Chris Amirault

Right. But we're just not talking about a "cool cocktail spot" here. We're talking about a local hot spot that has been alleged, though not proven, to offer good cocktails. The jury's still out on that one, though: I originally asked for a Last Word, and the barkeep looked at me as if to say, "Sure, go ahead. You can have the last word."

I asked the question at the top: I think that several people are comfortably settling into one side or another. To wit: I think Sam's making a key point: "vibe" is more important than a particular customer, no matter how well-trained and socialized he may be. I've been to the sorts of bars Sam mentions and just got back from the remarkable Violet Hour in Chicago, at which those kind of sensible rules make sense to me. (I mean, heck, I ordered a Negroni, not a shot of Yaegermeister.) But those places state their rules up front, making it clear that laptop-carrying scoundrels and frat boys need look elsewhere. In addition, they are destination cocktailian venues, not joints marketing themselves as neighborhood meeting places. What I also don't quite understand, and what no one has really gotten to here, is the reasons for which a laptop computer destroys this vibe. As Sam wrote, Clearly, had I been Charles Baudelaire or Scott Fitzgerald, drinks in hand, penning away on a pad instead of on a screen, many people feel I'd have fit in better than I did. For many, many reasons, I'm neither Baudelaire nor Fitzgerald, but let's focus on the technology for now. Is this just Victorian-era predilection for the writerly arts and era-appropriate technology? Or are laptops fundamentally, like, a total bummer in ways I don't comprehend?

It's not at all like going to a steakhouse, ignoring the menu, and asking for pizza. It's a bit like going to a steakhouse, ordering steak, and then being told you can't read the paper while eating it -- but you can stay and eat the steak if you agree to keep the newspaper under the table. I went to the bar in a restaurant, ordered a drink, sat down to drink the drink, and prepared to enjoy the drink, the bar, and the people there -- while writing on a laptop. I didn't go into the bar and ask for an oil change. Just sayin'.

What's the basic recipe for the Della Nonna? Is it a Toulouse-type sausage?

It's a great space, I'm telling you: relaxing, well designed. Why do you think I chose it?

I do exactly the same thing: pull every cookbook off the shelf with that recipe, compare notes, shuffle, collate, and go from there. Not with baking, though. That scares me to death.

Now that makes sense to me, honestly. I was working on a freelance food article, in fact -- and was enjoying conversation, the taste of the drink, and so on just fine. I can multitask.

Not sure about that -- but I do know that I did plenty of conversatin' at the bar I eventually went to to write the piece. I guess the people there didn't immediately assume I was anathema to social interaction.

Not retail, but I run a school and spend a great deal of time talking with people about our stated, documented policies. When someone accidentally violates one of them for the first time, we cut them some slack and let them know that, next time, the policy will kick in. That's true, of course, unless safety or health are at issue, which -- unless there's something about laptop computers that I don't know -- isn't the case here. It's true. He certainly was nice enough in the telling. This entire topic is an act of contrition that I didn't initiate a brawl, it's true. Yeah, except that I'm a customer and not an employee. Maybe it was the Red Sox hat?

Hmmm.... I see a lot of slippery slopes here: I can't either. Again, the place was half-empty and winding down on a Wednesday night, and I was a hive of one. I doubt that other busy bees would have been showing up, but I can't say. Well, I did just fine elsewhere in town with my not-very-beat threads! I'm not sure -- this wasn't a very welcoming experience, but I'd sacrifice a lot for a decent cocktail in this town. It was not offered gratis to me, and I didn't want to pay money to slam a Negroni while standing up and packing on the way out. The jury will have to stipulate a definition of rudeness here, as I can't. He was insistent in his initial request that I not use the computer, and he was increasingly insistent as I asked for an exception to be made. That is to say, his request was functionally a demand, one that was delivered with a smile and a friendly tone -- again, in the manner of most well-trained FOH folks. I'd say that the polite thing to do would have been to say something like, "I see you've ordered a drink, and we're happy to accommodate your work tonight. However, next time, we'll need to enforce our no-laptops policy."

I am happy. I've had two fine weissbiers and got under the word limit for the first piece, plus talked to two other denizens and watched a good basketball game. Sounds pretty neighborly, eh? Did I mention the free popcorn?

What if I use a laptop but smile and wave occasionally?

Um, no. It was a standard-issue café table, so such a thing is impossible. Laptop open, manilla folder with Jeff Berry's Taboo Table atop. It's the bar -- a separate room at the front of the restaurant itself. I think that's exactly right. I and my laptop didn't conform to the restaurant's image. Sure -- but you probably have excessively squeaky red markers, don't you? Admit it!!

This laptop is, I assure you, as quiet as a pen, and the click-clack would not have been heard above the general din. Besides, I hadn't typed a letter. The problem here isn't the noise. It's the concept, or perhaps the light, or, I dunno, my poor grooming and percussive flatulence.

It's fine to defend him. I think his position is defensible. I just don't agree with it. No, the place isn't big enough to have many tables nursing a couple of drinks and working -- though the packed, wifi-ed Paneras around the area suggest that having people there isn't such a big business dilemma. However, the owner could have said, "Listen, we're quiet now, and you're sitting at a bar table. [No food served there, that is.] If we fill up, you've gotta take a hike." That I would have understood. I'm telling you, it was the aesthetics. I cracked open the glowing laptop of doom.

For the first time in my life, I've just been kicked out of a restaurant -- or, more specifically, out of a restaurant bar. You, my peers, are the jury. The joint in question: a small neighborhood place called Loie Fuller here in Providence RI (no link -- it is the hip that dare not speak its website) that has been heating up some food boards but at which I have had only one odd, ungood experience. My crime: having a laptop. I decided to give LF another go because Providence is desperately in need of a cocktail bar (click here for handwringing) and Mike Sears, the owner, has a reputation for being something of a cocktail nut. I also needed a place to finish up an article I'm working on, and I've long enjoyed writing in restaurants, coffee shops, bars, and other neighborhood joints in town when home constrains. Finally, in a city that has had many of its best community-minded restaurants & bars for writing evaporate in the last decades (Leo's and Blue Point leap to mind), hope springs eternal. So tonight, a Wednesday, I sauntered into the half-empty place after the dinner rush with my bag, indicated that I'd be sitting at a small table in the corner of the front room bar, and ordered a Negroni. I sat down at the table, pulled out a folder of research, and opened up my laptop. At the moment that my network connection clicked in and my Negroni arrived, owner Mike himself came up to my table. In that inimitable style that so many in the hospitality industry seep, Mike proceeded to kick me out without kicking me out. He insisted, for example, that I was welcome in the bar as long as I didn't use the computer, and when I indicated that I was there to drink and write (a time-honored combination, to be sure) and asked whether I should stay or leave if I had to do that, he refused to answer. Instead, he told me that he had decided not to have a television in the place, and he met with a resigned smile my suggestion that a silent laptop pointing into a room's corner was different than a TV booming out across the bar. This dodge ball continued for a bit, with me looking for clarification and him trying to avoid the confrontation his policy demanded. Finally, knowing that I could plunk down with a beer (and the HDTV Celtics game) and my laptop at the Hot Club, I shrugged, packed up, and left. I now sit in that venerable Providence dive, nursing my UFO, watching Kevin Garnett, and asking for you to weigh in. One final note: we're talking about a neighborhood restaurant here, not Alinea. This is the sort of place that wants to be a community destination, and had I pulled out a legal pad and click pen, five'll get you fifty that I wouldn't have been accosted by my erstwhile host. Which side are you on? Rejecting the evil glow and the subtle pitter-patter of the keyboard on the one hand, or hospitably treating those neighborhood denizens who choose to work with such technology while imbibing on the other? Judge me -- lest ye, internet users, be judged.

Thanks for the snaps! What temperature did you fry them at -- and for how long?

I think that's exactly right. The drinks were all extremely well executed, but their flavors were sometimes not quite to my persnickety liking. I'm a fan of bitters, for example, and so didn't enjoy the sweeter drinks as much. Wasn't at the bar, but that's a very accommodating practice, and next time I'll take advantage. Note, however, that we four were sharing, and the other three would not have the same petty gripes as I'm, surely! They were entirely positive. I was at the end of a long conference day at the execrable McCormick Center, and subdued fit the bill perfectly. Until then, I'll let the memories dance in my mouth. And, again, thanks to you and your crack crew.

Friday night, three friends and I put ourselves in the hands of Michael and the other able bartenders at VH for two very enjoyable hours. We arrived at around 9:00p and were seated almost immediately. Throughout the evening, the room seemed full but never crowded; we surmised that the doorman kept only enough people in the bar to fill the number of available seats, and never saw anyone standing extra at the bar, for example. That leant a subdued air to the place, as did the carefully chosen soundtrack featuring end-of-a-busy-week Tom Waits, Johnny Cash in his final, Rick Rubin years, and the like. We ordered family-style, in three rounds. (This listing of drinks is an approximation; the other guests can correct my recollection if theirs is less hazy.) 1 Iron Cross, Poor Liza, Daisy 17, Lady Grey I tried the Iron Cross because I was hell-bent to taste as many of the house bitters as possible. It was a work of genius and quality ingredients, with the bitters, orange flower water and egg whites standing out in particular. It showcases the remarkable grapefruit bitters extremely well, which play throughout the drink, not just at the top or finish. I didn't catch the pisco used; Toby, can you let us know? The Poor Liza was another perfect drink, just the choice for your non-cocktail-nut friend who wants to be wowed and then surprised when they learn that they're drinking Chartreuse and Peychaud's. Of course, if you think that those two ingredients, lemon, and pear brandy sounds vile, you should try it, too. The Daisy 17 did a remarkable job of blending the Wild Turkey 101 with a fine house grenadine. I would have liked more of the orange bitters to offset the sweetness of the drink, though a non-cocktailian companion thought that was silly. The Lady Grey was a nice drink, but we all agreed it didn't place the tea in a particularly prominent role, and, as such, wasn't as compelling an elixir as Audrey Saunders's Earl Grey Marteani at Pegu Club, the drink on which it's based. 2 Blue Ridge Manhattan, Maloney Negroni, Hemingway Daiquiri, Irish Pirate I went off-menu for what turned out to be the best drink of the night: the Blue Ridge Manhattan, which Michael very kindly made for me as I watched and chatted at the bar. When I asked for a drink to feature the house peach bitters, he built this fantastic cocktail while we shared complaints about the limitations of some existing products. He rinsed a glass with Laphroaig and then peach bitters, stirred up some Jim Beam rye, NP dry vermouth, Carpano Antica, and Peychaud's, and finished with a skilfully long lemon twist. (It's possible that I messed up this recipe, I'll admit; in a note-perfect moment of speakeasy theatricality, Michael dropped a wee dram of the peach bitters on his hands, rubbed them together, and held his palms up to my outstretched nose to inhale the magnificent aroma. I nearly swooned, and thus can't be held accountable for details on what immediately followed.) We talked about this Manhattan for a long time at the table. It was such a deft twist on the drink's base that it had a lightness of being that none of us could quite articulate -- and the fact that the drink is built around rye, bitters, and smoky Laphroaig makes that lightness remarkable. It's a Manhattan like no other. A companion got the Irish Pirate but didn't like it, so I help finish that fine drink up, which featured the autumn bitters. (The winter bitters were a few days away from being released from their barrel, sadly.) The Negroni and Daiquiri were both excellent. We suspect that the HD has the grapefruit bitters hiding in there, since the pink grapefruit juice surely could not have had the complexity it brought to that drink. 3 Nickle Manhattan, Hotel Nacional, Airmail, Autumn Sidecar I tried the Nickle Manhattan for a comparison with the BR, and while extremely good it suffered a bit by comparison. Don't get me wrong, it's a fine drink, but the Gilka Kummel addition didn't transform the more standard Rittenhouse/Punt e Mes/Peychaud's base. Indeed, we wondered if it had been omitted, as there was no significant caraway tone -- and we were pretty sure that the Autumn Sidecar lacked any allspice notes from the Pimento Dram. It's possible that both ingredients were there, barely, but as they are essential to the unique Violet Hour character of the drinks, we all felt that they should be featured prominently enough to add complexity to the other standard ingredients. The Hotel Nacional was a very good but, again, slightly sweet version of that classic. I confess I can't remember much about the Airmail. Out of that dozen drinks I'd say that well over half were spectacular, at the level of the best cocktails I've ever had, with the BR Manhattan, Iron Cross, and Poor Liza perfect. The others needed either extremely minor receipt-tweaking or a tad more care behind the bar (Toby was, I'll add here, in NY). Finally, Violet Hours's reputation for bitters brilliance is well-deserved, and any visitor should be sure to get their fingers under a glass of two that feature them. A final point about the very good small plates. We devoured two plates of deviled eggs and could have eaten two more each, and we polished off a couple of sandwiches. But the heroes were the fine duck meatballs, which brought out some interesting notes in several of the cocktails, particularly the rye-based drinks. All in all, a fantastic spot, and one that seems to be doing a great job of educating the masses. Walking around, virtually everyone seemed to be drinking one classic cocktail or another, with almost no white wines, beers, or Grey Goose & sodas to be seen. I'm no expert on Chicago bars, but Violet Hour is in another league from the several upon which I've placed my elbows.

I just got back from a fantastic meal at Quartino, 626 N. State St. at Ontario. Everything we had was very good, and some things -- the duck prosciutto, sopressata, taleggio cheese, olives, and caponata -- were outstanding. The pizzas were very good, but having recently enjoyed an Al Forno grilled pizza back home in RI, I was struck by the thickness of the crust. I had a conversation with Bob Kanzler, a FOH fellow, about the cured meats, and it would seem that their gamy brilliance is likely to continue, if not intensify, in the coming months. For that alone -- and the accommodating wine options -- I'd hustle there in a heartbeat whenever I got a chance. Bustling ambiance, decent cocktail fixin's at the bar, great waitstaff: what's not to love? ETA that I merged this post into the existing topic (which I didn't find initially).

Holy cow. That food looks remarkable. Can you say more about qawarma?

Cocktail fans and Buffalo Trace nuts will want to visit Warehouse Liquors on 634 Wabash Ave (near Harrison). You can grab a bottle of Regan's No 6 orange bitters, any of a number of fine BT bourbons or ryes, and a good selection of vermouths in this nook.

Just back from four (!) poached eggs, toast, 3 sausages, and the best home fries I've ever had at Lou Mitchell's. I could eat a sackful of those donut holes too.

I think that "heritage" is like "authentic" or "original": it's a marketing term that can be used by anyone for just about anything. I'd distinguish that from "heirloom," which I take to refer to breeds of plants or animals that are not the product of commercial agribusiness and have been passed down because of their characteristics.

That's interesting. Can you give us the studies' sources?