with the folks from Qui, best known for their acclaimed cristalino expression. 

This one’s an extra añejo, made entirely from agave harvested in 2007-08 — hence the name, Nobu Rare 2008 Reserve. Sweet and nutty with a touch of bite from oak aging, it’s available in super-limited quantities for $500 a bottle, or you could saunter into your local Nobu and have a glass with some top-notch sushi and black cod miso. It’s basically a win-win situation, although your wallet may disagree.

Best Ride Home From School Ever

It’s more than a mile from my daughter’s school to our apartment, but she insists on walking home every afternoon, weather be damned. One recent Tuesday, however, we made an exception for a racing green Aston Martin DBX707 which was idling at the corner, waiting to whisk us home. We weren’t the only passengers — riding with us was PR legend Manuela Savona and Bowmore whisky brand ambassador James Neil. Bowmore and Aston Martin are teaming up for some terrific collaborations (none of which include drinking and driving), the latest of which is the Bowmore Masters’ Selection 22 Year Old single malt. 

The purpose of the ride home was to get a sample of the whisky in my hand and for James to give me the lowdown on its backstory. It’s a blend of ex-bourbon and ex-sherry casks laid down in Bowmore's legendary Vault No. 1, on the shores of Islay, in 1997 and 2000 (“Interesting lingo,” daughter observed). It’s also, as I found on later examination, delicious. Once James wrapped that up, my daughter spent the rest of the ride regaling us with details about her budding acting career (don’t miss her big-screen debut, out July 14!). No whisky was consumed in the car, but the young lass did contribute what I think should be Bowmore’s new slogan: “I Slay.” 

The Martini Torch Has Been Passed

Visits to my aunt and uncle’s house in Florida promised fun, family, lots of pool time, and at 5:00 every day without fail, martinis and canapés (usually supermarket-bought mini quiches). It’s where I learned to make martinis, under my uncle’s tutelage. His were simple affairs — always gin, always stirred, always with a twist, always as cold as possible. My aunt passed away a couple of years ago and my uncle, who’s now 94, is no longer able to drink the hard stuff. But during my last visit, my cousins and I decided to recreate the cocktail hour tradition. I found a bottle of gin (a good one, too — Beefeater made before the proof was lowered from 47% to 44% ABV) and a miraculously unopened bottle of vermouth. No orange bitters, because that’s not how you made martinis in my uncle’s heyday (meaning between 1950 and 2005 or so). One of my cousins is an accomplished baker and chef, so she improvised canapés from what we had in the fridge. My other cousin doesn’t drink or bake, but he’s good company, and he downed a ‘tini with us for the occasion. I’d never made a martini in my uncle’s presence before, and the passing of the mixological torch did feel a little bittersweet. But because he was there to enjoy the moment with us, it was more sweet than bitter. And I’d like to think that my martinis did his justice.

Sazerac Mania

Lent had already begun, but for a lucky few of us at La Boucherie in downtown Manhattan, it was still Mardi Gras, as we sampled oysters, gumbo, and a bunch of Sazeracs courtesy of, fittingly enough, Sazerac, the parent company of Buffalo Trace and about a zillion other fine spirits. The classic Sazerac was originally made with cognac in 19th century New Orleans; once the phylloxera epidemic hit in the 1860s, enterprising mixologists switched to rye. We had both versions, as well as neat pours of Sazerac de Fils et Forge cognac and Sazerac’s namesake rye. Then we had Saz variations with Myers’s rum and Corazon tequila… plus neat shots of each. It was that kind of night.

Just as the party was breaking up, out came the bourbon, namely 12 year old Weller and Col. E.H. Taylor Single Barrel. So what the heck, I figured, why not stay just a little longer and have a few sips? Before I knew it, we’d somehow wound up at the venerable Pete’s Tavern, where I turned down inexplicably proffered Fireball boilermakers, opting for pours of Blanton’s instead. And that, I’m not ashamed to say, is where I hit the wall and had to bid the gang goodnight. But apparently not before telling my compatriots about how poorly we’d be feeling in the morning. Sure enough, the next day I got a text from fellow writer/drinking buddy Clay Dillow: “I don’t know if you remember, but last night you brazenly predicted we’d all be hungover. And man, you were right. Really really correct.” What can I say — with age comes wisdom. But of course I didn’t even remember saying it.