Some roll their eyes at the notion of “mixology,” but there are places that prove, via some special blend of chemistry and alchemy, that it’s very real.
Tavern on State’s boho boutique-meets-whiskey den laboratory was bubbling and brimming like a beaker over a Bunsen when I took a seat at the bar yesterday. I started with the This Charming Man ($15), a bourbon and Pimm’s drink that looked like cider in the dim candlelight. Passionfruit and nutmeg on the nose weren’t things I’d have thought would go together, until I remembered nutmeg is actually a tropical spice.
A clarion first sip was so unified that it felt relaxed and mellow even while delivering big flavor. More tasting showed pleasant personality quirks, especially a lime tartness. The bourbon, I assume, was the source of a light drizzle of caramel sweetness, while the “coconut ice”—a large cube of frozen coconut water, the bartender confirmed—helped keep the drinking easy. “Why pamper life’s complexity / when the leather runs smooth / on the passenger seat?” the Smiths song asks, and maybe I get it now.
Next I ordered the Key Export ($15, pictured above), a stirred and stirring cocktail with a Martian hue. My first taste of the drink’s boozy and complicated profile—a blend of two dark rums, musky Madeira, bitter Campari and sunny banana—made me wonder if I was the experiment, with a mad mixologist trying to see how far they could push me and the unscientific answer being “pretty far.” Sifting through the layers, I connected the rums and the banana for a breezy coastal quality, then caught a random swell of dill that receded quickly, then rode waves of cherry cough syrup. A mint tendril topper, not a factor at first, found its way to my nose, affecting the taste through scent alone. If you like a challenging drink that drinks slowly and changes a lot as you go, this could be for you.
Feeling heady, I wanted to finish with the non-alcoholic Plot Twist ($10), whose name may refer to the fate of the lead ingredient, verjus, a product made from wine grapes harvested early and pressed into juice, not wine. But that option was 86ed, so I went in a very different direction: the Good Fortune ($15), which confronted my fear of a Norwegian spirit, aquavit, that tasted like liquid pine needles the one time I drank it straight.
Served here alongside vodka, dill, vermouth and house-made onion brine, the aquavit blended in seamlessly. The dill note was creamy and beautiful from nose to palate, deepening a drink that was savory and salty but with a light touch. The onion brine provided just enough tang, while an orb of onion pickled in that brine and plopped into the glass was a crunchy, juicy flavor explosion.
Someday soon, I’ll have to return to the lab and set off another one—for science.
Written and photographed by Dan Mims. Image features the Key Export.
