Chapulin salt, fukujinzuke, ambergris—even we have to Google these crazy things that turn up in our cocktails. (For the record, that’s grasshopper salt, Japanese pickle relish and sperm whale cholesterol, respectively.) To me, wacky, creative cocktail ingredients are thrilling. They encourage me to ask my bartenders questions. But not everyone is a bar critic, and to the average drinker, some menus really lack context clues.
Contemporary cocktails have become so sophisticated, some may as well be served in top hats with a monocle garnish. While I’m forever on a hunt to find the gnarliest concoctions (it’s my job, after all), I often wonder if the average city dweller feels included in this craft cocktail revolution. I’m asking you, on a scale of tolerably-pinky-out to too-pompous-to-even-bother-with, how pretentious is Chicago’s cocktail scene? Can you keep up with the growing trends? Why or why not?
Have you ever taken one look at a menu at a new cocktail bar and felt so overwhelmed you ordered a whiskey ginger out of defeat? When I’m reviewing new bars, one major grading point is how user-friendly the cocktail menu is. Some menus are uncategorized and brand boastful—Angel’s Envy this, Aylesbury Duck that—leaving out the important part: the spirit. Other times, it’s ambiguous ingredients that lack flavor-focused descriptions. “Donn’s Mix” may not mean anything to you, but I bet you know what grapefruit-cinnamon syrup might taste like.
A poorly written menu full of industry jargon talks down to patrons and can pigeonhole the entire establishment as a place only welcoming of the sophisticated drinker, leaving the novice and every-once-in-a-while cocktailers out of the conversation. How frustrating and intimidating is it to look at a menu that must be decoded?
While most bartenders are happy to clarify and introduce guests to new, funky spirits, menus shouldn’t need a translator for the simple things. Just like there are fine dining and casual restaurants, there are bars for the craft cocktail connoisseur and those for vodka-cranberry lovers. But fine dining and boozing don’t always compare in terms of price point, and most bars aren’t as state of the art as The Aviary. I can more easily be talked into treating myself to a $15 cocktail every once in a while than a $200 dinner. Point being, cocktails are more accessible and should be more inclusive.
For centuries, cocktailing has been a social activity. (Anyone brave enough to try the Homeric wine cocktail with honey, cheese and barley meal from “The Odyssey”?) We’re only scratching the surface of what this contemporary craft cocktail revolution can do for our palates. It’s going to require a bit of educating, in unpretentious and approachable ways.
So I’m asking RedEye readers to gauge how approachable Chicago’s cocktail scene is for the average drinker. Is it intimidating? Does industry jargon get you down? Do you feel comfortable asking questions, or do some menus make you feel silly for even asking? Maybe you don’t even care for cocktails—you’re a beer person. I want to know that, too. Respond to the poll, shoot me an email at hschroering@redeyechicago.com or tweet me at @OhItsHeather.
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