The Spirit World

Wherever you live, some nights positively tingle with the feeling that anything is possible. Anywhere you go, some nights it feels like nothing will ever go right. Ask any gambler: all too often those nights that begin so charged with possibility end in the crushing conviction that everything’s gone hopelessly to shit.

Sorry.  I’ve been watching a Cleveland sports team in the playoffs again. It’s something of a seasonal ritual for me, troubling deaf heaven with my bootless cries, pleading like Job to a merciless God … you know, that sort of thing.

Fortunately, I have also, like Job’s tormentor, been going to and fro in the City, and “walking up and down in it.” (Job. 1:7) This week’s wanderings took me first to Hayes Valley, and the pink awning of a neighborhood spot called Sugar Lounge. In addition to the off-putting entryway and the unpromising name, Sugar has the discrete disadvantage of sitting directly across the street from Absinthe, a bar whose reputation, like its cocktails, needs no polishing from an amateur like me. (”How can you review Absinthe? It’s an institution, you might as well review God.” — “gll s.”, writing for Yelp. “Shall he that contendeth with the Almighty instruct him? He that reproveth God, let him answer it.” — Job 40:2.)

In fairness to Sugar, few elements of the lounge at 377 Hayes seem designed to compete with the more canonised proceedings at number 398. Sugar forgoes its neighbor’s encyclopedic drink menu (ok, “menus” — Absinthe has an entire trinity), and its oysters and artisanal cheeses, in favor of happy hour specials on well drinks, and a small selection of free appetizers. Sugar’s lighting and its decor are on the bold side, but not uninviting. The barkeep presented a welcoming Tuesday mien. (The depletion of the steam trays — salsa-less chips, a well-rummaged smattering of crudites — suggested that he’d already endured the night’s flurry of after-work drinkers. In which case, extra points for the friendly greeting.)

I asked for a house favorite or a recent creation, and received an “Original Sin,” composed of Tanqueray Rangpur gin, lime juice, and a bit of the divine St. Germain elderflower liqueur. The drink bore an enticing color, a pale green evocative of evenings spent curled up with the classics. In taste, it resembled an unremarkable, half-flowery Daiquiri.

The involvement of St. Germain dooms the Original Sin, in much the same way that comparisons to Absinthe may doom Sugar. A few sips of this fair green potion were enough to remind me that I’d sipped elderflower liqueur in several cocktails since its triumphant appearance on the S.F. scene, and that, sadly, almost all of them of beat the fig leaves off of the Original Sin. Memory, thus jogged, gave succor to a nascent boozy craving, and I set my course for the Tenderloin.

Locals may debate the exact boundaries of the ‘Loin, but for me its epicenter will always be the faintly-marked entrance to Rye, 688 Geary at Leavenworth. I ambled thirstily toward that address for my date with destiny — or rather, with a Destiny, one partly of my own creation.

The Pick of Destiny is by far the best of the elderflower experiments I have sampled. I sat down with Amanda Washington, the delightful and award-winning Rye mixologist, to wax Proustian about the circumstances of its birth. “I like including people in the process. I like feedback,” she comfirmed. “Like with this drink: you happened to be here, and I’d never heard it called the ‘Baby Saz’ …”

By “it,” Amanda meant Sazerac’s eminently mixable and refreshingly affordable 6-year-old bottling. Considerably younger than its top-shelf cousin, folks have taken to calling the 6-year the “Baby Saz.” Not hip to that particular bit of cocktail argot, and thinking that I’d asked for a drink involving “Baby Sass,” she took me for a Tenacious D fan. Thus was the title of The D’s recent foray into cinemas applied to her rye and St. Germain concoction. Amanda swears she’s been serving it to patrons as the Pick of Destiny ever since.

As a drinking experience, the Destiny (I personally prefer the short form nomenclature) is well-nigh perfect. Under Rye’s sparse track lighting and candles, the color sits somewhere on the Gimlet-to-Moonlight spectrum, which is to say: it’s a lovely pale orange. The flavor is brilliantly layered, fruity then lush and floral, but packing just enough boozy bite to remind you that this thing has Rye Whiskey, dammit. It’s an ideal selection under pretty much any drinking conditions; since that first encounter, I’ve craved it like the wicked man craves evil (uh, Proverbs 21:10).

After pausing to hug a regular (it’s that kind of town, even in the ‘Loin), Amanda explained why she’s loved her 2 years at Rye, and why she isn’t likely to leave any time soon. “I’ve never worked for or with better people … They give me a lot of wiggle-room here, which is really important. They let me experiment.” I took a healthy sip of my Destiny, the evidence of my agreement with that statement. “It’s like my home here, and my family.”

What else could I say to that, but: “Amen.”

—

The [Pick of] Destiny
as perfected by Amanda, at Rye

2 oz. “Baby” Sazerac 6 year Rye*
1 oz. St. Germain
3/4 oz. lemon juice
5 dashes Fee Brothers’ orange bitters
Shake vigorously, and serve up. Garnish with an orange twist (of SATAN!).

* = when the Baby Saz is out of stock or otherwise unavailable, Amanda will use Michter’s. Michter’s is a delicious Rye, but it doesn’t bring the same satisfying, earthy punch to the back end of the drink. Sampling a Destiny with Michter’s I wondered if wasn’t too easy to drink. Amanda shrugged: “[made like this], I could probably put it in VitaminWater bottles and serve it at my house!” I’ll leave it to you to determine whether that’s a good or a bad thing, in accordance with the circumstances of your cocktail occasion.