I’m not trying on purpose to make this blog exclusively about cocktails, but I suppose I’ve been doing more drinking lately than cooking (pass the Advil), and, god, this is the city for it.

We went to an art opening and performance Saturday night in Hayes Valley, and the idea was to walk from our place and stop for a cocktail on the way. The place we stopped was Elixir, on 16^th and Guerrero, a bar I’d never been to, but knew was on the long list, at least, for interesting drink. We both selected drinks off the cocktail menu, and I was pretty ready for The Shirazerac, which purported to complicate the Sazerac (until later that night my favorite drink) with Shiraz. But there was a wrinkle. The bartender explained that the owner “hid” the ingredients, and that he didn’t know a) how to make the drink and b) where the ingredients for the drink were. (Cue sound of deflating balloon). Luckily, he could make Alli’s drink, a vodka/cucumber/kumquat thing that was nice and refreshing. But I decided, out of a strong desire to not make our bartender’s shift any more unpleasant, to try the house-aged tequila straight up. It was great, actually, and I found myself saying to Alli that I wanted to start trying to do this more often: when visiting terrific drink establishments (Alembic, Nopa, etc), I would try to expand my knowledge of spirits by trying them straight (bourbon, rye, tequila) or simply chilled (gin).

I was going to eat those words within the hour.

The walk from Elixir to Hayes Valley took way less time than I predicted, and we found ourselves with half an hour to kill. In Hayes Valley. Ugh. Sorry, Hayes Valleyans and fans. I worked for many years at a café/bar establishment there and while some of that experience (and the people involved) spark nostalgic good-feeling, mostly when I think of Hayes Valley my chest tightens and my mood plummets into my espresso-grimed shoes. Not interested in shopping for four hundred dollar shirts, I proposed having a beer at Suppenkuche, somewhat of an oasis. But it was horrendously packed, even at the early hour. So with 29 minutes left to kill, we decided to check out Absinthe.

We ran into friends there, and luckily it was not as congested, and the night was mild, so we were able to all sit outside. We shared the charcuterie plate (hurrah for the charcuterie plate and the best mortadella I’ve ever had (including in Italy—though the disclaimer for that is I didn’t eat too much of it there. It’s hard for me to pick mortadella over, uh, say, wild boar and fennel salami)) and instead of walking the walk and expanding my spirit-palate, I ordered the Bob-Tailed Nag at our server’s recommendation.

OMG.

Best. Cocktail. Ever.

Or not really, right? Like anything else, it’s wholly subjective. Really what I should say is, drinking at these places serves to teach me what I like, because I actually don’t know. Cooking, of course, teaches you the same thing. But not having access to the really overwhelming array of spirits and tinctures and bitters that are available, it takes time and effort, at least for me, to get a good grasp on which of those spirits and tinctures and bitters, and in what combinations with fruits, and vegetables, and herbs are most pleasing to me.

So it’s more correct to say that the Bob-Tailed Nag at Absinthe is exactly what I like, at least on a mild Saturday evening in May of 2008. I reserve the right to have my mind blown elsewhere. The BTN sort of alludes to two classic whiskey cocktails, the Manhattan and the Derby. It’s made from Michter’s Single Barrel Straight Rye, mint bitters, a lemon twist, and the surprise: Cocchi Barolo Chinato, an herbaceous Italian spirit that just moved to no. 1 on the must-have-around list. (This list, of course, now perfectly conforms to the recipe for the Bob-Tailed Nag.) Like any great cocktail, each of the ingredients lets its presence be known, and yet the sum is far greater than any of its parts. I’m sure Michter’s is fabulous in a glass with nothing else but air, and after I run out to buy mint bitters on my lunch break, I’m sure I can tell you that a chilled whiskey with vermouth is improved by the bitters. But in combination, this is an achievement.

I’ll remember this next time I do find myself in one of these places, these great places to drink. A spontaneous walk, a little luck, and these freaking genius half-scientist, half-artist people with aprons and shakers: they really can make life better than the sum of its parts.

A few months ago I went with a couple friends on a cocktail tour. We started the night (okay, who am I kidding, more like the late afternoon) at Nopa, whose cocktails are tremendous in their own right. We had ambition, but our itinerary was vague and open to spontaneous revision, as any properly executed cocktail tour should be. So when the bartender at Nopa heard we were on a cocktail tour, he used persuasive speech to convince us that we had to try Alembic, on Haight Street.

Haight Street. Ugh. For the first four years I lived in San Francisco, I lived blocks away from it, and in the sleepy panhandle where my apartment was, Haight St. was pretty much it for staples. I had my first legal drink (Old Granddad) at a bar on Haight St., 75% of my dinners out, and certainly I had to trudge behind gawking tourists every single time I wanted to do any of it. And not just any tourists. Whatever sort of actual counterculture may have dwelt in the vicinity is beyond long gone—there’s not even a memory. It’s like Disneyland for middle class wannabe gutter punk / hippies and Kansans with a fantasy. Anyway, I was dubious.

In a way, though, despite the fact that Alembic is an amazing place, it doesn’t feel like it should be on Haight St. Alli and I say this to each other every time we go. I don’t know where it should be, except that I would continually lobby for a Mission branch out of selfish desire.

There’s a lot I could say about it: the bar snacks and actual dinner menu are exciting, the décor is charming, etc. But the real draw? The drinks. That first night I had a cocktail (no longer on the menu, sadly!) with whiskey and pine needle liqueur. Pine needle liqueur. It started with earth and oak and ended up literally with forest floor. Fantastic.

We went Saturday night and split two drinks. The first was a special, again, not on the regular menu. It featured an aged tequila, bitters, and smoked maple syrup. A terrific thing about Alembic is that by paying attention to their menu and combinations you can really learn a lot about complementary flavors with spirits. A standard on their menu combines a smoky element with tequila, and it really shone again here. For our second drink, we were pressed for time and decided to try one of the 15-20 gins they have on their menu. I told the bartender that I enjoyed floral, aromatic gins like Hendrick’s. He suggested we try Miller’s. A revelation! Impeccably smooth, with a bouquet of pure cucumber. Wonderful.

But after several visits, there is one drink that tops them all, and that is the Southern Exposure. The first time Alli and I had one, all other cocktails crumbled. It touched all the taste zones, and the savoriness and weirdness of the celery makes it 1) eminently drinkable (dangerous)! but 2) probably the most hunger-inducing cocktail possible. The recipe was printed in the newspaper, so I feel okay reproducing it here. We’ve tried it a couple of times with imperfect results—but even the imperfect version of this cocktail is a thing of beauty.

Southern Exposure

Makes 1 drink

• 1 1/2 ounces Junipero gin
• -- Juice of half lime
• 3/4 ounce simple syrup
• 3/4 ounce fresh celery juice
• 7 or 8 mint leaves

Instructions: Combine all ingredients in a mixing glass with ice, shake vigorously for 20 seconds in sixteenth-note triplets. Double strain into chilled cocktail glass, wash your shaker and glass, garnish with single mint leaf, wipe sweaty brow, smile.

(I want to occasionally write about local and non-local food places that I love on the blog. They're not paying me.)

I am really fortunate to have an outstanding resource for fish and poultry right in my own neighborhood (Bob’s fish market at the Mission Market on 22^nd street and Mission), but one thing that I’ve always found lacking in the Mission is a great butcher.

When I visited the Antica Macelleria in Panzano, I totally had a fleeting fantasy of being the one to open that shop, part-butcher shop, part-meat library, part social gathering place. The fantasy buzz faded, though, and gave way to images of hipsters getting wasted on the house wine, a line of homeless people forming to eat free arista rather than the plates at Glide, and, you know, abject failure stemming from a faulty business plan.

Avedano's Holly Park Meat Market isn’t the Antica Macelleria, nor is it truly in the Mission, but it is a really remarkable place, and I am glad for its existence. I first read about the shop in Meatpaper, an SF-based magazine devoted to “meat culture”, which included an interview with the three women who founded and operate Avedano's.

In addition to a few baskets of really beautiful produce and jars of interesting condiments and jams, as well as a couple small refrigerators with cheese, cured meats (some from Boccalone), and pates, the long case always has something exciting. Very fresh fish, whole and filleted; sustainably sourced beef, lamb, pork, poultry, and usually something like fresh duck breasts or fresh quail. But what’s even better is the flexibility and service. I called a couple weeks ago needing a bone-in pork loin chop, and even though they had one in the store they could cut for me, the counter person told me I could always call with a couple days notice and they could set me up. I noticed when I went in to pick up the pork a grass-fed veal liver in the case. If I hadn’t already done a lot of prep for the pork, it would have been really fun to work with that!

I’m really already close to living the dream. Maybe I’ll move to Bernal Heights or Avedano's will open Avedano's 2 on South Van Ness, and I can start having my paychecks direct deposited there. Meanwhile, hurrah for women-owned butcher shops within (kind of long) walking distance, and hurrah for Avedano's!