Slouching Towards Euphoria: The Alembic

After seeing a noisy pop rock band, called the Noisettes, at Amoeba Records in the Haight, my friends and I stopped off at a bar called The Alembic. It occupies a space that was a taqueria, now it is a high church to good spirits.

It’s interior resembles a roadhouse, a very clean roadhouse, a roadhouse where the drinks start at six bucks and head up from there. Little alembics line the shelves, along with cocktail books and pictures of pipes and kilns. The ceiling is covered in brass with two fans that languidly rotate. The tables and the floor are distressed wood. I tried to comfort it, but to no avail. They have a chalkboard that is held up by ropes and a pulley. The board lists the extraordinary amount of fine booze they sell. The bathrooms are sparkling clean and they have rolled cloth towels. The place is a mixture of down home and decadent.

I was told that the owners also own the fine hippie brewery, Magnolia’s down the street, so it is no surprise they carry Magnolia’s excellent craft brewed beer on tap. They carry other top notch beer also, including a great Belgium beer selection. Don’t ask for Bud or Coors here, fool. To my pleasure, they carry the most gin I’ve seen anywhere. I tried the Dutch gin called, Boomsma Oude. I had it in a martini, which was a mistake. Boomsma Oude is aged in oak barrels, which gives it a smooth and earthy taste. Smooth is good for martinis, earthy is not. This would be excellent in a highball glass.

The real pleasure in Alembic is the choice of bourbons. Bourbon is very trendy right now, but not in a lemon-flavored way. The Alembic has dozens of aged bourbons. I had a drink, I’ve never tried before: the Mint Julep. Outside the bar, they had a small chalkboard with a quotation of Hunter Thompson regarding the Mint Julep. I wish I wrote down the quotation, but if Hunter recommends it, I’ve got to try it. I assume he has sent many a pious person down the treachery slopes to hell.

A Mint Julep at The Alembic is made with mint, sugar, 12-year old bourbon and "brutally crushed ice." They are not kidding about the brutality. The bartender put the ice in a canvas bag and beat it with a stick. The drink is served in a silver cup. The cup frosted over. It was a hot night, a rare hot night in San Francisco, and I wanted to say in my worst Southern accent, would y’all like ‘nother Julep to fight the vapors with?

I admit it: I love this bar. I highly recommend you check it out.