Two weeks ago yesterday, Hachiroku’s empire of local Japanese restobars gained its fourth outpost in three years: 116 Cocktail Bar by Hachiroku. Customers of the address’s former tenant, 116 Crown, a cocktail bar opened in 2007 that singlehandedly revived the format in New Haven, will find the same stylish atmosphere they already know, from the dark metal doors outside to the glowing onyx bar inside. The only notable decor change I spotted was to the modernist bottle shelves, where a line of Japanese spirits now stands decisively in front of the rest of the world’s—a visual metaphor for the cocktail menu, whose dozen debut options unfailingly highlight Japanese components.
My first order, the vodka-based Just Peachy ($15), arrived over a soundtrack of slinky lounge music, with an orb of ice peaking out like a frog from the drink’s milky pale goldness. A vivid scent brought me back to the canned peaches I’d forgotten I used to eat in elementary school, a sensation soon affirmed when a bartender explained that one of the ingredients here, the Wakamomo peach—a baby mountain variety from Japan—is cured, like those childhood peaches, in a sugary syrup.
To taste, however, the note sat in the back of the class, with other ingredients more eager to catch the teacher’s attention. First it was the lemon juice, too eager for my liking, then the pineapple juice, the peach soy yogurt and, finally, the Japanese vodka. Maybe it was the expectation set by the name (and the inclusion of yogurt), but I would’ve liked a sweeter, creamier, less acidic experience overall, though the acid did soften as the drink drew down. A garnish of one of the soft-eating Wakamomos was a juicy, exotic delight, offering flavors of peach, pear and white grape even while looking like a large green olive.
By this time I had also ordered some ‘real’ food: the Edamame Peperonchino ($7). Earthy, spicy, briny and nutty, with a mysterious balsamic sweetness and added texture from bits of chili and garlic, the dish was delicate yet brash and, given the way you have to extract the beans from their pods, inherently unfussy. I could’ve eaten it all day.
I had come for the cocktails, though, and felt like my next choice had to be the Yuzu Sesame Old Fashioned ($16), mostly because it sounded insane. Subbing in a light and floral Japanese whiskey for the classic recipe’s much sweeter and sturdier choice of bourbon—plus black sesame, yuzu sake and Mizunara bitters for the usual sugar cube, Angostura bitters and orange twist—it was a really big swing to take on a curveball, and I guess I needed to see if it would connect.
Sadly, while I could taste some of the edge notes of an old fashioned, this mad science experiment was something irretrievably altered, losing more in cohesion and richness than it gained in refreshment and brightness. The sesame, which at first had come through beautifully on the nose, all but disappeared in the drinking, and the citrus element was too much rind, not enough fruit. Like the Just Peachy, the drinking experience did mellow along the way, and the presentation was beautiful and clean. But I’d still much rather drink an old-fashioned Old Fashioned.
By this point the alcohol was going to my head, which brought me back to the food menu, where a bartender approved of the Yamitsuki Cabbage ($9). “Yamitsuki” means “highly addictive,” he said (and the internet has since confirmed), so I knew to expect something flavorful and satisfying. I didn’t know to expect a cold dish of fresh cabbage, not grilled or sauteed, but, nonetheless, it was nicely umami-fied, with threads of salted kelp conjuring a textural mirage of noodles and a coating of chili oil sewing in a lace of spicy heat.
Finding that the eating had once again outclassed the drinking, I went back for another cocktail, hoping for a strong finish. I found one in the Fresh Start ($15), whose ingredients of ginger, lime and wasabi-infused rum combined for a wake-up call that was clean and cool and spicy and tart. It was easily my favorite drink of the night—and a reminder to cut a place so new it’s still got recipe sheets on the back bar a little slack.
Written and photographed by Dan Mims.
