Beer Wench Goes Dutch

It has been a truly amazing New York week for this wench, a perfect reminder that this city can be the catalyst for so many unexpected opportunities. Basking in this I <3>

The black door bearing a tiny plaque reading “Dutch Kills” opens into a cozy booth lined hall that leads back to the sexy dim bar brimming with fruit bowls, glass carafes of juices and syrups, and the infamous block of ice. Past the bar, a tiny room with a couch and a piano await the “pian-ologist”, to use his own term. We alighted on our bar stools and began to muse over the drinks and beers listed on the chalk boards overhead while a bartender in an Aloha shirt sporting a ponytail methodically turned the block of ice into small chunks with a saw and chisel. Our bartender, a sassy Brit with a tattoo that she described as “asparagus”, informed us that we could also request a particular flavor and the bartenders would create a drink just for us.

There were six beers on the board, a mix of draft and bottle. I had already had everything on tap so the only question for me was do I go for the Italian Amber or the Belgian Lambic, I was discussing this with my girlfriend Angie when my bubble of enthusiasm was popped by an ice pick.

“Oh we only have one beer.”

One beer? I must have heard her wrong. “You mean one beer on tap?”

“No, one beer in the house. I’m not sure why but we only have the one.”

Huh. Wow. If there was only one beer in the entire joint why oh why are six listed on the board and that one isn’t even on the list? What is a beer wench to do? I decided to drown my disappointment in the Sunset Park, a rye-based libation with peach liquor and bitters, complimented with stolen sips of my friend’s Star Daisy.

The “pian-ologist” arrived, as did the rest of my friends. My friend Brian (you may remember him from my Fatty’s adventure), is actually one of the reasons I picked Dutch Kills, our outing was his fifth trip to said speakeasy in ten days and I wanted to see what he was raving about. My friend Sutton and I recently reconnected on the set of a Vampire movie last Saturday where each of us lost our body weight in sweat while sipping “blood” from solo cups and trying to look vamp-tastic in a loft that felt more like a 400 degree oven. I was leaning over to hug her hello when she stopped and screamed, “hey you, I know you!” at the dude with the ponytail behind the bar. Turns out they had done something for New York One together; I told you I love this city.

I was about to order the only beer when Angie came up with a fabulous idea: ask the bartender to create a cocktail with the ale. After all, Dutch Kills is a mixologist bar that prides itself on its innovative concoctions so why not play to their strengths? I asked ponytail, whose name I learned is Abraham, to have fun and make something fantastic, he could even make us two drinks if he was so inspired and had extra beer. He thought a moment and said he could do a variation on a Flip, but my request was unusual and he didn’t usually create on the spot with specifications from the customer. This was a bit off-putting, hadn’t we been told upon sitting at the bar that if we requested a flavor or liquor that the staff would be happy to please our palates? Abraham mixed, he shook, and finally he poured forth a frothy Flip that looked a bit like eggnog.

“What is it called?” I asked, in sudden awe of the beverage in front of me.

“What’s your name?”

“Jena.”

“Then we will call it the Jena Flip.” He said dryly as he walked away.

According to the Dictionary, the term Flip was first used in 1695. Originally, a Flip consisted of beer, rum and sugar heated with a hot iron. The heat resulted in the drink becoming frothy (“flipping”). As time went on and more drinks were made, the beer worked its way out of the Flip and egg whites began to be used. The Jena Flip was made with the Flemish Sour Ale, walnut liquor, egg whites and spices and instantly made us all go mmmmm and wish we had a fireplace and a Christmas tree nearby. As we passed it around, all gushing about how delicious and velvety smooth it was and how it should be introduced onto the bar’s menu, Abraham leaned to Sutton and told her that he just made it because we asked for it, he didn’t really like it or think that is was worthy of Dutch Kills but some other bar could put it on their menu. He then walked away, drinking the remainder of the beer that he had previously told us would be kept on ice until we wanted to drink it.

Brian ordered me a Gin Cobbler, an amazing crushed ice wonder topped with fresh fruit. I could drink a million of these, it tasted just like fresh raspberries and looked like the best snow cone ever. The bar began to pick up, our lovely Brit began doing table service. She came back to the bar, placed down a drink ticket in front of Abraham and was about to go back out on the floor when he sighed “really, a six drink ticket?” She looked confused and replied with “yeah but four of them are beers.” He still didn’t look remotely enthused to be making drinks for service, even though he had just finished telling Sutton how he helped open this bar and specialty cocktails were his thing. Despite the fun ragtime piano and cozy ambiance, my cobbler was beginning to leave a sour taste in my mouth. I want to like you, I wanted to scream at him, we all do. We want to feel as patrons even a fraction as special as these beautiful drinks, we want your enthusiasm to make us excited about your damn bar! We asked for our tab and, after a good twenty minutes of waiting, cash and credit cards out on the bar, drinks empty, we were finally rung up and on our way. As we walked to the car, Brian scratched his head and said that his past four experiences at Dutch Kills were great. He had had a server on Saturday who remembered him and his lady from Friday night and even remembered what they liked to drink.

There we were, all dressed up and slightly disappointed in Long Island City. I hadn’t even had a whole beer! I decided right then and there that this evening was far from over, there were beers on the horizon. We drove through the dark streets of Long Island city, the lights of the city glimmering across the water, and parked under a weeping willow to the sounds of slide guitar and upright bass. The sign in front of the bar proudly proclaimed “Beer List”, we were in business.