Bad Samaritans | The Spectator

Saintly succor

Since you’ll likely be reading this with what Wallace Stevens called “a mind of winter” (needful “to regard the frost and the boughs of the pine trees crusted with snow;... to behold the junipers shagged with ice, the spruces rough in the distant glitter of the January sun”), I thought I would provide something warming to conjure with. I am eventually going to get to one of the world’s most spectacular wines, Château Cheval Blanc, a premier grand crus classé from St. Emilion, but first let’s indulge in a bit of lore. A friend introduced me to Michael Foley’s Drinking with the Saints: The Sinner’s Guide to a Holy Happy Hour (Regnery), a Catholic-heavy but light-hearted topper’s fasti.

Rich Cromwell

The thrill of bourbon collecting is in the chase

There was once a time when a man would find a bourbon he liked and stick with it. Today, that is no longer sufficient. To enjoy bourbon, one must dive into the depths of bourbon hunting, scouring liquor stores for hard-to-come-by bottles, making friends with the staff so they’ll pull out one of the bottles from the secret stash and joining various social media groups in which fellow members share their tips and finds. My passion for actual bottle-hunting was short-lived, however. It takes too much time and effort and when opportunity costs are factored in, I’d rather pay a little over store price to those who are willing to go stand in line at 7:30 a.m. on a Tuesday morning waiting on the store’s latest shipment.

Sean Thomas

Buried treasures of the Broadmoor

There are many reasons to visit the magnificently storied and illustrious Broadmoor Hotel, in the Rocky Mountain resort town of Colorado Springs. It has a glamorously luxe and gleaming spa. They will do you a superb dry martini with its own cute little carafe. Prince Harry once nipped into this pink-stone Italianate palace for a cheeky pint. But it’s the fantastical history of the Broadmoor that really compels, and which also tells us something possibly rather important about the relationship between politics and alcohol. The owner-founder of the Broadmoor was a failed-at-Harvard bon viveur by the name of Spencer Penrose.

Chadwick Moore

The comfort of drinking at Lucy’s

Since I became a Republican, it seems my friends only want to drink at private clubs overlooking Central Park, where men are required to wear jackets and something called “slacks,” and the fur-clad old ladies have hairdos best described as architectural. I’ve never felt comfortable in these places and prefer the company of another old lady, the dowager of downtown and empress of the East Village: Ludwika “Lucy” Mickevicius. When I first started going to Lucy’s, she’d still let you smoke inside, if she liked you, and today the drop ceiling remains stained a hearty beef-stew brown, reminding you of freer, more reckless times.

Philip Patrick

Japanese food is overrated

After twenty-three years in Japan, I have concluded that the much-lauded, worshipped even, cuisine is overrated. And I am getting a little tired of being told how awe-inspiringly wonderful Japanese food is, often by people whose only experience is high-end sushi or designer tempura in a showpiece Tribeca eatery, a world away from the standard fare available on the backstreets of Shibuya. Part of the problem is that much of what delights the Japanese about their food is unrelated to its actual taste.

Food & Drink