I’m not a fan of definitive lists that classify restaurants from No. 1 to 10 — even to 100 for that matter. What I do find useful is a guide à la Michelin, or a seasoned blogger who lets me know when an establishment delivers something extra special. When restaurants or bars reach that world-class level, assigning them a rank is largely a matter of personal taste.
I’ve spent my adult life seeking out these gastronomic thrills from Napa Valley to Buenos Aires to Santorini. Each experience is firmly etched in my memory for the one-of-a-kind qualities of the food, wine, service, decor, scenery and local color. I don’t need to rank them to appreciate the depth of craft and creativity that those passionate souls devoting their lives to bringing us culinary joy exhibit.
But I must admit I was intrigued recently when I came across an email on my iPad informing me that the Savoy Hotel’s posh American Bar was chosen as The World’s Best Bar for 2017. Although my schedule in London is full, I realize this is an opportunity I can’t pass up.
London, of course, as one of the world’s great cities, is full of luxurious, upscale rooms that might vie to be included on such an exclusive lineup. But the Savoy is one of the most iconic addresses in town on the Strand — adjacent to the Savoy Theater made famous by the quintessentially British sensibilities of Gilbert and Sullivan, whose operettas were as acclaimed in the last quarter of the 19th century as Hamilton is today.
The building is another Art Deco wonder with a circular drive around a fountain that’s regularly filled with Rolls-Royces and Bentleys as doormen in top hats welcome well-heeled clientele. As you enter the splendid lobby and bound up the stairs on your left, there’s a white backlit sign announcing “American Bar” in all caps and text that smack of the 1930s. The elegant room has tables and plush chairs throughout an area that houses a tuxedoed pianist doing his best Noel Coward imitation.
I land in the back at the mirrored bar and plop onto a plush, square, low-backed leather stool, where I come face to face with head bartender Erik Lorincz. He cuts a striking figure in a crisp white shirt, white jacket trimmed in black piping, and black four-in-hand tie. It’s a throwback look; I fully expect Fred Astaire to end up beside me.
To my right is the ultimate temptation: a silver bowl moist and sparkling with tiny droplets and ice engulfing seven bottles of prestige Champagne. This is my weakness, but I did come for a cocktail, so I turn away.
The bar’s main snacks are limited to cheese or charcuterie, and I opt for the later. Lorincz suggests a good, refreshing match would be a drink called St. Lawrence Lime Tree. In typically English manner, it’s named in honor of a famed tree around which the cricket ground in Canterbury was built in 1847, as opposed to chopping it down.
Creating the cocktail is quite a show. First, he places in front of me what appears to be a faceted pentagonal terrarium of clear glass, held in place by thin strips of black metal. The five top triangles come together at a peak linked to a small, round brass knob. It’s filled with an array of fresh, large coriander leaves surrounding a shiny coaster.
He places a disassembled cocktail shaker along the inside edge of the bar on top of a white linen cloth. Next, expertly maneuvering a two-sided jigger, he fills the shaker with shots of Cocchi Americano aperitif wine, apple verjuice and Tanqueray No. Ten.
Holding a large piece of crystalline ice the size of his hand, he then hacks away like some martial arts wizard, expertly slashing it down to cubes that fit perfectly when transferred to a tall glass. This is the first time I’ve seen artisanal ice cubes cut before my eyes. The process evokes what is surely a dying art from an earlier time.
He adds several fresh coriander leaves to the shaker, and, with a nod to modern technology, mixes it up with an immersion blender. In goes a scoop of ice cubes before the container is reassembled for an intense two-handed shake — in profile — worthy of a flamenco dancer. All that’s missing in an olé.
However, we’re not yet done. Lorincz pops the cap, inverting the shaker into a fine-mesh conical strainer as I watch the prettiest soft green liquid fill my glass. Finally, he carefully tops the drink with a touch of soda from a bottle and very delicately gives a gentle stir with the flick of his wrist using a long, twisted sterling silver cocktail spoon.
In no time, the terrarium top is whisked away and my first St. Lawrence Lime Tree takes its place, nestled among the leaves on the coaster. The cocktail is beautiful — and, as promised, surprisingly refreshing. Its flavors pair well with the splendid charcuterie platter garnished with cornichon and the tiniest of pristine pearl onions.
I leave impressed. Lorincz, who shares that he’s been at the American Bar for seven years, has an old-school artistry that is a calling. He’s part of a new generation of craftspeople carrying on traditions passed down from previous masters — some of whom tended this very bar for 35 years. With that kind of commitment, you can rest assured that this place will remain high on any list for years to come.
Editor’s note: Postcards is an ongoing series in which CL’s food critic shares his culinary adventures outside Tampa Bay.
This article appears in Nov 9-16, 2017.
