Author: Nick Crutchfield

Absinthe. An herbal spirit born in Switzerland and made famous in France by artists and authors. The word absinthe alone conjures up many stories and myths of la fée verte, or the Green Fairy. It is shrouded in fables and propaganda from the 19th and early 20th centuries, when, for most of the world, it started disappearing. For those that loved absinthe, these days would be dark. Most of the world had banned the spirit by 1920.

Many believed the green elixir to be mind-altering or to have psychotropic effects. Keep in mind that in these days, distillation was not exactly as fine a science as it is today. There are many reasons as to why people had trippy reactions to hooch back then, but absinthe is unequivocally the favorite of the bunch. There is a chemical in absinthe, thujone, that is derived from the plant Artemisia absinthium and is believed to cause hallucinations or, at the very least, a relaxed state of being even more than just alcohol can.

Ever had a nice big Thanksgiving dinner and become really relaxed? Is it the tryptophan from the turkey? Maybe a little, but here’s a more likely explanation—it is the sage in the stuffing. Sage is from the same family of plants as Artemisia absinthium, and has almost 100 times more thujone in it than its cousin does. This causes the relaxed feelings that we get when we partake in the ritual that is absinthe. (Everything in moderation though, folks!)

There are many old world drinks that contain this herbal elixir—from the Sazerac to the Last Word and the Absinthe Frappe, a favorite of mine in the summer months. The most popular way to consume it to this day is in its most classical style: the fountain and cold water drip. It just happens to be the easiest as well. (Have you noticed yet how the best drinks often have the fewest ingredients?) Absinthe, sugar, cold water, and a slotted spoon—that’s all it takes. Here is a recipe with crushed ice, but if you like them blended, add a touch more sugar to the blender:

Absinthe Frappe 

1.5 oz. absinthe (I prefer Kübler; it’s Swiss and gorgeous in
texture and balance)

.5 oz. simple syrup or a heaping teaspoon of superfine sugar

.5 oz. anisette liqueur such as Sambuca or Raki (optional)

Combine all of these in a set of shaker tins with ice and shake hard. Strain into an old-fashioned glass over crushed ice. Top with soda water and garnish with a bouquet of mint.

From the frontlines…

Speaking of absinthe, I took a trip of my own recently. In July, I attended Tales of the Cocktail: 20,000-plus bartenders, spirit pros, and enthusiasts in New Orleans for five days. It’s a bartender’s World’s Fair. My third year in attendance, this was my first as a Cocktail Apprentice. Imagine every type of spirit and liqueur that one can imagine and have access to through tasting rooms, educational seminars, soirées, and gigantic industry parties. Now imagine providing the beverage logistics to all of it and that’s what I (and 79 other top bartenders from all over the world) did for a week in New Orleans this summer.

Within 15 minutes of working with each other, we transformed into a perfectly synched and well-oiled machine, making batches of drinks in ginormous buckets, hauling ice from one hotel to another, pouring 2,500 samples in 90 minutes—the list goes on and on. To have a sneak peek at the festival, check out donnellygroup.ca/15035/ sorrynotsorry. I, for one, can’t wait to do it all again next year.

Nick Crutchfield is the bar manager at Commonwealth Restaurant & Skybar.

Spring is done. She has said farewell to us for the year and her hussy sister, summer, has come for the duration. But there’s one way to beat the heat: Sipping on summer drinks. When it’s 100 degrees out and the sun is beating down on our porch umbrellas, sweat is dripping and sliding from the glass of awesome that you’ve ordered on the patio of your favorite watering hole. You put the glass to your lips, inhale the freshly pressed mint, and pick up hints of the citrus oils that are all over the glass. Taking that first sip puts you instantly in a better place. In fact, it makes everything better.

Many of our favorite drinks were invented in towns with heat like that. The mouth of the mighty Mississippi gives way to one of my favorite towns: New Orleans. It’s hot, humid, somewhat funky smelling, and full of so much character, especially when it comes to imbibing. Some even believe that it may be where the first use of the word cocktail comes from. One thing is for sure, regardless, it is home to the finest libations for beating down that southern torridness. Dixieland gave us the Vieux Carre, the Ramos Gin Fizz, the mighty Hurricane, the Absinthe Frappe, and my personal favorite, the Sazerac. They all take the wind out of the fervor of summer’s sails.

Another one of my favorite cities, Chicago, has the kind of blistering summer heat that makes people sing the blues. In this Midwest city, you can find some of the best bars in the country—with some of the best barkeeps as well. Its greatest contribution to a drink menu is laced in the style of the mojito, but refreshes the soul in a different manner: The Southside is full of summer flavors. It’s comprised of gin (I dig on English gins for this application), mint, lime (sometimes lemon), simple syrup, and soda. Make it as you would a mojito, but remember to not shred the mint. Gently press it to release the oils, not the chlorophyll. It’s crisp, refreshing, and cooling to the bone.

Here in town, our barkeeps have taken note of that very noble list of summer refreshments, sometimes spinning the recipes, but often sticking true to the patterns. Head to Mono Loco if you like different takes on margaritas. Make your way to the Skybar and grab a Pimm’s Cup, or its spin on it, the Pimm’s Punch. Downstairs, Matt Pawlina does an ethereal Ramos Gin Fizz in the Library Bar: gin, citrus, cream, sugar, and a meringue that doesn’t stop. It’s like an adult creamsicle for sipping.

Drop in at Zocalo and let them get creative. I often grab a Rickey (the official drink of Washington, D.C., as that is where it was invented) here and the ice makes it that much more special.

Make your way across the mall to Citizen Burger Bar and nab a table on the patio. Patrick McClure can settle your heat flash with a wonderful recreation of the staple Sazerac—rye, Peychaud’s bitters, absinthe, and a little sugar. Try this one at home, too. Just make sure that you get Peychaud’s bitters, as no other bitters are acceptable in this wondrous elixir. Much like summer, if you’re gonna do it, do it right.

Nick Crutchfield is the bar manager at Commonwealth Restaurant & Skybar.

My love affair with all things drinkable began in scotch and evolved to bourbon. Kind of backwards, I know, but it conjures up memories of friends gathered next to a fire in early spring, sitting on the porch sipping Mint Juleps in the dead heat of summer, and a clear change in how and what I like to drink.

Bourbon is often thought of as a cold weather beverage. It’s amber in color, higher proofed, and commonly mixed with cola or ginger ale (or into toddies). It is great for knocking the chill off your spine in the winter months, but what about the summer heat? So often drinkers overlook bourbon for vodka and its cousin, gin, but that’s a sacrifice no one should make.

In my house, we opt for the Julep. Old Grand-Dad 86 proof is my go-to brand for sippability and price. Prepare it in a metal cup—the heat transfer that takes place in drawing energy outwards of the cup forms a frost and the Julep is at its best when frosty and sweet. If you want to get nerdy about it, my friend Chris McMillan of New Orleans recites prose when crafting a Julep at his bar. It’ll make you weep it’s so beautiful. (Watch it at bit.ly/bewlNQ.) If you’re anything like me (and a lot of the commenters), you’ll need a hankerchief.

What I didn’t realize along my journey from scotch to bourbon was the myths and amount of misinformation that surround my beloved brown water. Here are a few of my (least) favorites.

Myth: It has to be made in Kentucky.

Truth: If it is Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey, then yes. However, if you are making bourbon, you can make it anywhere in the States.

Myth: The older it is, the better.

Truth: Sometimes it may be. I’ve had a few that are in the 5- to 7-year-old range that are superb and only $25-30. Hell, some of my favorites are in the sub-$20 range. Some bourbons are just better when younger. Not many, but a few are.

Myth: Bourbon has to be aged for a minimum of two years in oak barrels.

Truth: Bourbon can be aged very little to be called bourbon. For quality straight bourbon, it must spend two years in new charred American oak barrels, never to be reused for bourbon again; the recipe must be 51 percent corn; and it must be bottled at 80 proof or more.

In town, you can find the brown water just about anywhere, but my favorite haunts are The Whiskey Jar, West Main, Rapture, Citizen Burger Bar, C&O, and Commonwealth Restaurant & Skybar. Indulge in the sweet Appalachian nectar over your usual clear spirit. You really can’t go wrong.

Nick Crutchfield is the bar manager at Commonwealth Restaurant & Skybar.

Three days into my trip to Puerto Vallarta, I had an ephiphany. I’d traveled there with the Tequila Interchange Project, a nonprofit group working to preserve sustainable, traditional, and quality practices in the tequila industry, and we would spend seven days drinking the Mexican juice and learning about the process of making it. But my ephiphany had less to do with the mission and more to do with the realization that I was about to spend the next four days geeking out over tequila with the industry’s elite on the trip of a lifetime.

On Monday morning, we departed early for the town of Mal Paso. It’s a humdinger of a drive from Puerto Vallarta and off-roading in a tour bus was quite the rush. After arriving at the tabernas, we met with two Raicilleros—Don Japo and Don Niko. It was here where I felt like we’d stepped into a time machine, witnessing and taking part in some of the oldest and most traditional ways of distilling not only in Mexico, but in the world. The stills were built of earth, wood, and copper. The water was straight from the source. The fermentation was completely natural. The distilling, done twice, was craftsmanship at its finest. We tasted, we learned the pearl testing, we helped crush agave, and even removed the borgaz (the leftover product in the stills) from the kettles. Then, we tasted some more.

Wednesday was the beginning of our mezcal adventures. We traveled a couple of hours to the Zapotitlan area and rolled onto a ranch, where we partook in the process and witnessed the creation of an agave distillate. The United States consumes 80 percent of all agave distillates created, but this particular concoction can’t be called what it is (mezcal) due to the Mexican government and the larger tequila houses blocking these folks from having a Denomination of Origin, but it’s made in the tradition of the more than seven generations who have harvested and distilled on this particular site. While we worked, we listened to the concerns and needs of the producers for their segment of the industry, mostly how it’s regulated by the government.

Thursday, when we awoke after a night of driving, tacos al pastor, and muchos cervezas, we headed down the streets of Tequila to Fortaleza, a smaller producer with deep roots in the industry. It was nothing like the large producers: There were small ovens, a tahona stone (the wheel that crushes the pinas), and smaller vats for fermenting. There weren’t any tanker trucks pulling in and out. The aging rooms were small and quaint. The distillery had a dog too, a happy, goofy boxer that followed us everywhere. Family and tradition are strong here; you could see how happy the workers were without it feeling like it was a show.

We ended the day in Tequila with tacos, but not before heading to one of the most important places for a bartender in the town: El Bar La Capilla. The purveyor of this small joint is Don Javier Delgado Corona. He is 89 years old and still comes to his bar daily. He’s a living legend. He invented the Batanga (like a Cuba Libre, but with tequila, Mexican Coca Cola, and salt). He stirs the drink with a boning knife and serves it with a genuine smile. The man is amazing, warm, funny, and full of so much information and history. He told us that he and his father started out as coopers for the the tequila houses. The man has seen it all and is very open to sharing his knowledge. If you are ever lucky enough to get to Tequila, I cannot stress enough how empowering and important it is to visit this place. He will touch a piece of your soul.

The last day of our trip took us to Santa Rita, the oldest known production site for agave distillate in Mexico, and Guadalajara, where we’d sit in on a round table of five of GDL’s best bartenders. I call Santa Rita the genesis site of the spirit: old fermentation holes chiseled into the ground, a large horno that cooked what looked like about three tons at a time, a tahona and crushing pit in between. The site dates back to the pre-Hispanic colonization of Mexico, which accounts for the Asian influence in distillation methods.

Now that I’m home (and missing my Mexican adventure), I have a lot of work to do. I’ll start spreading the gospel with this one word: sip. Sip the next tequila you purchase. Sip it neat, without lime or sprinkle of salt. I’ll be there to pour. If there’s one thing I learned from Don Javier, it’s that I’m lucky to do what I love.

Nick Crutchfield is the bar manager at Commonwealth Restaurant & Skybar.

Spring has finally sprung, and with the change in the weather comes a change in many folks’ drinking habits. In particular, the increased orders of the king of all drinks—the martini.

This time of year, we bartenders see a rise in sales in the clear spirits categories like vodka and gin. Now I’m not saying, by any means, that people don’t order such standbys in the winter, but they definitely order more martinis once the weather breaks. This is a very sensitive category. It’s pretty easy to upset a few people at once by mentioning the proper way (or ways) to make the clear elixir. However, regardless of how it’s made—shaken, stirred, up, rocks, etc.—there are three things that are a must in a martini: gin (O.K., O.K., or vodka), vermouth, and ice. It needs to be strong and cold.

Different variations on the drink include with or without vermouth (we’ll get to that in a second); with or without dashes of bitters; shaken (gasp!); stirred (ahh); gin (hells yes!); vodka; twist of lemon; olives on a pick. Then comes the fun—ratios! Do you like it 50/50? Ice rinsed with vermouth? How about a half-ounce stirred in? All of these variations are key to the happiness of the person partaking in the ritual. Yes, a ritual. This drink is held in such high regard that the process of making it and the questions asked are so revered that this is the holy grail to some folk of the drink world.

Now back to vermouth. With or without? Here’s the better question: Why not? A martini void of vermouth is nothing more than a chilled shot of vodka. Vermouth brings the sexy. It brings texture and silkiness and depth of flavor. It makes it a drink. The problem is that we, as a majority, don’t treat vermouth properly. It’s a wine at heart. Aromatized and sometimes fortified, it still begins as a wine. You have to keep it cold and sealed to lengthen its life in all forms-, red or white. If you work at a bar or have it in your liquor cabinet at home and it’s been open longer than a couple of weeks without being kept cold, throw it out. When you walk into your local watering hole, ask if it’s kept cold. If it isn’t, order a gin and tonic or a Moscow Mule instead. This is how we abandoned the practice of using vermouth in our drinks. When stored and applied correctly, it creates a magical mix of serenity in a glass. So I ask you, please try it again. Try different ratios, bitters, and garnishes.

After you throw out your vermouth, here are the brands I recommend, both sweet (for the Martinez and Manhattan) and dry:

All of the Dolin brands. It’s a product from Chambery and it’s very versatile in so many variations of the martini.

Cocchi makes a few products that are very well worth visiting, including Americano (a blanc aperitif wine), Vermouth di Torino (a rich and vibrant sweeter style of vermouth), and Americano Rosa (a new product from this house—a flavorful addition to the aperitif family).

Lillet makes aperitifs in the bianco and rosa styles, too. You’ll recognize the Lillet Blanc in the recipe for the Vesper, the original drink of James Bond.

Nick’s choice

Stir 2 oz. London dry gin (like Tanqueray or Beefeater), 1 oz. Dolin vermouth, and 3 dashes of Regan’s orange bitters over ice, strain up, and garnish with a twist of lemon and a lemon rind-stuffed, gin-soaked olive.

I don’t care if you’re at a speakeasy, a restaurant bar, or a dive—there are unspoken rules of conduct to which one adheres when you belly up to the bar. Many of them can change with the type of joint you’re hanging in for the night, but all have basic codes that are very much appreciated. A recent article in the New York Post had me hot for a few days—and not in a good way. The author said that, as servers and bartenders, we are basically servants. This could not be more untrue. Yes, we serve. Yes, we make your nights magical. Yes, we provide an escape from the normalcy of the day. But we do all of these things because we like you.

The article had me thinking about how, as a bartender, I not only serve, but I might also make or break the difference between a mediocre and amazing night for you and your friends. But it’s a two-way street. Just as you hate having to wait too long to be served, I have a few grievances of my own. Here are some points of etiquette that can make both of our nights more enjoyable.

Make eye contact. Waving money in my face on a busy night isn’t the best way to get my attention. If you don’t walk into a barbershop and wave money in the barber’s face, logic follows that this will not work at the bar either. Let me acknowledge you with my eyes, and know that if we’ve made eye contact, I’ll be with you shortly. If it’s really busy, it means I’m working to make sure that every single person is taken care of and everyone is equal. I want everyone to have a blast and a drink.

Learn my name. Especially if you’ve started a tab, as soon as I get you your first drink, I’m working on memorizing your first or last name. Take the time to learn mine. It’s Nick-—not Yo, Fella, Barkeep, or Dude.

Start a tab. Multiple runs on the same credit card make no sense. If you know that you’re going to be at the bar for multiple drinks, do everyone a favor and start a tab. Even with the most advanced data systems, it still takes time to process a card. Add up all those minutes and you’ve just wasted a lot of time when I could have been serving you and your friends.

Buy in bulk. If you’re in a large group, buy rounds. It makes everything go more smoothly on a busy night.

Don’t get sloppy. Are you supposed to have a drunk customer at the bar? Not really. Does it happen? Yes, from time to time. I want to see you again, but not making out on the bar.

Accept help. I don’t have to tell you not to do something stupid like drink and drive, but if you have had a few too many and I offer to call you a cab, take me up on it. Purely from a customer retention standpoint, I’d like to see you get home safely so you can come visit me again. Your wellbeing, believe it or not, is always on my mind.

Praise me. If you’ve had a great night, let me know. I love hearing that you had a good time and it helps me know when I’m doing something right.

Have fun and be courteous. I’ll be waiting for ya on my side of the bar.

The first thing that many of us do when we sit down at a restaurant or belly up to a bar is pick up the beer menu, the wine menu, and/or the drink menu. Some of us take a break from old faithful and try something new on occasion. It is for these reasons that we (bartenders and bar managers) develop menus and lists.

Rotating each of these lists is vital to an operation. It keeps you engaged in what we do. Seasonality is a movement in the industry. In a perfect world, this would be the industry standard, but unfortunately, that’s not the case. Too many establishments can’t break themselves from the pre-mix sours or hyper-red cherries. We should be giving our customers the freshest ingredients available. Does this mean that we shouldn’t be making margaritas in the winter? Some would argue yes. but I’m not one of them. I know that we need to use bulk ingredients sometimes. We need to buy limes and lemons that come from Argentina or Chile and not just Florida or California. But on occasion, we should try our hands at sourcing verjus (a pre-wine juice that one can substitute for acid) or encourage imbibers to try rice milk instead of cream in drinks. Need for these substitute ingredients is where a drink list comes in.

Having just finished revamping the cocktail menu at Commonwealth Restaurant & Skybar, the making of such a list has been on my mind lately. Ours is 64 drinks deep, broken into eight sections based on body, alcohol, beer pairings, and modern vs. classic, but the final decisions didn’t come easy. Building a drink list properly takes time, testing, and, above all, patience. It’s about balance of sweet vs. bitter and acidity vs. basic. It’s about the approachability of the drinks and making sure that there is something for everyone. Too often, I will walk into a cocktail lounge and see nothing more than the creator’s ego on the list. Too many bitter drinks, too many high acid drinks, and nothing for the common drinker. It is very important that execution of the recipes is spot-on as well. There should be no drink on the list that the staff can’t execute. If it has egg, bartenders should know how to shake and emulsify. If it has raw lime or lemon, we should know how to temper it with a sweetener or liqueur and bitters.

Another confusing aspect of a drink list can be the re-imagining of a drink with its ingredients, but at the same time keeping the name. This confuses the guest. If it’s a Tom Collins, label it as such. If you take the time to change the ingredients and follow the pattern, then rename it. It’s a good thing to pay homage to the original drink. It’s even better when we know it’s been tinkered with. The perfect example of this is anything that ends in “tini.” A martini is gin (or vodka), vermouth, and either bitters and a twist or an olive. That’s it.

For having such a “down-home” feel, Charlottesville has some pretty spot-on places that have some really nice additions to their lists. Some are paying homage to the classics, some are straight out of their makers’ heads. Certainly the list we’ve put together at Commonwealth tops my list, but here are a few other favorites that really hit the spot.

Zinc: A nice list that is put together with thought. I really dig the Ford. It’s an elegant and very old cocktail from the late 19th century.

Fossett’s Bar at Keswick Hall: Liquor selection is top notch and I pray that the Rhubarb Collins is still on the list every time I visit.

Mono Loco: Things just get crazy there. My favorites on the menu are La Pina Loco and the Salty Loco.