Raising the B • A • R

It's Tuesday night at the Blue Water Grill, a swank New York nightspot housed in a lofty 19th century bank building, and a crowd has gathered around the copper bar—clusters of moneyed suits, Prada-clad babes, a few downtown punks, everyone melting into an evening soaked with potential. We've saddled up in a far corner. You might say we're here on business.

Like many of tonight's patrons, we've come to visit the bartender. Eben Klemm is the current It guy among a new wave of mixologists who approach the art of intoxication the way painters look at canvases. Traditionally bartenders have had outsize personalities defined by showmanship. The new generation—five of whom we serve up on the following pages—are true scholars of libation, serious-minded mixers intent on creating tomorrow's martini.

A 33-year-old former MIT grad student in molecular biology, Klemm is the mad scientist of mixology, known for experimenting with strange, food-based ingredients. Habanero peppers, tamarind, Pop Rocks—nothing is off-limits. As the head drink innovator for a company called B.R. Guest, he has created menus for hot spots in New York and Las Vegas, as well as the new James Hotel in Scottsdale, Arizona. Our thought: With all that hype behind him, these cocktails had better be good.

One by one Klemm begins to push them our way. His version of a calvados manhattan hits the spot. His clouds over havana is a Cuba libre, but the foam on top—the "clouds"—isn't from the cola. It's actually the essence of a mojito, sweet and sour flavors that get washed away by the cold rum and Coke beneath. The james is a vodka drink served in a frozen cocktail glass dipped in a blue-raspberry ice-cream-cone sauce, which instantly hardens around the rim. "Maybe it's a fruity little bitch drink," Klemm says, a bit defensively. "But its history is sound."

By the end of the night we've discovered what all the buzz is about. Some of these drinks are fantastic; others are bizarre. Not one of them is boring. Wanna taste? Here's a Klemm concoction you can whip up at home—the stonefruit sling (pictured above, in his hand). Down the hatch.

[recipe_title]Stonefruit Sling[/recipe_title]

[drinkRecipe]1 ounce gold rum[/drinkRecipe]

[drinkRecipe]1/2 ounce cherry brandy[/drinkRecipe]

[drinkRecipe]1/2 ounce peach schnapps[/drinkRecipe]

[drinkRecipe]1/2 ounce fresh lime juice[/drinkRecipe]

[drinkRecipe]1/2 ounce apricot puree[/drinkRecipe]

[drinkRecipe]1 dash 7UP[/drinkRecipe]

Shake the alcohol and lime with ice, and pour over ice in a rocks glass. Pour the apricot and soda over the top.

For the Blues

Marco Dionysos was born to be a bartender. The sure-handed 34-year-old shares a name with the Greek god of intoxication. (We'd hardly blame you for doubting that Dionysos is his real name, but it is—we saw the birth certificate.)

A native Californian, Dionysos wields the silver shakers at Harry Denton's Starlight Room in San Francisco, a bastion of romantic retro chic on the 21st floor of the Sir Francis Drake Hotel. But he came of age working in portland, Oregon near the legendary Powell's bookstore, from which he built his library of vintage bartending guides. Studying them, he began modifying some neglected classics and building a repertoire of new drinks that pay respects to the richness of cocktail history. His ginger rogers, a tweak of an old rum drink he found in a 1914 book, is now a popular sipper all over San Francisco. "It's a mojito, backwards and in high heels," he explains. Sort of.

Dionysos conceived the Cunningham (left) as a tribute to Scottish fiddler Johnny Cunningham, who reputedly played so fast that "only dogs could hear him." When Cunningham died last December, the last drink to have passed his lips was Benedictine. Dionysos added that ingredient to the liquor of Cunningham's homeland (scotch), incorporating notes of cherry and lemon. The result: a smoky, wistful blend, like Cunningham's playing, equal parts melancholy and joy.

[recipe_title]The Cunningham[/recipe_title]

[drinkRecipe]1-1/2 ounces scotch whiskey[/drinkRecipe]

[drinkRecipe]1/2 ounce fresh lemon juice[/drinkRecipe]

[drinkRecipe]1/2 ounce orange juice[drinkRecipe]

[drinkRecipe]1/4 ounce Benedictine[drinkRecipe]

[drinkRecipe]1/4 ounce Chambord or cherry liqueur[/drinkRecipe]

Shake well and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with a brandied or maraschino cherry.

For Derby Day

A great cocktail should do more than give you a buzz," says Julie Reiner, part owner of New York's lush 1920s-style Flatiron Lounge. "It should lift you up and take you someplace." A perfect martini, she says, can make you feel as though you're at the bar of the Algonquin Hotel circa the late 1930s. Her own creations, however, set a scene in the South Pacific—like Trader Vic's tiki culture without the cheese factor.

If you accept that a bartender can be a genuine artist (an easy argument to swallow after you've had a few), then Reiner is the Gauguin of the bunch. She was born and raised in Hawaii, and the islands remain her touchstone. While she has worked to perfect her renditions of the classics, her own creations feature guava, kiwi, hibiscus flower, youngberry, a variety of exotic teas and some other stuff you've never heard of. She dreams up her drinks in the Flatiron's basement lab (the last time we dropped in, she was making fresh ginger beer). Among her signature intoxicants is the juniper breeze, a stiff gin drink that inspires an overwhelming desire to put on a bathing suit and dive off her bar.

"I get people addicted to drinks you can't get anywhere else," Reiner says. Oh yeah? Not anymore. We managed to steal a secret from her playbook—a twist on the mint Julep, the official drink of the Kentucky Derby, which runs this month. She calls it the mint jules (left).

[recipe_title]Mint Jules[/recipe_title]

[drinkRecipe]3 lime slices[/drinkRecipe]

[drinkRecipe]10 mint leaves[/drinkRecipe]

[drinkRecipe]2-1/2 ounces Maker's Mark bourbon[/drinkRecipe]

[drinkRecipe]1 ounce simple syrup (equal parts sugar and water, boiled and cooled)[/drinkRecipe]

Muddle lime slices with mint leaves in a shaker. Add bourbon, syrup and another dash of lime. Shake with ice, and strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Top with soda, and garnish with fresh mint.

For High Rollers

When Las Vegas casino mogul Steve Wynn began constructing the $1.7 billion Bellagio, he planned to create "the most ambitious and elegant resort ever built in any century on any continent." Guests would be treated to the finest artistic masterpieces (Picasso, Renoir, Matisse), restaurants (Le Cirque, Olives)—you name it. When the time came to hire a head bartender who could be trusted to properly lubricate the resort's ultra-indulgent crowd, Wynn and company plucked Tony Abou-Ganim from Harry Denton's Starlight Room (where Marco Dionysos now works—see the previous page).

A stickler for precise measurement, fresh-squeezed juices and high-quality ingredients, Abou-Ganim designed menus for the Bellagio's 29 bars with a fifty-fifty balance of classics and original creations. When dreaming up new concoctions, "I always start with the base spirit," he explains. "It should always come through, and flavors should complement it, not cover it up."

The stocky 43-year-old recently left the Bellagio to act as a "beverage consultant." But his genius lives on. Of all his drinks, the cable car (left) has gained the biggest following. A simple blend of three ingredients and a bit of garnish, it captures the essence of Vegas in a chilled cocktail glass—golden-hued, extravagant and incredibly dangerous if you overindulge.

[recipe_title]The Cable Car[/recipe_title]

[drinkRecipe]1-1/2 ounces spiced rum[/drinkRecipe]

[drinkRecipe]3/4 ounce orange curacao[/drinkRecipe]

[drinkRecipe]1-1/2 ounces fresh sour (2 parts fresh-squeezed lemon juice, 1 part simple syrup [see mint jules for syrup recipe]; you can also buy sour mix in most liquor stores)[/drinkRecipe]

Rim a chilled cocktail glass in a bit of cinnamon sugar. Shake ingredients with ice, and strain into the glass. Garnish with a piece of orange peel.

For Lubing Her Up

Nothing gets a woman to let her guard down quite like the right cocktail. Properly executed with a dash of sweetness, it's seduction in a glass.

Tony Conigliaro specializes in rich drinks that can sometimes be mistaken for desserts—such as his elegante (vodka with lemon sorbet and some other things, pictured left). The head barman at London's hyperfashionable Shumi (co-owned by Roger Moore's son Geoffrey), Conigliaro has been called an alchemist by the British press. While all the bartenders in this story have taken a cue from trends in haute cuisine, Conigliaro has made it his raison d'être, regularly raiding high-end cookbooks and the world's finest restaurants for inspiration. He'll caramelize lemon and add it to tequila and incorporate licorice in a whiskey sour. The inspiration to heat and combine fruits (blackberry and apple, for example) led to a series of acclaimed, envelope-pushing bellinis, redefining the traditional champagne cocktail—a quintessential love potion. "You can get fruits and cook them at home," Conigliaro says. "It's not rocket science."

Of all the drinks on his menu, the coffee sazerac (right) caught our eye. And the courteous alchemist was kind enough to cough up the recipe.

[recipe_title]Coffee Sazerac[/recipe_title]

[drinkRecipe]4 parts rye whiskey (Jim Beam yellow label is readily available)[/drinkRecipe]

[drinkRecipe]1 part simple syrup (see mint jules for recipe)[/drinkRecipe]

[drinkRecipe]1 dash coffee liqueur[/drinkRecipe]

[drinkRecipe]1 dash dark cacao liqueur[/drinkRecipe]

[drinkRecipe]1 dash Angostura bitters[/drinkRecipe]

Shake ingredients with ice, and strain into an empty rocks glass.

All Mixed Up

The problem with most bartenders these days? They don't know how to make drinks. A toast to some of today's greatest cocktails, as they were originally mixed by the masters themselves

It's a cold winter day, circa 1882. You walk into a saloon to warm up—not just any saloon but the Thomas's Exchange, one of the most famous in New York. Behind the bar a stout man with a handlebar mustache and two pet rats on his shoulder is holding court—Jerry "the Professor" Thomas, the world's first superstar bartender, a man as revered for his talents as were most statesmen of the day. You've glanced at his book—How to Mix Drinks, or the Bon-Vivant's Companion, the first cocktail bible published in America—and chosen the manhattan (named for the renowned Manhattan Club), one of the Professor's signature drinks. As he works his magic, you zero in on those pet rats, and the thought hits you: Jesus, just how clean is this place, anyway? But once you taste the thing, you don't give a shit.

Forget the maraschino cherry—you don't need it, pal. The original recipe calls for a lemon slice and lots of vermouth. You'll need two to get the job done.

[recipe_title]Manhattan[/recipe_title]

[drinkRecipe]1 ounce rye whiskey[/drinkRecipe]

[drinkRecipe]2 ounces sweet Italian vermouth[/drinkRecipe]

[drinkRecipe]3 dashes Angostura bitters[/drinkRecipe]

[drinkRecipe]2 dashes curacao[/drinkRecipe]

Shake with ice, strain into a wineglass, and garnish with a slice of lemon.

Some guys cringe at the mention of this cocktail, as it the word itself were an affront to masculinity. Fact is, the daiquiri as it's meant to be poured is a shrine to manly indulgence. A word to all bartenders: This drink should never glow in the dark, nor should it be served dressed in a tutu. Its secret? Simplicity.

An American named Jennings Cox invented the daiquiri, naming it after the Cuban town where he concocted the first one in the 1890s. But bartender Constantino Ribalaigua perfected it at a Havana joint called El Floridita, later known as the cathedral of the Daiquiri. Each evening, Ribalaigua appeared behind the bar dressed in a white shirt, a bow tie, a stylish vest and an apron—like an acrobat making his entance onstage," as one historian put it. Among those who flocked to El Floridita were Gary Cooper, Tennessee Williams, Jean-Paul Sartre and Ernest Hemingway (the greatest daiquiri fan of all time). If ever there were a pickme-up that was easy to make at home....

[recipe_title]Daiquiri # 1[/recipe_title]

[drinkRecipe]2 (okay, 4) ounces white rum[/drinkRecipe]

[drinkRecipe]1 (not heaping!) teaspoon sugar[/drinkRecipe]

[drinkRecipe]Juice of half a lime[/drinkRecipe]

Shake with crushed ice (you want it really cold) and strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with a thin lime slice.

Like the daiquiri, this cocktail has been so butchered by incompetent barkeepers through the years that the poor thing has completely lost its identity. The recipe first appeared in the 1895 cocktail book Modern American Drinks, by George Kappeler. It was a simple libation, a cocktail in the old sense of the word. A bit of liquor with a dash of sugar, it was meant to be consumed on waking in the morning. (That'll take care of those cheese-grated nerves.) But by 1933 mixologists were violating the drink with all manner of indignities. As Crosby Gaige, a pissed-off liquor writer and playboy of the time, put it, "Serious-minded persons omit fruit salad from old fashioneds, while the frivolous window-dress the brew with slices of orange, sticks of pineapple and a couple of turnips." You can still order this beauty in five different bars today and get served five different drinks. What the hell? Here's the real number, as originally printed in Kappeler's bar guide.

[recipe_title]Old Fashioned[/recipe_title]

Muddle 1 lump of sugar in a little water in a whiskey glass. Add 2 dashes Angostura bitters, a couple of ice cubes, a piece of lemon peel and 1 jigger rye (if you're using bourbon, make it with half a lump of sugar). Stir with a spoon, and leave the spoon in the glass.

October 28, 1919 was one of the more shameful days in American history: The Volstead Act passed, banning the sale of alcohol. But in a case of unintended consequences, Prohibition sparked an incredible period of cocktail innovation. To mask the taste of the rotgut that was available, bartenders started mixing it with all kinds of strange ingredients.

Drinks such as the between the sheets and the scofflaw emerged, not to mention a barman who is still regarded as the king of Prohibition mixologists. Harry Craddock rose to prominence in New York; five years into Prohibition he left to ply his trade at London's Savoy Hotel, where he served as a beacon for traveling Americans who longed for the taste of home but could no longer find it there. In 1930 he published The Savoy Cocktail Book, still popular today. On its pages you'll find the blue monday, a classic Prohibition-era mood lifter that's fallen out of style. Time to bring it back. How to drink it? As Craddock said, "Quickly, while it's laughing at you!"

[recipe_title]Blue Monday[/recipe_title]

[drinkRecipe]3 parts vodka[/drinkRecipe]

[drinkRecipe]1 part Cointreau[/drinkRecipe]

[drinkRecipe]1 dash blue vegetable extract (food coloring, which you can leave out if you're lazy, since it has no taste)[/drinkRecipe]

Shake with ice, and strain into a cocktail glass. No garnish, which (let's face it) is refreshing.