Wednesday evening I sat on a bench at the corner of 6th Avenue and Spring street pondering the westerly boundary of SoHo. Was it 6th Ave or something farther west? The waft of a cheap cigarillo from a neighboring squatter filled my lungs before my friend and distinguished guest for the evening appeared. V/R, both a gentleman and a scholar, emerged from his office looking slightly defeated but dapper in his newly purchased purple plaid skinny tie. His bitter scowls of career frustration began to melt away as we descended south one block to the newly opened Lani Kai cocktail lounge.
We rounded the corner on Broome street and the line of salivating scotch fanatics came into view. Weeks prior I had received an invitation from Warehouse 24, The Balvenie's (free) member's club, to attend a tasting of their new release - a 14 year Caribbean cask scotch - at Manhattan's newest tiki inspired cocktail purveyor. The tropical liquor hut is the creation of Julie Reiner, a native Hawaiian and owner of my favorite throwback speakeasy, Clover Club located across the river in Brooklyn. Ms. Reiner can also lay claim to NYC hotspots Pegu Club and Flatiron Lounge, for a total of four cocktail meccas, two of which having just made GQ's list of 25 Best Cocktail Bars in the Country. In a beautiful blend of cross promotion, Lani Kai was the ideal spot to introduce the Balvenie's newest pirate inspired malt.
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| Image: Cigar Aficionado |
As with any hip New York event, clipboard wenches guarded the massive wooden door with attitude and stiletto heels. Being an awkward loner at such events, my request for a plus one had been granted days prior and I was excited to share this tasting quest with my bearded novice of a friend. A minor scuffle with said wenches was quickly resolved but not without a slight scare involving V/R's possible departure. I am not one for confrontation but free scotch is grounds for holding fast to your permissions. The double wide door opened and the grimy urban air disappeared into the warm glow of paradise.
Lani Kai is dimly lit, just barely revealing the unstained timber that lines the walls. It's exactly what you would imagine an upscale tiki bar to resemble - a prohibition joint meets Havana supper club. After securing our initial sips, we laid claim to a table and sank into conversion of work, music, women and our golden host for the evening, scotch. Gorgeous gals in flowing floral dresses offered up delicious treats of fried pork wontons, crispy tuna rolls and what I can only describe as a blissful polynesian zepole. Before long a buoyant Belefonte with a Braveheart brogue appeared at our table to welcome us to the event and offer a compliment on my tropical madras tie. He was somewhat of a walking contradiction of amusement, a lithe Scotsman passing as a member of the Buena Vista Social Club. His straw fedora and camp shirt masking his true highland identity. I am not one for jealousy but this man has an enviable job. He is Andrew Weir, a Balvenie ambassador, whose career requires remaining in "high spirits" to stimulate desire for his brand. Roughly translated - he is paid to attend parties and drink Scotch. Sign me up.
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| Image: The Silk Road of Wine |
We heard of a live Cuban band below deck along with tumblers of "Balvenie Punch" offered up. Unfortunately, this required making it past the serving bar, which somehow we could never manage to accomplish. There is one thing the Balvenie is not - stingy. V/R and I enjoyed about 7 more "tastings" to secure notes and maximize our appreciation for the cask. Balvenie's newest malt is an interesting departure from their more well known "DoubleWood", swapping a rich sherry flavor from European oak for sugar cane extracted from the inside of Caribbean rum casks. The appearance is much lighter and is marked by a thinner consistency with showgirl legs - thin and quick. I picked up notes of honey, toffee and island spices on the nose, no real surprise considering the rum infusion. Once on the palate the nose holds true except with the slight added flavor of dried oranges. The smokiness of peat was present but very subtle, like the piccolo amongst a full orchestra. The finish is complex - rough but clean - like swallowing a light sugar water. I found this the most interesting point of comparison to the DoubleWood's more buttery lingering finish.
The night began to dwindle to a close as the scotch ran dry and bodies began to disappear from the Soho oasis. By New York standards it was quite early and for most of the night we were bypassed by those bearing food. If not for the villainous stares of V/R to lure in those vixens of victuals we may not have been able to even taste there delectable treats. While it might seem befitting to end such a refined event with a proper meal and perhaps a glass of Cab, we opted for a more humble, rugged approach. A short walk later into the depths of the east village, having covered topics of architecture, design and the occasional innocent glance at a derriere, we arrived at our destination of choice. Under the giant wiener emblazoned with "eat me" we decsended into the hotdog shack that also houses a secret… whose name requests of me not to tell.
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| Image: keaner.net |
A belly full of scotch requires a bit of digestive company and Crif Dog was happy to supply the guests. Moments after ordering, a bountiful booty of artery clogging processed meat arrived and was nestled in amongst PBR cans and cheesy tater tots. For V/R his poison included A Philly Tubesteak and A Spicy Redneck - the former, a cheesesteak inspired dog with sauteed onions and the later smothered in chili, cole slaw and jalapenos. As for yours truly, the Good Morning and a Temptee would prove both satisfying and life altering. While the Good Morning was a straightforward combo of egg, bacon, cheese and hotdog, a creative breakfast sandwich, the Temptee rocked me like a hurricane of taste and bewilderment. Its ingredients are simple but strange - a bacon wrapped hotdog floating atop a cream cheese smeared bun. Sounds disgusting? Think again because it is actually brilliant; a culinary delight that makes you wonder what other combinations that rustle vomit salivation are in reality sublime across the palate. Under the jealously watchful eye of the ivy league "hipster" seated next to us we plundered our dogs with ravenous intent, fielding questions from our nosy neighbor until we had our fill.
We parted satisfied but mildly regretful of what we just put our bodies through. I meandered to the subway with my my tasting glass swinging from two fingers thankful for my free scotch and hotdogs. Just a Wednesday night in New York.
God bless this city.
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