The Black Manhattan has gone from a drink that prompts inquisitive looks to one that's begun appearing on the hippest menus across the city. I've heard three different stories about its origin — including one from a guy who said, "I invented it" (which I don't believe).
I've seen Black Manhattans (bourbon, bitters and Averna in place of sweet vermouth) most often at solid bars whose artsy side pushes them towards the rough-and-tumble rather than the slick and pricey. Bars that want you to work a little to find their cool factor.
I went to Iron & Gold, in Bernal Heights, to talk about failure with Mike. He and I had worked for the same company — one which Mike said, with the benefit of hindsight, has been sliding towards failure for a decade.
"Environments like that are no fun," Mike said. "When everybody's trying to save the ship there's no time to breathe. I really should have gotten out of there years ago, but I kept finding an excuse not to. There was always one more thing."
He ordered and beer and a shot of rye — he's going to keep ordering that all evening. I ran through the cocktail list.
I liked Iron & Gold as soon as I walked in. A rough, wooden barwith green walls and framed black-and-white photos, its low lighting and big liquor shelf are miles away from slick. It was only later that I saw the comfy back area with wooden walls, rustic furniture, and wood-burning stove. It's like walking into a frontier cabin (which is never something that I'd looked for in abar, but I love it now).
Iron & Gold likes what it likes and makes no effort to be comprehensive. The menu features an odd combination of low-rent beers ($2 cans of Miller High Life Pony, for instance) alongside high-end ales like Duvel, Einstok, and Rodenbach. Beyond a wine list just five entries long, Iron & Gold offers makes eight signature cocktails (plus specials), though it obviously gives a damn about them all. It also offers cigarettes on the menu, including rolling tobacco and papers. I love that.
I was immediately drawn to the Pimm's Cup, which I believe every bar should be required by law to keep handy just for warm sunny days. Unfortunately, the bartender got it all wrong: too much mint, not nearly enough citrus. It wasn't outright terrible, but, come on — it was like ordering a gin and tonic and finding chocolate syrup at the bottom. I was baffled, but fortunately it was Iron & Gold's only misstep. By the time I moved on to the excellent Black Manhattan, everything was right in the world.
I once wrote a book about failure with a guy named Chicken, who believes that you have to eschew easy success and embrace failure because the only way you can push your boundaries is by trying new things until you eventually screw up. A lot of psychologists agree. A certain kind of failure is the best tool for learning that we have.
But Mike and I weren't talking about that. We were talking about an organization that, we agreed, failed because it didn't really understand itself. At heart, it was really a small, elite, boutique institution, but one that thought of itself as a globe-striding colossus constantly doubling in size and offering something for everyone. It was calibrated to the most boring kind of failure, the kind where you learn nothing.
"I know you were being a good team player," Mike told me, "but I also know you were holding back for it. I think you should have put your foot down and said, 'We're doing it right, or I'm out.'"
Maybe. It would have been a rush. Meanwhile, that amaro-heavy Black Manhattan reminds me of why I like bars with rough edges. It shows they haven't been ground down by the bland uniformity of management-speak, promising all success, all the time. Screw that. It's not the world I want to live, or drink, in.
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