Friday, January 18, 2013

Drink: Jack Rose, America's biggest (best?) whiskey bar

Appropriately, it’s in the nation’s capital – in scruffy, forever interesting Adams-Morgan: long granite bar, towering shelves of spirits, notably bourbon and scotch (including the world’s peatiest single malt, Bruichladdich’s Octomore 5.1), a drinks menu longer than both your arms and legs, with labels ringing bells for more than a century. Portions come in 1- and 2-ounce shots, many from arcane bottles reached with the aid of old library ladders; bartenders are knowledgeable, the clientele mellow (how could it not be?), the founder a self-confessed elbow-bender and former performance poet, Harvey Fry, whose long white beard, mariner’s gaze, bandana, overalls, and bottomless trove of whiskey knowledge pleasantly enable and entertain.

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