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Spirited: Ice, Ice Baby

  • Writer: boxton9
    boxton9
  • Dec 23, 2022
  • 2 min read

It's Time to Fetishize Ice


Westchester Magazine, May 2014


Spirited was a monthly column that I wrote for several years that covered the bev scene—brewers, distillers, cocktails, wine lists. If it was drinkable, I covered it. Some examples of this column are still online at westchestermagazine.com, but the titles have been changed from the print version for SEO.





Sitting recently at The Breslin bar in New York City (waiting for my Manhattan), I was transfixed by the sight of my bartender as she tailored each ice cube to each glass. Holding a large cube in her left hand, she deftly flipped her long, spiral-necked barspoon in her right hand and used its spoon tip as though it were a long-handled mallet. Whack! Whack! The ice flakes flew as she turned the cube in her hand, sculpting each facet. When her gemlike creation was perfect and light glinted off the flat facets just so, she’d drop the ice into a glass and continue to make the drink. I have to admit that I wanted to inform the recipient of that drink—whose back was to the bar during this whole process—how special this cube was and that he should pause to admire it.

With the advent of mixology and the fetishization of all things bar, it was only a matter of time before ice enjoyed its own moment in the sun. First came the monolith. You’ve seen these cubes: They are perfect two-inch cubes that barely fit into the mouths of rocks glasses. At the risk of sounding like a fanatic, I’ll assert that the Big Cube signaled a revolution; no longer were cocktails marred by the rapidly slushy, vaguely chlorine-tasting produce of ice machines. Besides looking so fabulous, the Big Cube made aesthetic sense—with smaller surface area paired with large cooling power, they preserved the cocktail’s integrity by chilling it with minimal dilution.


Faddishness being what it is, the Big Cube was soon joined by its more spectacular, more elite cousin, the Big Sphere. It’s a showstopper, a veritable Spaldeen of ice that offers several advantages over the cube. First, its rounded, fluid dynamic contours mean that it’s easy to sip around; no more awkwardly trying to suck your drink from around the unyielding, Modernist edges of a Big Cube. Plus—because the Big Sphere is a pain in the neck to make (requiring a multi-part mold and loads of time)—it is a rarity on the scene and therefore signals laudable mixological commitment.


But now, as summer approaches, there is a new cube on the scene: it’s a perfectly clear, perfectly sharp-edged, one-inch cube. These stack, one over the other, in tall, narrow Zombie glasses to descend through a drink’s center like a crystalline daisy chain. Happily, you can make all of these cubes at home. Look for the one-inch, two-inch, and spherical silicone ice trays by ICI Tovolo at Chef Central (419 Tarrytown Rd, White Plains 914-328-1376; www.chefcentral.com).


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About Me

I Was Supposed to Go to Grad School

Growing up in a large, loud family of 7, they use to call me “Pass Me The, Pass Me The” for the way that I’d try to doctor my dinner with whatever condiments were on hand. At about 8 or 9, I gave up on condiments and took control of dinner entirely, cooking out of a beat-up copy of The New York Times Cookbook that I still own, my little penciled-in annotations intact. I cooked for 7 people nightly, all throughout high school. By the time I was winding up college, I’d become a damn fine cook.

 

My father was a professor of American History. I figured I’d follow in those footsteps, teaching Dickens to 18-year-olds who were not at all interested. I gathered applications to doctorate programs, meanwhile, I took a job as a waiter in a busy catering company. The kitchen where I worked was perpetually understaffed—my cooking skills were quickly identified and I was press-ganged onto their crew. I LOVED it—the excitement, the creativity, the freedom, the trench humor, learning professional cooking techniques. There I stayed for several years while my graduate school applications gathered dust.

 

Cue me, later, a refugee from a crash-and-burn restaurant opening where I was not only the sous-chef, but also the loan application writer and babysitter for a chef/owner who had gone spectacularly off the rails. By then, I had a couple of herniated discs and no desire to stay in restaurants. I moved back to the world of words, and I’ve never looked back. 

 

Since then, I’ve been a restaurant critic, a national award-winning blogger, a food journalist, a travel writer, a columnist, a cookbook author, and the editor-in-chief of four Edible titles. I can’t wait to see what's next.

 

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