The Pisco Sour

The weather in San Francisco can be appallingly inappropriate, most especially noted in the summer time. Like in late August, for example – it is not unheard of for it to be cold and foggy in the middle of the night… or day… or afternoon. Not that it keeps us from darting around trying to imbibe cocktails that hearken back to warmer, more seasonally appropriate weather and cocktails. In the case of my latest episode, the pisco sour was my ticket to said times, and apparently, those Peruvian and/or Chilean good times that I've only ever vicariously experienced with the help of this fair city.

The pisco sour is a refreshing, if not bizarre, by American standards, concoction/frappe of pisco (a Peruvian grape brandy), lemon juice, egg white, sugar and bitters. Not requisitely consumed by the Rocky-emulating set of hipsters and yuppies, but more so by those looking for a wonderfully refreshing cocktail drinking experience in the sea of stateside classics and novelty. The debate between whether the Peru or Chile was originator of the drink is, to this day, still going strong, but the methodology of both versions is the same.

By the vigorous shaking of any given beloved bartender that is so inclined to serve said cocktail, a good pisco sour, when poured into a delicate glass untouched by any rim accoutrement, will be virtuously topped with what almost resembles the fluffy, alcoholic, unsweetened beginnings of a meringue. A dash of (regional Amargo) bitters, whether or not expertly toothpick-carved into a "heartbeat," tops this lovely thing off and officially makes your cocktail the envy of all others that are within range.

"Don't knock it 'til you try it" has always been a mantra that everyone seems to understand; it is a successful and diplomatic alternative to "leave me the hell alone and let me do what I want" when embarking upon any potentially questionable meal, drink, date, flirtation, or life decision. I suggest you do the same and find a pisco sour immediately.

And if you're in San Francisco, having your own National Pisco Sour Day might just be a welcome aide in helping you forget about that third layer you're going to have to put on when you step back into the outside world.

The Pisco Sour

3 oz pisco
1 oz fresh lemon juice
2 tsp sugar
1 egg white
1 dash bitters

Shake the first four ingredients in an iced cocktail shaker… shake, dammit… and strain into 1 or 2 glasses. Top froth with bitters. Salud.

Speak Easy ... with a Twist

Cocktails prove the idiom that the whole is worth more than the sum of its parts. Well, this blog is drunk on axioms as is, so let's put some posting where our typepad is. 

From here on out, Speak Easy will have multiple authors -- and will showcase the best cocktails and drinking parlors in not just New York, but also San Francisco and Cincinnati. It's the East, West and Nearly Center of drinking in America, and we're delighted to seek out the best cocktail lounges, wine bars, beer gardens, and studio apartment mini-fridges throughout the country. 

So welcome, all those who drink and tell. Sidle up to the bar, order a drink, and share your city's haunts with us. Cheers! 

After all, it's five o'clock somewhere.

In a Jiffy :: Franklin Park

The jiffy lube embodies so very many things: a sex act at breakneck speed, a twelve-dollar cocktail with peanut butter and Red Bull, an awkwardly open vat of lotion on the bedside table… At Franklin Park, though, the jiffy lube here is an upscale bar, prepping Clinton Hill for the slick and speedy caress of snowballing gentrification.

Situated in a former garage shop on the still-multicultural St. Johns Place, Franklin Park is the Genesis of Clinton Hill gentrification, and the guiding light is Southpaw co-owner and Galapagos / Natural Selection-transformer Matt Roff. From its country estate entrance (with the gold door plaque and high walls, no less), the space calls out to the neighborhood (or to those who can afford to listen, anyway), “Let there be a garden bar! And let it be good.”

And so it is. In fact, Franklin Park is even worth a commute from our city’s more up-market neighborhoods. But part of the Franklin Park allure is its existence as an oasis in deserted lands. The trip itself is a bit of an adventure, taking aspiring drinkers past government housing projects, actual garage shops, and an array of street entertainment and/or social woes, depending on the hour. Once inside, a patio garden of picnic benches, beautiful trees, and dappled sunlight awaits – the ideal outdoor bar for a Coney Island lager ($5/pint) on a summer’s afternoon.

Past the reflective raised garage door, the space transforms again into a Grease Lighting graphic creation – half music video bar, half 1950s repair shop. Crisp subway titles spell out FRANKLIN PARK along the bar, grayscale sports-centered blowups adorn the black and white cinderblock walls, and a long leather banquette is punctuated by eight demure, dark wood cocktail tables. Perhaps it’s more Grease Lightening by way of the super-vintage Soda Fountain Shop – but again, though studied and deliberate, the bar succeeds, beautiful on the inside and out, and, come cooler weather and weekend nights, packed with patrons through and through.

While there’s no kitchen at Franklin Park, the bar policy is warmly Bring Your Own Food and is embraced by the laidback mix of young nearly-locals that fill the space with engaging conversation and palpable gratitude at having a space like this so close to home.

And what of the drinks? In terms of options, Franklin Park delivers. With twelve beers on tap and nearly as many in bottles, the bar offers everything from Framboise Lambic ($9/bottle) to Avery ESB ($6/pint) to Pork Slap ($4/can). Wines are sold by the glass ($6-9) and the bottle (all under $32). Cocktails, though, are the serious business of the bar. Wonder what Franklin Park really tastes like? Well, order the drink ($10), a conversation-provoking blend of bourbon, prosecco and St. Germain served straight up in a martini glass. Be warned, though – this is not the land of speakeasies or bartending flair. More often than not, the bartenders here were almost comically flummoxed. So flummoxed it’s tempting to offer up the age old pick-up line, “So, you come here often?”

And that, you know, is a whole other jiffy lube of conversation.

FRANKLIN PARK :: 618 St. Johns Place at Franklin Ave., Brooklyn, New York