True Originals
Two great mysteries that have long puzzled students of libational history are “How many of the numerous Harry’s Bars around the world are authentic?” and “What was Ernest Hemingway’s favorite cocktail?” Although these questions are hardly as vexing as the complexities of The Da Vinci Code, the answers are to be found in Paris, and searching for them can be an unforgettable adventure.
While Harry’s Bar in Venice — a rude, overpriced tourist trap — has long passed itself off as the original, Harry’s New York Bar (above) at 5 rue Daunou in Paris (harrys-bar.fr; 142.61.71.14) holds that distinction — and many others. It claims to be the oldest cocktail bar in Europe. I can’t prove it, but this much is fact: former jockey Tod Sloan convinced a New York saloon owner named Clancey to dismantle his barroom, ship it to Paris, and open the New York Bar on this very spot, where a bistro once stood. Sloan recruited Harry MacElhone, a Scot from Dundee with a reputation as a great bartender, to work the plank, and opened on Thanksgiving Day 1911. The bar was a smashing success and became a hangout for the racing crowd and, later, wartime ambulance drivers. MacElhone went to New York a year after the opening to tend bar at the Plaza Hotel, but returned to Paris in 1923, bought the bar, and put his name above the door.
The rest is verifiable history. George Gershwin composed much of his “An American in Paris” at the piano in the Downstairs Room. An often morose F. Scott Fitzgerald sucked down dry martinis with other budding American literati who dubbed themselves the Lost Generation. Hemingway, by then a freelance magazine journalist after covering WWI for the Kansas City Star, blustered into Harry’s after amateur boxing bouts to gloat or to lick his wounds. In 1924, MacElhone and a raconteur named O.O. Macintyre formed the International Bar Flies, celebrating the joys of serious cocktailing; today, there are roughly 134 chapters worldwide, known as “Fly Traps,” and membership stands at 50 euros ($63).
Harry’s “Original”
Bloody Mary
Two ounces Wyborowa Polish vodka, drop of lemon juice, dash of salt, pepper, and Lea and Perrins Worcestershire sauce, and filled with tomato juice. No garnish.
My first visit to Harry’s New York Bar, in the late 1970s, is seared in my memory. It was almost empty on a Saturday afternoon except for a delightful couple in their early 80s — an Irish poet with deep blue eyes and his girlfriend of 45 years — who regaled me with the history of Harry’s Bar. “Yes, I remember drinking with Hem,” said the poet. “He drank gin or Bloody Marys. Couldn’t hold his liquor. He’d get mean.” I’ve heard that before. But Harry’s, a cozy, woodsy storefront saloon that glows in that Paris bistro sort of way, was a welcoming haunt then for expats and the curious, and it remains so today. English is spoken fluently, the American hot dog is the star of the menu, and jazz piano is still live downstairs.
In a recent conversation, Alan DaSilva, who manages the bar for MacElhone’s heirs, tells me a mix-ologist named Fernand Petiot invented the Bloody Mary right here 85 years ago; it now fetches $14.40. Harry’s is also the birthplace of other classic cocktails, including the French 75, the Sidecar, and the White Lady. Also popular (and tasty) is the Blue Lagoon for Two: vodka, grapefruit juice, and blue curaçao, served tall at $15. But Harry’s isn’t a slave to the past — it also offers inventive drinks such as the Web Spirit, crafted in honor of the bar’s Internet site: mezcal, cranberry juice, lemon juice, and peach liqueur.
While you enjoy your cocktails, don’t be tempted to take home any souvenirs from Hemingway’s days. Staffers are on permanent high alert ever since someone walked off with a barstool engraved with Hemingway’s name, a gift from Harry. Instead, give your-self an unforgettable gift — a drink made by Colin Field, head barman at Bar Hemingway in the Ritz Hotel in Paris (ritzparis.com; 143.16.33.65). The bar, which feels more like an exquisite drawing room in a private home, is tastefully appointed with historic photographs, sculptures, and fine crystal. It’s been hailed — by regulars, not press agents — as the finest bar in the world, and it has the drinks and barman to match. Field was named “Greatest Bartender in the World” by Forbes in 2001. The Englishman is witty, as smooth as 50-year-old cognac, a great storyteller, and the perfect host. He often introduces total strangers — and entire tables of guests — to one another.
Field’s signature Picasso Martini is made with Tanqueray No. Ten, which he deems the best of all English-style gins, and a small frozen cube of Noilly Pratt vermouth. “Picasso, cubism, you get the idea,” he says dryly. The genius of a great barman is the simple marriage of tastes and flavors. Field proves his prowess with his Cider Ritz, a blend of apple juice and champagne, or the Kashenka, a mating of Polish vodka and strawberries. You’ll pay dearly for these — $29 at the current exchange rate — but when amortized over a lifetime of memories, the steep price of this rare experience is soon forgotten.
Never to be forgotten, though, is Hemingway’s army of rascals and revelers who rolled back into Paris on August 25, 1944, when the Axis powers surrendered to the Allies, and “liberated” the Ritz Hotel from German rule by swigging champagne in the Little Bar, which now, fittingly, bears Hemingway’s name. They had liberated other bars that day, and were said to be pretty toasted by the time they stormed the Ritz. Thus, the answer to the burning question of the literary lion’s libation of choice: he had no favorite. His taste buds were democratic, and he’d enjoy everything from dry gin martinis, Bloody Marys, and champagne to beer, daiquiris, mojitos, and the “green fairy” known as absinthe. But don’t try to order absinthe from Colin Field — it’s now outlawed in most of the world.
— Chris Barnett
