As Senior Food Editor at Bon Appétit, Alison Roman is the brains (and hands) behind many of the recipes found within the magazine’s glossy pages. Her skills and aesthetic, honed through stints at the likes of Momofuku Milk Bar in New York and Quince in San Francisco, extend beyond the kitchen, though: she’s amassed nearly 50,000 followers on Instagram through a feed inflected with her signature sense of humor and lots and lots of good-looking food and people. Not to mention drinks—which we got her to record for us in this week’s installment of “Drink Diary.”
A while back, I made a rule for myself that I wasn’t going to drink at least one day a week. After typing that, I realize that makes me sound like I’ve really got a problem. I knew I was going to have a busy week, so this was that day.
P.S. I don’t have a problem!
My friend Shannon took me to Mother of Pearl, this new restaurant/tiki bar over on Avenue A in Alphabet City. Since it was the hottest day of the year (this is not hyperbole), the breezy tropical crushed ice vibe was especially welcomed. I would be embarrassed if I revealed how much I actually drank there, so I’ll just paint the picture I want of myself and say I enjoyed this one delicious drink, called Sound of Silver (because it was my favorite). It had Gran Classico, rye and apple brandy with a bit of velvet falernum and rosemary tincture.
Okay, so there was also a curaçao drink served in a shark head, another one made with banana, rum and absinthe cream, and a cashew-pineapple-lime-tequila-mezcal number that I kind of died for. And a beer from Off Color Brewing. I think I’m drunk again.
[Full disclosure: After that we went to an awesome wine bar down the street called Lois. Don’t look at me that way—they’ve got wine on tap.]
As you can imagine after Tuesday’s events, I felt great and super ready to drink lots again. Or something like that.
My best friend Katie had come into town from L.A. that afternoon, so we met at my place after work. I had this Bachelor’s Jam I made last year and decided today was the day to drink it. I made this one with lots of raspberries, sour cherries, plums, sugar and vodka. Since it ages for so long, it takes on this vaguely sherry-like quality, which I love. It’s a little intense on its own, so I pour it over ice and top it with sparkling water. Cutesy paper straw optional.
After this, we head back to Manhattan to wait 4 ½ hours* for a table at Mission Chinese at one of my favorite bars, 169. We TEXTED our order to the bar and in like, two minutes, our frozen margaritas appeared, and if you’ve never experienced what it’s like to text someone to bring you a frozen margarita only to have one appear, I would argue you’ve probably never been truly happy.
*We only waited 2 hours! It’s a joke! Come on.
Since said best friend was in town, I took a day off to hang with her in my fair city. New York really cut us a break by throwing down some of the most gorgeous weather in recent memory. Zero humidity, gentle breeze, sunshine, princess temperature, free kittens.
Since I’m never really off work in time to take advantage of any happy hour, ever, I was like, CAN WE GO TO HAPPY HOUR? I decided Maison Premiere would be a good place to take her. It’s arguably one of the best and most fun cocktail bars in Brooklyn, plus they’ve got $1 oysters which get delivered by gorgeous women in beautiful outfits and cute guys in little vests.
She went for the Summer Pimm’s Cup, which came with a sugar cane stick soaked in Campari, which I would like to have every day as a snack. I got the California Condor because that’s where I’m from, and I was feeling like having rum. Both fulfilled my fantasy of enjoying colorful, boozy, well-made cocktails before 6 p.m.
I followed my drink up with a glass of rosé, and after finishing up there, we took our CitiBikes over to another one of my favorite spots, Doris. They’ve got an excellent backyard, so we took advantage of it, drinking Micheladas and making eyes at some dudes that turned out to be 100 percent not interested.
On my way home from work, I met up with some friends at a weird restaurant in TriBeCa (they had outdoor space!) where I had a too-boozy Aperol Spritz that was served by a possibly heavily medicated waitress that had just had her wisdom tooth removed.
Well, here’s the story. My best friends in New York threw a party on their roof, and as anyone who’s ever been to a party, roof or otherwise, knows: You should probably pick the thing you’re going to drink, and commit. Commit to this drink. If there are cups to write on, write your name on your cup. Keep it taped to your palms, if you must.
I did not do this.
Instead, I had lots of different kinds of drinks, because WHO BROUGHT THE FRESHMAN?
But let’s focus on the positive. There was a tequila-mango situation put together by Mercedez that was just a goddamned delight. I had a few of those. Margaret and I bought a magnum of rosé. I had lots of that. Wesley brought a Lambrusco. I had a glass. Some people brought beer. I had one of those. (Okay, I had two.)
More rosé… Aaaaand scene.
Those same friends that threw the roof party and I decided to head to the beach to sweat out our hangovers. I “wasn’t drinking,” but let me reiterate: It was Sunday and I was at the beach.
Some dudes were selling “ICE COLD RUM PUNCH” and since we had all gone to Jamaica earlier this year, we thought it would be a fun trip down memory lane to grab a few. I later found out the said rum punch was a dubious blend of Ciroc vodka, triple sec, pineapple juice, “fruit juice” and maybe a few Kool-Aid packets—hard to tell. We were going to all maybe just share one, but then found out they were five for $20, so, you know.