If you live in LA and even slightly pay attention to what’s happening with the food and nightlife scene, you’re certainly tired as hell with the whole “Mixology” routine. Now, I’m not going to get into this except to say that I am a fan of a well-made drink, but come on… mixology? Get off your high horse and make me a Manhattan.
That being said, if you venture into any cocktail savvy lounge you’re bound to receive a drink with a curiously shaped formation of ice. For instance, a glacier shaped cluster peeks out above the surface of a 12 year Macallen whisky in your Old Fashioned while a long lopsided sphere-like slab orbits the parameter of your Hi-Ball glass as you sit sipping your Gin and Tonic.
My first experience with these oddities was at The Varnish, downtown. As I was watching the bartender shake up a martini I noticed that he scooped a hand full of small pellet shaped ice-cubes into the Boston tin. “What’s the difference between those and those,” I asked pointing at the average, everyday, run-of-the-mill square cubes. Little did I know what I was getting myself into.
He explained that the goal to a good cocktail is to taint the liquor as little as possible with the minimal amount of dilution to the spirit. I agreed, nobody wants a watered down scotch. Unless it’s me trying to impress my girlfriends father by drinking whiskey on the rocks. In that case I wouldn’t mind a little water.
“When you shake a drink with these cubes,” referring the traditional squares, “the hard edges of the cube repeatedly crash against the sides of the tin, each time creating a mini explosion of ice into your drink, thereby diluting my beautiful cocktail.” Vuala. Well god damn it he’s right, I think. I’ve been had. Years of drinking tarnished cocktails. What a shame. But then I realized that I wouldn’t have appreciated the subtle hint of oak and butter none-the-less and my sense of offense is neutralized.
“The soft rounded edges of these little pellets helps to minimize the amount of ice that breaks off into the drink, so I use these,” he says with a smile, as if it makes perfect sense. And it does, once you sit through his physics lecture about surface area the rate at which water can infiltrate a spirit.
In conclusion, I’ve decided that if one person can know so much about the science and art of drink making, then sure… I’ll call you a Mixologist, Drink Smith, Bar Broker or whatever the hell else that you people prefer.
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