Urban Bar: Kir Royale
After Halloween, New Year’s Eve is my favorite holiday. It could be as simple as being a January baby, but I love the sense of culmination and anticipation that is both the gift and the obligation of the new year. If ever that lesson has been learned, it’s been by John and me during 2012. This time last year found me wrapping my mind around the fact that John was going to be moving to Los Angeles for work while I was going to be commuting between LA and New York City. I wrote about that for the first column of 2012 -- a column that I completed aboard an airplane and proofed in a hotel room at LAX. If, at the time, I wrote about 2011 as a helluva year, I had no idea how much that would apply to 2012. Aside from navigating bi-coastal living, which is challenging enough to begin with but for us was happening after two decades of never being apart for longer than a few days, we did so in the year when, after those two decades of being so in every way except legally, we got married.
After a year of logging more air miles than I ever imagined I would, I have been in LA since mid-December. We passed our first winter holidays as married men quietly, as it appears Los Angelinos do. When I arrived, we spent our first reunited hours at the same fire pit where we started this journey last January. When we got home, it was to a lit Yule tree that John had put up while I was in the air. For the two weeks that followed, John introduced me to the holidays in LA as, after so many snowy Christmases, I reacclimated to a sunny one. When the day dawned, I couldn’t deprive either John or his southern childhood of our traditional glazed ham Christmas dinner. If it was a low key holiday – even, to use the vernacular of the land, mellow – it was a precious one. As we learn in everything from hokey holiday movies to our own experience, the true gift of the holidays is being together, and the true gift of the new year is the gift of time.
Any New Yorker reading this will understand my referring to the week that followed as Hell Week, the local term for the whirlwind of debutante activity that commences in the society pages and on the ballroom floor on December 26. I don’t attend formal dances, but if I was worried about missing the pace of New York City during Hell Week in this place that is just exactly the opposite, I needn’t have. Christmas here is the same family day it is anywhere, but Hell Week is a time of reinvigoration through relaxation by indulging the pleasures of living that this city understands so well. It is a week for catching up with friends, for movie houses and shopping centers, for walking along the beach or strolling through a vineyard, for taking lunch on the patio and dinner at the local chop house. It was lovely, and when I found my New York edge dissolving during Hell Week, then that, in part, is why I’m out here fer shure.
Christmas travels typically take us to where we grew up, but for those who put down roots in new hometowns, Hell Week finds us returning, weary but invigorated, to them. Everyone’s first order of business is to reacquaint themselves with their new hometown. It always seems we left so long ago, even though it was just a few days. Streets we’ve traveled a dozen times seem new but familiar and that is exciting and reassuring in equal measure. And so did the streets of Hollywood fill with its daughters and sons, some returning from other locales and some emerging from their homes right here. And some, it must be said, showed up for the first time, in pursuit of whatever dream LA keeps for them, just as this town has done since stardust was first discovered here.
Los Angeles is a dream town, Los Angeles is a party town. By New Year’s Eve, that was evident before noon. I had decided to treat myself to brunch at one of my favorite coffee houses. As I lingered over a California fresh brew, three drunks staggered in from the Walk of Fame, only to be bum-rushed back outside by two baristas whom, it was evident, were steeled against doing the same thing until they just gave up and closed for the day. On the Boulevard, the crowds basking in the midday sun equaled those gathering in the chillier, but no less convivial, atmosphere of Times Square. The famous footprints at Graumann’s Chinese, always busy, were downright impassable. I took refuge inside the beautiful Hollywood Roosevelt, whose historic lobby had been prepped for the New Year’s Eve party. Marilyn Monroe’s ghost is said to haunt the Roosevelt, and in that moment of mid-afternoon sun slanting through stained glass in a ballroom readied for a party, one could just divine lipstick prints on the champagne flutes.
Champagne is the official elixir of New Year’s Eve. Any leading lady worthy of her satin evening gown knows that the sound of a popping cork is the announcement of celebration, and any leading man worthy of his cutaway knows how to pop the cork. Before the modern era, Champagne was not associated with festivity but with exclusivity. Due to the effort and standards that comprise the methode champagnoise that must be engaged in order for this sparkling wine correctly to be labeled as Champagne, Champagne has always been a luxury. But though luxurious, Champagne was not typically served at parties. It was too special for that. Champagne was warehoused by serious collectors and shared very selectively, not unlike how serious Scotch drinkers store their most impressive inventory as well as choose its audience.
It’s not poetic, but Champagne became associated with celebrations thanks to the simple decision by the Chateaux des Champagnes to broaden sales. In those august rooms, it was agreed that, as Champagne was a luxury commodity to begin with, it was a natural progression to associate it with high-end celebrations. The initial audience for this marketing endeavor was women and, in the way of the times, it was assumed that all women wanted to have a wedding, and that they wanted their wedding to be a grand social event. Champagne committed the gauche act of inviting itself to the reception, but Champagne prevailed by sheer force of personality: serving Champagne at a wedding reception immediately became le dernier cri. Now we cannot imagine a wedding, christening, anniversary or, of course, New Year’s Eve without a Champagne toast.
Champagne is correctly served chilled. The optimal temperature is 45 degrees F. Any home host knows that Champagne can be served in a flute but any table captain or 30s film starlet will confirm that the best glass is a coupé. While other sparkling wines can be adorned with anything from a cube of sugar to a plump strawberry, Champagne is best enjoyed from a bottle just opened and with no garnish other than its own foam. That said, you can make lovely cocktails with Champagne, such as our first Urban Bar of 2013: the Kir Royale.
Kir is a family of cocktails comprised of fruit liqueurs topped with wine. There are kirs made from raspberry, apple and peach liqueurs, and kir cousins made with beer or cider rather than wine. But the classic kir is the Royale, in which Champagne tops a drizzle of Crème de Cassis sliding down the sides of a Champagne flute. Like New Year’s Eve, a Kir Royale is dazzling in its drama and lovely in its simplicity. It is a lovely brunch drink, the articulate counterpoint to the Bloody Mary’s direct declaration. As the two ingredients mingle, they become the perfect metaphor for the old year melting into the new year to form a new concoction – but Champagne is always the host.
Kir Royale
Crème de Cassis is a liqueur made from black currants. Many varieties are available; here is my favorite. The method below will create the lovely gradient that is the hallmark of this cocktail. This recipe makes two cocktails.
2 shots Crème de Cassis
1 bottle brut Champagne, chilled
1. Chill two Champagne flutes by placing them in the freezer for five minutes.
2. Pop the Champagne and decant excess foam if any.
3. Open the freezer door and place the flutes upright where you can work with them, but keep them in the cold air.
4. Measure out one shot of Crème de Cassis. Working carefully, pour the Crème de Cassis in a swirl down the inside of one of the glasses. The liqueur should adhere to the inside of the cold glass and begin to drip downward.
5. Repeat step 4 with the second glass.
6. Gently fill each glass with Champagne. Work carefully, for as the Champagne contacts the cold glass, it will foam up. Stop pouring as the foam starts to reach the top of the glass.
7. Once the foam crests, top off the glasses if warranted.
8. Carefully remove the cocktails from the freezer. Serve immediately.
After a year of logging more air miles than I ever imagined I would, I have been in LA since mid-December. We passed our first winter holidays as married men quietly, as it appears Los Angelinos do. When I arrived, we spent our first reunited hours at the same fire pit where we started this journey last January. When we got home, it was to a lit Yule tree that John had put up while I was in the air. For the two weeks that followed, John introduced me to the holidays in LA as, after so many snowy Christmases, I reacclimated to a sunny one. When the day dawned, I couldn’t deprive either John or his southern childhood of our traditional glazed ham Christmas dinner. If it was a low key holiday – even, to use the vernacular of the land, mellow – it was a precious one. As we learn in everything from hokey holiday movies to our own experience, the true gift of the holidays is being together, and the true gift of the new year is the gift of time.
Any New Yorker reading this will understand my referring to the week that followed as Hell Week, the local term for the whirlwind of debutante activity that commences in the society pages and on the ballroom floor on December 26. I don’t attend formal dances, but if I was worried about missing the pace of New York City during Hell Week in this place that is just exactly the opposite, I needn’t have. Christmas here is the same family day it is anywhere, but Hell Week is a time of reinvigoration through relaxation by indulging the pleasures of living that this city understands so well. It is a week for catching up with friends, for movie houses and shopping centers, for walking along the beach or strolling through a vineyard, for taking lunch on the patio and dinner at the local chop house. It was lovely, and when I found my New York edge dissolving during Hell Week, then that, in part, is why I’m out here fer shure.
Christmas travels typically take us to where we grew up, but for those who put down roots in new hometowns, Hell Week finds us returning, weary but invigorated, to them. Everyone’s first order of business is to reacquaint themselves with their new hometown. It always seems we left so long ago, even though it was just a few days. Streets we’ve traveled a dozen times seem new but familiar and that is exciting and reassuring in equal measure. And so did the streets of Hollywood fill with its daughters and sons, some returning from other locales and some emerging from their homes right here. And some, it must be said, showed up for the first time, in pursuit of whatever dream LA keeps for them, just as this town has done since stardust was first discovered here.
Los Angeles is a dream town, Los Angeles is a party town. By New Year’s Eve, that was evident before noon. I had decided to treat myself to brunch at one of my favorite coffee houses. As I lingered over a California fresh brew, three drunks staggered in from the Walk of Fame, only to be bum-rushed back outside by two baristas whom, it was evident, were steeled against doing the same thing until they just gave up and closed for the day. On the Boulevard, the crowds basking in the midday sun equaled those gathering in the chillier, but no less convivial, atmosphere of Times Square. The famous footprints at Graumann’s Chinese, always busy, were downright impassable. I took refuge inside the beautiful Hollywood Roosevelt, whose historic lobby had been prepped for the New Year’s Eve party. Marilyn Monroe’s ghost is said to haunt the Roosevelt, and in that moment of mid-afternoon sun slanting through stained glass in a ballroom readied for a party, one could just divine lipstick prints on the champagne flutes.
Champagne is the official elixir of New Year’s Eve. Any leading lady worthy of her satin evening gown knows that the sound of a popping cork is the announcement of celebration, and any leading man worthy of his cutaway knows how to pop the cork. Before the modern era, Champagne was not associated with festivity but with exclusivity. Due to the effort and standards that comprise the methode champagnoise that must be engaged in order for this sparkling wine correctly to be labeled as Champagne, Champagne has always been a luxury. But though luxurious, Champagne was not typically served at parties. It was too special for that. Champagne was warehoused by serious collectors and shared very selectively, not unlike how serious Scotch drinkers store their most impressive inventory as well as choose its audience.
It’s not poetic, but Champagne became associated with celebrations thanks to the simple decision by the Chateaux des Champagnes to broaden sales. In those august rooms, it was agreed that, as Champagne was a luxury commodity to begin with, it was a natural progression to associate it with high-end celebrations. The initial audience for this marketing endeavor was women and, in the way of the times, it was assumed that all women wanted to have a wedding, and that they wanted their wedding to be a grand social event. Champagne committed the gauche act of inviting itself to the reception, but Champagne prevailed by sheer force of personality: serving Champagne at a wedding reception immediately became le dernier cri. Now we cannot imagine a wedding, christening, anniversary or, of course, New Year’s Eve without a Champagne toast.
Champagne is correctly served chilled. The optimal temperature is 45 degrees F. Any home host knows that Champagne can be served in a flute but any table captain or 30s film starlet will confirm that the best glass is a coupé. While other sparkling wines can be adorned with anything from a cube of sugar to a plump strawberry, Champagne is best enjoyed from a bottle just opened and with no garnish other than its own foam. That said, you can make lovely cocktails with Champagne, such as our first Urban Bar of 2013: the Kir Royale.
Kir is a family of cocktails comprised of fruit liqueurs topped with wine. There are kirs made from raspberry, apple and peach liqueurs, and kir cousins made with beer or cider rather than wine. But the classic kir is the Royale, in which Champagne tops a drizzle of Crème de Cassis sliding down the sides of a Champagne flute. Like New Year’s Eve, a Kir Royale is dazzling in its drama and lovely in its simplicity. It is a lovely brunch drink, the articulate counterpoint to the Bloody Mary’s direct declaration. As the two ingredients mingle, they become the perfect metaphor for the old year melting into the new year to form a new concoction – but Champagne is always the host.
Kir Royale
Crème de Cassis is a liqueur made from black currants. Many varieties are available; here is my favorite. The method below will create the lovely gradient that is the hallmark of this cocktail. This recipe makes two cocktails.
2 shots Crème de Cassis
1 bottle brut Champagne, chilled
1. Chill two Champagne flutes by placing them in the freezer for five minutes.
2. Pop the Champagne and decant excess foam if any.
3. Open the freezer door and place the flutes upright where you can work with them, but keep them in the cold air.
4. Measure out one shot of Crème de Cassis. Working carefully, pour the Crème de Cassis in a swirl down the inside of one of the glasses. The liqueur should adhere to the inside of the cold glass and begin to drip downward.
5. Repeat step 4 with the second glass.
6. Gently fill each glass with Champagne. Work carefully, for as the Champagne contacts the cold glass, it will foam up. Stop pouring as the foam starts to reach the top of the glass.
7. Once the foam crests, top off the glasses if warranted.
8. Carefully remove the cocktails from the freezer. Serve immediately.
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