IF YOU’RE STROLLING IN NEW YORK CITY and find yourself getting thirsty, duck into the Carlyle Hotel at Madison Avenue and 76th Street and ask mixologist Tommy Rowles to whip you up a Bemelmans Barter. More than just a smooth blend of cognac, curaçao, pineapple juice, bitters, and nutmeg, it is history in a glass. The drink celebrates the cheekiness of artist Ludwig Bemelmans, who back in 1947 told the hotel’s owner that he would paint a massive, whimsical mural of Central Park on the walls of the Carlyle Bar in exchange for gratis accommodations for his family for a year and a half.
Bemelmans, a raconteur and onetime restaurateur and hotelier, had given up the high life to pursue his passion in the pages of The New Yorker, Vogue, and Town and Country and as the creator of the Madeline series of children’s books, but he wanted a bigger canvas. The Carlyle’s owner, a tycoon named Robert Dowling, accepted the bold offer, and Bemelmans whipped out his paintbrushes. Somehow, he also wound up with his name on the bar.
It’s still there, and so are his murals, which were meticulously restored a few years ago. Today, Bemelmans Bar (212.744.1600. thecarlyle.com) is, in my opinion, the last bastion of civilized cocktailing in Manhattan. Never mind that it is the saloon sibling to Café Carlyle, home for 37 years to the late, legendary Bobby Short and the site where he recorded his toe-tapping classic Songs of New York — Bemelmans has its own personality. Even now, it remains a half century behind the times, recalling an era when life was simpler and the tempo slower, when you could settle in and enjoy a conversation, a piano rendition of, say, “Penthouse Serenade,” and a drink artfully made by an unhurried bartender.
Tommy Rowles has no reason to rush. Handsome, with a killer smile and droll wit, he has crafted cocktails here for 48 years straight. When Rowles first suited up in his barman’s jacket, Eisenhower was president and women were not allowed to sit at the bar unescorted by a gentleman. While that “tradition” has mercifully gone out the window, not much else has changed. Bemelmans cocktails are served filled to the brim, with a separate full caddy buried in a small iced sterling silver bowl.
Rowles, who’s poured drinks for three decades of presidents, is a throwback to the old school. There’s an oft-told story of how he found Harry Truman, a lifelong bourbon drinker, at the bar one day ordering an Old Grand Dad on the rocks. As the story goes, Rowles, who fancies beer over booze, told the former president he personally could never stomach the stiff whiskey. Truman, nodding toward the mob of reporters outside, said, “If you had to walk 15 blocks with those guys following you, you’d drink this too.”
Bemelmans doesn’t play games with its drinks. Order a house cocktail and it will be made with the likes of Beefeater Gin or Smirnoff Vodka. What’s more, Rowles and the other Bemelmans barmen can make all the drinks of yesteryear — the Rob Roy, the tasty but long forgotten Rusty Nail (Scotch and Drambuie), and the Gibson, among others.
Still, Bemelmans isn’t mired in fustiness. Former bar manager Guillermo Guevara created a lineup of cocktails that bridges the generations. The Chardotini, for example, is new to me — chardonnay, grape-based French Ciroc vodka, and peach schnapps. The Gin-Gin Mule combines dry London gin with ginger beer, muddled mint, fresh lime juice, and simple syrup.
The Old Cuban is Bemelmans’ take on the
newly hip mojito: aged rum, muddled mint, fresh
lime juice, bitters and, of course, champagne.
There’s also an authentic pisco sour fashioned out of pisco brandy, lemon juice, an egg white, simple syrup, and a few dashes of Angostura bitters. I’ll bet nine out of 10 über-cool bartenders couldn’t make a pisco sour from memory if their lives depended on it.
The Bemelmans menu has plenty of tasty dishes to sate your hunger as you quench your thirst. The old standby, a triple-decker club sandwich, is piled high with bacon, turkey, avocado, and egg salad, for $19. There’s a hefty lobster club for $30, a whopping 9-ounce Black Angus beef burger for $23, or a plate of mini-burgers for $15. A fresh seafood cart is laden with a selection of caviars, oysters, and clams.
While you sample the culinary creativity, you can take in the sounds of Chris Gillespie, who sits at the piano every Tuesday through Saturday from 5:30 to 8:30 p.m. Get there early — by 6:30, the place is packed with stressed-out New York moguls in training trying to decompress before catching the 8:02 to Darien. From 9:30 p.m. to midnight, the young and the restless flood in after dinner to capture a bygone era, listen to the Loston Harris Trio, and tip the Roederer Brut at $21 a flute. New York’s new smart set thinks nothing of paying the $20–$25 per head cover charge. After all, sophistication does not come at a bargain price.
Meantime, Rowles has his faithful worldwide. Jill and Ron Lovatt, who own a large real estate company in stylish Monarch Beach, Calif., say they make a cross-country pilgrimage every year to Bemelmans to have a drink with Rowles. “This is our favorite bar,” says Jill. “Just look how cold and clear this vodka martini is. It’s perfect.”
— Chris Barnett
