Drink

Drink.

You see the sign as you're coming down the stairs into Barbara Lynch's cocktail heaven, and it seems more a command than a simple piece of entryway signage. The smell hits you, fruit, real sugar, booze, and something else you can't quite put your finger on, and you are more than happy to obey.

People see different things when they first enter Drink. I saw the pots of fresh herbs on the island and the old fashioned juicers, and I saw a particularly trendy and spacious home kitchen, with a laid back cocktail party going in full swing. Mr. Gastro noted the exposed bulbs, the bare brick walls, the eyedroppers and mysterious glass beakers and bottles with hand written labels, and he saw a laboratory. The one thing people generally don't see when they first walk into this place, or at least don't think they see, is a bar. It took me a couple minutes the first time I came here to figure out why, and then it hit me; No bottles. You won't see the ubiquitous lineup behind the bar, Skyy, Captain's, Absolute, Stoli, Jim, Jack and Jose. Everything is kept hidden away. They do this for a very good reason. Don't go to Drink expecting to order your old standby Captain and coke. Here's the way it works: You tell them what you're into, a certain ingredient you've got on the brain, a mood, and then they work their magic. My first time was very early in the springtime, when you could just start to smell the green getting ready to pop out. I told my very friendly bartender to make me something to celebrate the Spring, and he brought me a concoction that tasted just like sweet, cut grass. Amazing. A few other phrases I've used here to start off the evening included, "I'm feeling...ginger," (Gin Gin Mule, with homemade ginger beer) "Clean and crisp and not too sweet!" (Aviation, invented in honor of the Wright brothers first flight, with gin and lemon, and bitters), Mr. Gastro's challenge of "Can you do anything with Sake?" (Of course they could, and provided a Strawberry Sake Sour,) and my favorite, "That was incredible. Make me something totally different!" (Slumdog Millionaire, featuring Indian rum, fruit, cinnamon and spices.) On one occasion Mr. Gastro and I decided to challenge our bartender and said simply, "You know best! We are in your hands." She took two steps back from us, looked us both over for what felt like an eternity, fingers jumping like a sleight of hand artist, then finally nodded once like she'd come to a decision about us and set to work. Once she was out of earshot Mr. Gastro leaned over and whispered, "Christ! Did you see her face? She's got a Rolodex up there of every drink that's ever existed, and she's flipping through it to see what fits." I've seen them whip up their signature Fort Point cocktail (a local twist on the Manahttan, using Rye whiskey) the time I brought my dad with me, as if they were reading my mind and his. And when I brought along a couple of friends from out of town who were in the mood for a little rowdy fun, our bartender whipped up the now infamous Green blazer, a chartreuse cocktail set on fire and spilled in a flaming waterfall over and over again between two mixers, before being set into a vintage glass, still flaming, given a twist of citrus oil that sparked into the drink, and then finally snuffed and served to my totally tickled pal. Applause ensued. I relay all of this because I cannot stress how important this is; Go with an open mind. Tell them anything you want about yourself, except what cocktail you want them to make you. You let them handle that.

These were the exact instructions I laid on my friends who met me in Fort Point last week for my birthday celebration, and we were not disappointed. I requested a "happy birthday drink" (exact words) and was rewarded with a Bees Knees, a delicious cocktail of gin, honey, and lavender. When I my next words were, "God that's good, give me something like that, but different!" I was issued a lavender gimlet, which quickly replaced the Bees Knees as my favorite cocktail. Plus I got to watch the look on Masha's face as our bartender Joe picked a delicate piece of fresh lavender off of the potted plant sitting behind the bar and used it to garnish my drink. A lemon verbena gimlet was to follow, and I never thought you could get so much mileage out of one family of drinks. Masha for her part included in her instructions, "I'm from Russia if that helps!" and received a Moscow Mule in the appropriate vintage copper mug with mint garnish on top. (This is a point at Drink, correct glassware to match the vintage cocktails. No detail overlooked.) I finished off my evening with a crowd pleaser, the Ramos Gin fizz, which I had tasted before, and got everyone's attention when the bartender placed a whole fresh egg on the counter next to the workstation, ("No...they couldn't possibly.") and then dropped the raw white into my drink. ("Oh my God they did!") Everyone was horrified, but it's a visually gorgeous drink when it's done right, the walls of creamy white foam expanding and rising above the rim of the glass, defying gravity and physics. And once everyone had had a taste, we all agreed that it tasted a lot like an orange creamsicle, and smacked much more of fresh cream than of raw egg.

And lets talk about the food, for a moment. This being a Barbara Lynch establishment, you would think they'd serve up something better than your standard bar fare, and you would be right. We must have ordered a dozen plates of gougeres, (and at $2 a plate, who wouldn't?) the little pastries that kick you in the teeth with pure cheese before evaporating in your mouth, leaving nothing but a surprised look on your face and the need to eat another one right away. Bacon wrapped dates were a perfect balancing act, combining the dates' candy sweetness, the smoke and salt of the bacon, the funky gorgonzola fondu, and finally the hard little reality check of the almond in the middle, bringing you back down to earth. Even french fries are elevated to a whole new level here, cut thick and served alongside a tangy, totally addictive aioli--ketchup will never be good enough again.

Do yourself a favor when coming to Drink and show up at odd hours. Mid afternoon on a weekend or late on a weeknight (after the post-work crowd peters out) seems to work nicely. The key is to get belly up to the bar instead of relegated to some corner, and on a first name basis with your bartender. Get there at the wrong time and you'll find yourself standing in the far reaches of the bar, stuck behind the crowd, sucking on well crafted but familiar cocktails and wondering what all the fuss was about. Get there at the right time and it will completely change your notion of what it means to go get a drink.