Click here for Part One of the Chartreuse Competition: Arrival
Click here for Part Two of the Chartreuse Competition: Chorus
Part Three: Clash
Finally, after an hour of schmoozing, the nitty-gritty falls down the cracks into the Doheny, and the first Sweet Sixteen Chartreuse Cocktail Competition commences. The judges are Joe Keeper, owner of the Bar Keeper in Silver Lake, Carolynn Spence, chef at Chateau Marmont, and Betty Hallock of the Los Angeles Times, whose original article turned me onto the Sporting Life. They’ll be sitting behind the black curtain, tasting 30 brand new Chartreuse cocktails crafted by experts. If only my liver could be so lucky.
Each contender has one minute to prep and five minutes to mix their drink and place it on a tray with their randomly chosen lot number. Close up mugshots of each entry are taken. Marcos brings the creations to the judges, and, after they slur their preferred number, he returns the last of the libations to the masses, announces the winner, and we scrum to dip our little black straws into the remains like teenage girls fighting for sweat drops at a Robert Pattinson-introduced Jonas Brothers concert.
What follows is an hour and a half of muddling, mushing, mixing, stirring, shaking, straining, pouring, peeling, dipping, sniffing, sampling, slicing, splashing, juicing, cracking, separating, drizzling, alighting, swirling, swapping, spritzing, coating, topping, garnishing, clapping, backslapping, congratulating and applauding. I did not hear nor see any swearing, cussing, complaining, crying, punching, pouting, or instant replay challenging. No one scratched, no one started over.
Samples of Green Chartreuse are passed around in thimble-sized glasses; if you haven’t tried it before, it’s like a cleaner, lighter, and, in my opinion, better version of absinthe. There’s definitely an herbal component to it, but sans the strong anise (black licorice) aftertaste, and still possessing the high-proof content of the Green Fairy. Ironically, Green Chartreuse is the only liquor with a completely natural color, yet doesn’t get the artistic attachment to a fantastical woodland creature.
I feel no guilt asking Steve Lavigni for a sip of Yellow Chartreuse, which I haven’t had until now. It’s sweeter, seems to have a higher viscosity, but slightly weaker in the attitude-adjusting department—after all, it’s “only” 80 proof.
I’m entranced by the motions of each bartender, for although they perform the same actions, there’s as much variation in their approach as there is to a horn player on a jazz standard. Some nervously hurry to squeeze more ingredients into the concoction, others sit back and wait until the last second for ultimate freshness. One contestant jots notes into a black moleskine between rounds, planning out his next recipe in detail while another stands palms out at the bar for a few seconds, channeling the muse of instant inspiration. And no two cocktail shakes are the same.
The crowd whoops and hollers, which chases away the twinge of voyeurism I feel as I watch artists enter “the zone.” I’m inches away from the action, unperturbed by the wayward splashes but surprised to see more than one pair of players' fingers quavering as they set their liquid love on the tray or measure out the requisite quarter-ounce or more of Chartreuse. They may be the best in the city, but they’re still human, and having your work judged by peers demands a certain cocksure swagger. When finished, most of the dueling duos sample one another’s attempt, sometimes stone-faced as to their verdict, other times leaking a grin of expected victory. The judges see none of this.
Christina (from Rivera) sets fire to a sage sprig in the glass, douses it with some crushed ice, and strains the mixture in, creating a sweet Chartreuse-scented smoke plume. She makes it to the next round, but the best looking cocktails don’t necessarily advance.
Steve cranks the music up and the Stooges entwine the group, heads banging to the beat, shakers rattling with ice blocks like metal maracas. Everything gets louder and for the life of me I can’t stop smiling.
I notice Eric (Varnish) resets his station when finished, methodically aligning the bottle labels, wiping the metal gutter. However, he doesn’t make it past the first round, to my flavor receptors' surprise. I’m impressed that most of the drinks are dissimilar, some shouting their individuality, only a scant few mumbling their hello to the world.
Now we're down to the Final Four.
Correction: In a previous version of this article, Carolynn Spence's name was misspelled, and she was incorrectly referred to as the "former chef at Chateau Marmont." She is the current chef there.
Click here for Part Four of the Chartreuse Competition: Resolution
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