“No amount of physical contact could match the healing powers of a well made cocktail.”
And whether it is healing or simply an act of pure love, my relationship with mixology knows no bars. Promiscuous with my cocktails like lovers with their loves, the ideal date night of New York‘s effervescent albeit deceptive nightlife is Jeremy LeBlanche’s Thyme Bar, a former speakeasy and now a bar within the glorious Patisserie Chanson (fun fact, I judged the Top Pastry Chefs of America where it was a winning finalist). The multi course experience of cocktails is what any love season asks for. Draped in flora and fauna finery from Print All Over Me with a Balmain tank and self-designed and inherited jewelry aplenty, I was salivating to indulge.
It commenced with shots, because every love story begins with a strong punch of sentiment. A slushie in a sexy shot glass of tequila baijiu, orange juice and rosemary was the steroid equivalent of a mimosa that the day called for.
The first drink was called Health Bloom, with Grey Goose pear vodka, blueberry kambucha, beet syrup, and mint. Much like a summer beverage, this one sipped easily with a glass overflowing with garnishes and florals. The tartness of the berries were offset with the bitterness of beets, collectively giving it a rosy, romantic and deep color and even sexier flavor.
It started with the herbology, plant-in-a-greenhouse drink called Chatpata Fizz. In Hindi, Chatpata means spicy and tasty all in one, With El Silencio mezcal, chatpata soda, pandan (a Filipino leaf) and lime. It was like chlorophyll got crowned queen. The smoothness of the mezcal juxtaposed with the sweetness of the leaf and slight spice had a curious party in my mouth, but one that I wanted to dance in.
The second beverage was dressed like a vase, so much so that I felt I could almost be in a visual speakeasy. Called Primrose & Rye: it had rye, corn burned silk, and black tea soda. Strong, albeit tart, it was akin to a pirate‘s drink minus the rum, owing to its smoky flavors that bitter undertones of my favorite tea. It slid through with a nutty strength, with a whiff of smoke and washed over with a bubble that burst with caffeine. Truly, a jolt to the senses.
The single bite I had was a vegan one, and floral enough to match my outfit. It was a simple melon carpaccio with mozzarella di buffala, a cold cut appetizer of sorts that acted as a digestif and triumphant digestive warrior in an army of flavors. The cheese was lightly buttered with truffles, marrying my streets of Paris nights with my slumbers of Milan with every bite.
The dessert cocktail was a savory one, albeit topped with truffles and white chocolate. Called Thyme & Pellucid, it had Arbikie gin, aloe, elderflower, truffle mushroom white chocolate, and a small vial of saline solution that was to be dropped onto the tongue with a pipette to feel the other flavors simmer down the throat. Gastronomy at its finest, I found the bitterness and strength to be both deceptive and alluring: a clean, clear gin drink with a stark juxtaposition of sugar and sweet, with a scent of mushrooms that would throw any Alice in Wonderland of their tracks.
I licked it so it’s mine. The night closed with a sweet lick of dense, homemade ice cream. Life is like ice cream, enjoy it before it melts, as I slurped up black sesame soft serve, with buttery flaky kouign amann and yogurt pop rocks. Non-saccharine, and texturally teleportive to Neverland.
Let’s go where dreams are born… where to next, love?