Cellar SW4

As is always the way when a new gaff opens up just around the corner from your home, when you stand outside Cellar as a Clapham local, you find yourself scratching your head for simply ages, thinking: “I know this wasn’t here three days ago, but what was here?”  It’s the mystery of urban living, the inability to recall the shop or business or bar or service that occupied the same dozen square feet at the end of your nose only a matter of hours before.

Cellar sort of fits a tidy little niche, a wine bar serving interesting and unique wines, none of them well known or even widely available, along with platters of meats and cheeses.  The establishment has been set up by the same minds behind Dvine Wine round the corner on Landor Road, an outfit that specialises in selling organic and biodynamic wines.  So I’m going to come out and call this – this is a local business (even if the owner is a very friendly and personable Aussie) with proper local routes. 

The interior is done up as a niche (and, forgive me, cliché) little wine bar should be: it’s filled with old wooden wince crates on the wall and includes a bar made from old wine crates, which was pretty cool.  Even the candle sticks are made from old wine bottles – in particular, Craig Hawkin’s esoteric labelled bottles.

The wines themselves are what you’re here for, though, right?

Not to be outdone by any other reviewer, we went through pretty much the whole gamut of wine options available, starting with a white (for GrubsterGirl) and an orange (for me). 

What, I hear you cry, on earth is an orange wine?  Put simply, it’s a wine that’s orange.  Put more sensibly, it’s a white wine that’s made like a red wine, so instead of separating the juice straight await and allowing it to ferment, you leave it on the lees for longer – in some cases, apparently, for up to a year – which I can imagine would be very tricky to handle. 

My example of an orange wine was Cosimo Maria Daphne.  It felt old and oaky, a little like a red, yes.  It was also pretty powerful and lots of hard work, so good as a sipping wine perhaps, rather than something to take with a meal. 

GrubsterGirl’s white wine was a Chenin Blanc, specifically the Craig Hawkins “C”.  This was much lighter, a bright, fruity and floral wine, with cantaloupe notes and a distinct sweetness, but still with lots of robust flavours.  

Next up, rosé.

Again, two distinct ends of the spectrum.  The lighter rose was another Cosimo Maria Masini, this time the Mathilde.  Dry and oaky, as GG put it: “think sunshine and easy drinking”.

The darker rosé, however, was the opposite.  The Los Frailes Monastrell Rosado was much sweeter, bursting with red fruits and winter berries (think redcurrants and cranberries) and with that enduring richness on the end that you find in some rosés.

Then there’s also the food.  I can’t really resist a good charcuterie and/or cheese board, and they had both on hand.

Then onto the red.  We actually went for the same red – the Hewitson Ms. Harry Grenache Syrah Malbec.  Again, this is relatively easy drinking, but that’s no bad thing for a wine bar – the last thing you need in that context is something you have to struggle with.  This was full bodied – think woody, smoky, rich and buttery.  Lovely. 

They also had lovely olives served in an even more lovely teacup and saucer (actually a great innovation, as it solves the question of what happens to the stones). 

The thing is this, though.  Neither the meat nor the cheese board was cheap.  So I felt the portions were, to be frank, a bit stingy.  But that’s really the end of my criticisms.  Solve that issue (either drop the price or give more away) and you’ve got yourself a lovely little spot to drop in at.

The City of London Distillery

Tucked away down a little alley off Fleet Street is the City of London's first gin distillery since to be opened since the last one shut up shop in 1825.

Now, the last time I went to The City of London Distillery, or "C.O.L.D." as they like to brand it, was some time ago and before it changed hands.  Back then it basically ran a fantastic concept of re-imagining the venerable gin and tonic: Umpteen different gins, as many matching tonics (yes, actually – multiple different iterations of a drink I had previously believed to come only in one, Schweppes-esque form) and varying garnishes – each G&T served either English style (highball) or Spanish style (big, balloon-like wine glass).  It worked really well – and gave you the opportunity to try a drink we all know like the back of our hand in a new format.

Since then the bar has been acquired, taken over and revamped.  I was expecting big changes.

Fortunately, there were few to be seen – the bar space is exactly the same as it was before, dark and cozy, low ceilinged but spacious, full of comfortable sofas and leather wingbacks, as well as a few more conventional tables.

The bar still stocks its mind blowing array of gins.

And in the corner are the two wonderful stills, there waiting to brew up the next batch of The City of London Distillery's award winning gin.

But the bar list, sadly, has changed.  Gone are the G&T creations, and in have come the cocktails.  Now, I love a good cocktail, but I loved the concept of the old joint even more – it was unique, special.  It seemed entirely right that the only gin distillery in the City should be encouraging its patrons to drink gins with tonic in a new and exciting way.  My worry was that the new management had simply swapped out the imagination of the old menu with a lazy cocktail menu serving solely their own brew.

I need not have worried.  Sure, it's a cocktail menu.  And sure, every single drink is punctuated by The City of London Distillery's own gins.  But none of that is a problem if you absolutely nail it.  Which I'm glad to say they have.

My friend, Ravi, kicked off proceedings with a COLD Distiller's Martini.  A very sound choice, I think there are few better ways of taste-testing a gin than drinking it as a martini, so uncompromising is it as a drink, with nowhere for the gin to hide.

The City of London Distillery's version contained a dash of bitters (I approve, for the avoidance of doubt) and was very dry (again, good) whilst still being light – as Ravi put it: "you feel like you could drink a lot more of them" (again, definitely, good – albeit risky).  A solid start from COLD.

Given Ravi's purist start, I had to explore a similar vein - a Martinez.  If you've not heard of the Martinez I wouldn’t let that bother you, it's not that well renown despite the resurgence of classic cocktails.  It's said to be the predecessor to the martini, although it's a lot more complex, first appearing in popular vernacular sometime between 1860 and 1880 and said to be the 'missing link' between sweet cocktails (e.g. the old fashioned, the Manhattan) and dry cocktails (e.g. the martini). It absolutely demands the sweeter notes of Old Tom gin – or even traditional genever (the Dutch predecessor of the gin we know and love) if you can get it - and is to be mixed with the red martini, not the drier white.

COLD's version combines two red vermouths – Cocchi's Vermoutb di Torino (red berries, menthol, herbs and spices) and Punt e Mes (bitter, quinine), as well as maraschino liqueur and bitters.  The effect was a slightly medicinal taste, albeit refreshing - although I can see why, at least as a pre-prandial – the martini outlived the Martinez.

Round two: Ravi went for the Sunflower – a cocktail I believe created by Sam Ross, mixologist at New York's Milk & Honey, Little Branch.

It's a curious mix – London dry gin (although ross originally uses Plymouth, I expect there's not too much to choose between them), lemon, St Germain (elderflower liqueur), Cointreau, absinthe.  Not a list of ingredients I would usually jump at, it was nevertheless marvellous.  A real zinger, both sharp and sweet, it was almost sherbet like, as if it were effervescent without actually having a single bubble in it.

My final drink was the COLD Fashioned.  Those who know me know I will always, whenever I can get my hands on one, order up an old fashioned.  I just love the things.  So I couldn’t really pass this up, being a mix of London dry gin, whiskey syrup (good innovation there, I like it), Angostura and house bitters and cucumber.

This was amazing.  I loved it.  It was hardly like an old fashioned at all (except the whiskey syrup did peek through) but was nevertheless fantastic.  It was strong but palatable, with the cucumber roaring through and complimenting the gin perfectly.  My only slight criticism is that it veered towards being too sweet – a slice of lemon might have balanced it more perfectly.  Otherwise, top marks.

 - GrubsterBoy -

Dry Martini, Barcelona, Spain

Dry Martini is a funny name for a cocktail bar, I reckon.  This is mostly because it's not really the name of a cocktail bar, it's the name of a drink.  And not just any old drink, quite possibly the most famous cocktail of all time.  If you're going to name yourself after the world's most renowned drink, you'd better be damn sure you know how to make a good one.

Fortunately, for Dry Martini, they do.  Oh, they do.

Dry Martini bills itself as a bit of a speakeasy joint.  Before that sends you running for the hills – and who wouldn’t, given just how many 'speakeasy' abomination bars there are out there, especially in the trendy zones, like Greenwich Village in NYC or Hoxton in London – I can safely say it's not like your average speakeasy.  Largely because, however much you want it to be like a speakeasy, it just isn’t.  Oh no, this is the Gentlemen's Club style of bar, and it pulls it off with aplomb.  Oak panelling covers every surface, the bar is shrouded in perfect white, starched linens, the floors are marble, the lighting is low, and every singly instrument used by the staff to mix, stir or shake your drink is solid silver.

By the way, you see that digital counter there?  That's a live counter of every dry martini they've ever served.  Wish I'd been there for number 1,000,000.

But faffing aside, we were here for one thing: a dry martini.

Mixed with Bombay Sapphire as standard (although you're welcome to ask for something different if you'd like) and the tiniest dash of French vermouth, it is then stirred – not shaken, which dilutes the drink something rotten – before being strained into glasses fresh out of the freezer.  Then there's a spritz of lemon peel (but not the peel itself) and a salty green olive gets popped in there.

Is it any good?  Yes.  It's bloody marvellous.

(This was martini number 1,044,562, by the way.)

There is no menu, which is a bit of a pain, but then I reckon – genuinely – that you could call out the name of any cocktail – certainly the name of any of the classics – and they'd know how to make it for you.  And I say that because, for our next round, we decided to test them. GrubsterGirl ordered up her soft-spot drink, a margarita, whilst I opted for a Vesper – a personal favourite of mine.  The Vesper was perfectly executed – especially with the inclusion of Cocci Americano, a slightly more herbal and bitter vermouth more reminiscent of the Kina Lillet Ian Fleming intended, rather than the modern Lillet Blanc.

Singapore Sling, Raffles Hotel

So many drinks have a story behind them.  Sure, lots don't but many do.  And stories are to be celebrated.

The Singapore Sling, the city state's contribution to worldwide imbibition, is no exception.  To find out what that story is, you have to visit Raffles Hotel. 

Raffles (as it is generally known) is not – as the name seems to suggest – and trendy Chelsea hangout for late-teenagers but instead more of an memorial to Singapore's colonial past.  Named in honour of Sir Stamford Raffles, whose name appears around the city, and who can take credit (and blame) for much of Singapore's Nineteenth Century development, it is a towering edifice of Victorian style in a far-away land.  Today it is more of a mall (and a strangely quiet one at that) than a hotel, but peering around one can still catch a glimpse, every so often, of the colonial glory the building once embraced. 

The setting for our drinking, however, is the Long Bar.  Due to the fame of the Singapore Sling, this is the one part of the building that seems far from quiet.  In fact, unless you've booked in advance or come at a particularly antisocial time, you're likely to face a pretty hefty wait for a table – that or be shunted upstairs to the, sadly rather empty and soulless, less popular bar. 

The bar itself is a testament to the time it was built. It's decked out exactly as one would suspect it might have been when Raffles was first developed (although, in fairness, I have no idea whether this is affected or preserved chic). It's all wood panelling, tiled floors...

...and slowly flapping fans.  Once presumably cranked by some poor punkhawallah, now they are electrically operated and add a real sense of what the place may have been like (although they add nothing in the way of ventilation whatsoever). 

The floors are a sight as well.  Not something one usually picks up on, but for this: there is an old habit of serving the drinks with little bags of peanuts in shells.  As if one were sat in an old gentlemen's club, the fashion is to munch away, discarding shells on the floor.  The end result is a big mess, but again some kind of historic, colonial feel is given off.  Like it or not (and I make no comment), it gives the place an air of authenticity – even if it is (as well it may be) completely inauthentic.



But enough of this chat.  On to the drink.



The recipe for the Singapore Sling, it turns out, is hotly disputed.  It's not disputed like a martini is disputed (ie, how many parts gin/vodka to martini, but that's pretty much all the argument you get).  No, it's disputed right down to what on earth goes into it.  The recipe given by Raffles is as follows:

30ml Gin
15ml Cherry Heering
7.5ml Dom Benedictine
7.5ml Cointreau
120ml Sarawak Pineapple Juice
15ml Lime Juice
10ml Grenadine
Dash Angostura Bitters
It's a lot to cram into a cocktail, and it makes for a pretty sweet concoction.

A friend of mine rather snootily described it as the worst Singapore Sling he'd ever had.  I don't know about that - but then, this was the first Singapore Sling I'd ever had, so what do I know.

But look, here's the thing: You don’t go for the quality of the drink, as such.  Nor do you go because you love Singapore Slings (although if you do, GO).  You go because going is like dropping into La Floridita in Havana and drinking a daiquiri, or visiting Harry's Bar for a Bellini.  Sure, they may not serve the best, or even the most authentic, versions of the drink.  And certainly they're going to flog you the most expensive one you'll ever taste.  But you haven’t gone to have the best, or the truest, or the greatest, or the cheapest.  You've gone because you're visiting the place where the drink was invented, like a pilgrimage (without the religion) to try to rub off some tiny vestige of what that place was like, what the history of that drink is, how it came to pass.  And the Long Bar at Raffles can give you that.

 - GrubsterBoy -

Cocktails and Nightlife, Singapore

This started out as a food porn post. But then I got kinda carried away and wanted to show you some of the highlights of Singapore's awesome skyline by night.

After drinks on a roof bar (Singapore is full of them, it's amazing), we headed to Catalunya for cocktails as it was a Wednesday and Wednesday's is 'one-for-one' (English: two-for-one) cocktail night at Catalunya. 

I'm jolly glad we went, actually, because the cocktails were pretty damn good.  The highlight has got to be this quirky little number - made with Amaretto, honey, lime juice, Amontillado sherry, gin and cheese.  That's right.  Cheese.  It's even garnished with a little sliver.

They even bring you a little cocktail test tube - in it's own wee ice bucket (or perhaps that should be 'ice baked bean tin?) - to top up your drink, in case the first glass isn't enough.  Which, let's face it, when it comes to cocktails it never is.

Also, the eats were pretty damn good.  We had a spherical olives too, which were wholly unimpressive to look at and incredibly amazing to eat.  I won't spoil the fun but just think a little... Heston.

Then it was on to Ku De Ta for more drinks and more stunning views.

- GrubsterBoy -

Christopher's

Getting a half way decent martini these days is, sadly, not the easiest thing in the world.  Too often there appears to be some confusion in the minds of enterprising barmen.  For clarity, a martini does not contain apple juice.  It is not garnished with a pineapple spear.  It should never, ever, be set on fire and brought to your table where it can singe your eyebrows.  Agent OO7 hasn’t helped either.  Now there's hordes of folks out there who think that a martini is mixed with vodka.  Heaven knows how – it's the dryness of the gin, offset by your own preference as to quantity of martini – that makes the drink.  A cocktail of vodka and martini alone would, I fear, simply be... slippery? 

 

Fortunately, however' there's Christopher's. 

 

I kicked off proceedings with a dirty martini.  Usually, this is a drink made as a dry martini with the addition of a splash of brine from the olive jar, and served with a salty olive garnish.  Christopher's, as you can see, make it a little differently, macerating a whole olive in the shaker before mixing.  The result is good, but it's certainly not a dirty martini as we usually know it.  Not to be missed, I promise, but a slight shock to the system, I'd say...

 

 

Next up was the Vesper, the drink that James Bond himself is supposed to have invented in Casino Royale.  Finally given it's on-screen dues in the 2006 film of the book, the recipe first appeared in 1953.  Sadly, the trend for serving drinks in deep champagne goblets is gone.  But the drink itself is just as perfect as ever.

 

 

Now, I was rude about the vodka martini earlier – and with good reason – but I recognise that my praise of the Vesper may therefore come over a little hypocritical, being how the Vesper is a 6:2:1  ratio of gin:vodka:vermouth (of sorts).  But it's not.  You see, the vodka does little more than take the edge off, and that's helpful – unless you like them ultra-dry, which I do, but not for every drink.  

 

Established in the early 'nineties, and remodelled earlier this year, it is a fantastic place to go drinking.  Mockery of Bond above aside, you feel like some elegant secret agent or glamorous film-star in there.  Without being over the top, it's decked out pretty smartly, with a mirrored art deco bar that fails spectacularly (thank goodness) to appear like gaudy vintage.  Sure, it serves plenty of those vulgar fruity kinds of drink that we've come to imagine as martinis, but it also serves the original good stuff, done damn well. 

 

 - GrubsterBoy -

Beer & Food Matching at Honky Tonk

A few weeks ago an email popped up in my inbox suggesting I attend a beer and food matching / tasting event in my hood, Clapham.  It wasn’t a hard decision to make.

 

Honky Tonk (our hosts for the evening) has been in Clapham a wee while now, but I’m pretty sure until this event I hadn’t been in – ashamed as I am to admit that.  As far as I can recall, it started life as People’s Republic, and offshoot from the guys that once upon a time brought us Iniquity and Establishment down on Northcote Road – both now, sadly, departed.  Incidentally, they’re also the brains behind the awesome Venn Street Records and Northcote Records.  So the pedigree’s pretty good; even if Honky Tonk is utterly divorced from its predecessor, there’s plenty of reflected glory to bathe in.

The theme of the evening was USA – American craft beer served up with a five course American tasting menu.  As I’ve written elsewhere, American beer is not what it used to be.  Thanks to president Carter’s relaxation of homebrewing regulation in 1978, following the extreme exclusion of prohibition, craft beers have been popping up across the Land of the Free.  That they’re only just catching up now to European standards I think is testament to how damaging prohibition was to that industry.  But catching up they are: the popularity of brews like Sierra Nevada, Blue Moon and Brooklyn bear witness to that.

All of our beers heralded from the same brewery: Fordhams, of Delaware.  If I was going to have a criticism of the evening, it might be this.  Nice as it was to sample the complete range of one brewery, it might have been nicer still to try beers from across different outlets and states, to compare and contrast.

Kicking off proceedings was the Wisteria Wheat.  I love a wheat beer, actually.  I recognize it’s an acquired taste, sure, but I love it.  This example was no let down.  It comes in at 4% it won’t knock you down (not always a negative, to my mind), with a sweet banana and soft fruit nose.  Bloody lovely.

Matching it were crab cakes.  The idea behind the match was that the sweetness of the crabmeat would be balanced out by the sharpness and fruitiness of the ale.  The result?  Pretty damn good.

Next up was the Copperhead Amber Ale.  A slightly longer barley roast leaves this ale golden with caramelly, burnt sugar overtones.  Again, malted barley and German style.  Served up with a cheeseburger, this was Americana at its most overt – even if this was probably my least favourite brew (which is not to say it was bad one bit).

This was followed by Hop Moutain.  As the name suggests, this was straight in at the deep end of American craft beer – that is to say, out come the hops and all the pungency that goes with it.  This was a very aromatic number, with red fruits and floral, hoppy scents evading everything about it.  I can still taste it writing this.  As with many American craft beers, it wasn’t mucking about at a potent 6.3%.

Its match was hot wings, which were sadly not hot enough, the idea being that the sweet, aromatic nature of the beer would counteract the fire of the spice.  I can see the combo working, but the wings really do have to be hot to hit it off right.

Beer 5 was Ram’s Head, a West Coast IPA.  Now, IPAs back in the day (I learned from our beer sommelier) was originally brewed by the East India Company as a much stronger brew that would last the six month long, pre-Suez Canal, voyage to India from Britain.  Following the introduction of tax per percentage, IPAs were scaled right back to the (comparatively) insipid brews we now drink down the pub.  The Ram’s Head tries to recapture that original strength, something reflected by its 7.5% alcohol volume. 

It was matched up with BBQ ribs, something I have a particular soft spot for in any event, and it was a masterly match.  The beer itself, with a slightly lower roast, is incredibly pungent and hoppy, with all the sharpness that entails.  The upside is that it is the perfect antidote to rich, sticky, sweet, fatty ribs. 

By this stage I was feeling pretty full, I won’t lie.  But I wasn’t to be deterred – because the very best had been saved for last.  Dominion is an oak barrelled stout, meaning that it has been aged in oak following the brewing process and picked up a lot of lovely flavours as a result.  It’s also been treated with vanilla seeds, which adds to the sweet, sticky feel of this perfect pudding beer.  Like any great pudding, though, its not all sugar and sweetness, possession in addition a long, bitter-chocolate flavour.  Truly scrummy.

Matching the stout was a divine chocolate brownie and ice cream

The evening was run by Phil Harding of Boutique Beer Brands, and was a lot of fun.  It was the first time it had been run, which showed a little as the timings were out – the food arrived before the beer a couple of times, meaning it wasn’t hot when we got to eat it.  Other than that, no complaints – and, at £25, absolutely fantastic value.

Hoky Tonk are keen to do more of these events.  And they should – as the boss said when I spoke to him afterwards, local bars should be about more than getting hammered on a Saturday night.  Agreed.  Events like this make a place, so I hope to see a lot more in future.

Picture from Honky Tonk's Facebook page

Oh, and the interior décor rocks.

 

 - GrubsterBoy -