Hotel bars have been venerable drinking institutions at least as far back as the mid-1800s, when Jerry Thomas, known as “The Father of the Cocktail,” mixed his magic elixirs at the Occidental Hotel in San Francisco, and maybe even invented the precursor to the Martini there.
Nowadays, big city developers create plush, atmospheric bars that help draw both travelers and locals to luxury and boutique hotels with Vegas-style promises of escape and entertainment. In Atlanta, as elsewhere, that’s come to mean clubby settings with pricey cocktails, and sometimes DJs, roped-off VIP areas, and multimillion-dollar rooftop views.
But gonzo thoughts of Hunter S. Thompson at Circus Circus invade my brain on a recent midweek journey to five Atlanta hotel bars — traveling Peachtree, from Buckhead to Midtown to Downtown, in search of the conviviality of strangers and the creativity of bartenders.
The rules are simple (really): employ the services of a driver and companion; have one drink at each bar; maybe sample some food to keep things in perspective; see what the mind and body will endure until last call; and, of course, record tweeting-like impressions of the people, places and libations.
You Can’t Always Get What You Want
It’s nearly 7 p.m. by the time we enter the square, wood-paneled confines of the St. Regis Bar at the St. Regis Hotel in Buckhead. Happy hour has turned into a party, it seems. No recession here. Bodies are packed around the comfy men’s club-style leather couches and chairs. The imposing mural behind the bar, a Phoenix rising from the ashes, becomes the face of irony above the din of power brokers in business suits and impossibly tanned and leggy women dressed in “Real Housewives of Atlanta” couture.
Getting a drink proves to be an ordeal. Twice, our friendly, apologetically red-faced server returns to say a cocktail selection isn’t available, because the bar has run out of one of the ingredients. Finally, we settle on a Bloody Mary. An odd choice, maybe, but it’s signature drink for the St. Regis. Here, it’s called the West Paces Mary, and it comes in a tall pilsner glass, with a taller stalk of leafy yellow celery and an icy pickled green tomato garnish. Spicy and tangy, and somewhat nourishing, it isn’t bad. It’s also $12. And unlike the other tables around us, we haven’t been treated to a bowl of bar snacks. Suddenly, a gentleman in a cowboy hat, boots and a steer head bolo tie saunters by. Time to move on.
88 West Paces Ferry Road, Atlanta, 404-563-7900.
Up on the Rooftop
It’s already 8:30 p.m. at the AltoRex Rooftop Lounge, an open-air terrace located adjacent to Hotel Palomar and above Pacci Ristorante in Midtown. Darkness distantly looms above the shiny buildings and bright lights of the surrounding skyline. A breeze is blowing, and the temperature is quite comfortable. Perfect weather for sitting outdoors, though not necessarily next to the blazing fire pit. We plop into some well-cushioned patio chairs. There are cabanas and a bar that looks like a screen porch. The feel is comfortable — sort of like being at the beach or in someone’s very well-manicured back yard. But against all that, there’s an urban vibe, punctuated with music and conversation.
In keeping with the setting and the season, there are lots of tropical cocktails on the list, including a Basil Collins and an Old Havana, a take on the Old Cuban, with white rum, lime and muddled mint. Our perky server invites us to mix-and-match any of the nonalcoholic concoctions with a house-infused vodka, suggesting a Cool Breeze with a cucumber infusion. Refreshing, if a tad sweet, and $11. Pacci chef Keira Moritz has some fun, shareable stuff here, with a few Southern twists — fried dill pickles with spicy aioli, housemade potato chips with truffle salt, and deviled eggs with crab. All-in-all, it’s a relaxing time, but three more bars await.
866 West Peachtree Street N.W., Atlanta, 678-412-2402
Everything Is Illuminated
Nearly 10 p.m. at Lumen at the Ritz-Carlton Downtown, and there are still pockets of business travelers sprawled in corners, nibbling snacks, nursing drinks, and tapping away in the soft glow of their laptop screens. As it turns out, everything is illuminated here. The recently redone lobby bar looks like it got sprung from the imagination of Liberace, with opulent chandeliers, backlit liquor bottles, and long strings of sparkly beads next to the cocktail table where we’re sitting. Surprise, even the book-like menu lights up when you open it. Of course, you’re compelled to do that more than once — opening and closing, over and over — just to make sure. “It’s just like a refrigerator door,” our server offers, sidling up with a wry smile.
The drinks menu includes a selection of iced tea cocktails, such as sweet tea-infused vodka and a green tea mojito. Plus, there are “edible cocktails,” basically, gelatin creations, with names like Georgia Peach and Death by Chocolate. So it’s time to break a rule and order a beer, especially because a hoppy local favorite, Sweetwater IPA, is available, and it’s $5. Again, there’s a Southern theme to the small plate menu. Fried chicken tacos are almost overwhelmed by toppings of tasty cider-braised greens and creamy bacon vinaigrette. But the meaty oxtail and wild mushroom flatbread pizza, with arugula, oven-dried tomatoes and Fontina cheese is perfect for sharing. Well-fed and IPA-reinvigorated, we’re ready for some really serious cocktails.
181 Peachtree Street, N.E., Atlanta, 404-659-0400
Bar Chef Bliss
By 11 p.m., at Drinkshop at the W Downtown, it’s easy to find a seat at the ultramodern angled bar or a perch at one of the low-slung tables or sexy banquettes. There are two other bars here, including the salon-like Living Room, near the lobby, and Wetbar, overlooking the 16th floor outdoor pool, with stellar views of the city. But Drinkshop is the lair of bar chef extraordinaire Eric Simpkins. And while some hotel bars downplay their location, Simpkins celebrates it, introducing his cocktail menu with this declaration: “Drinkshop is a true hotel bar, as hotel bars were before ice machines, soda guns, canned juices, and pre-made mixers.”
As it turns out, Simpkins isn’t around tonight. But it doesn’t seem to matter. His attractive, well-trained minions are part of the new wave of young people who have wildly embraced the resurgence of the great American cocktail. Call them Jerry’s Kids, because Thomas would be proud of the way they mix Simpkins’ award-winning Tanqueray drink, dubbed The Art In Fizz No. 2. A lively blend of gin, Cynar (a bitter Italian artichoke liqueur), Lillet (a French wine aperitif), mint, lime and freshly made tonic, it’s served tall with a handcut spear of ice. At $13, it’s a fine example of the current state of the art of bartending. But so is a perfectly made New Orleans-style Sazerac. One of the oldest of old school cocktails, it’s delivered in all its rye whiskey, absinthe and Peychaud’s bitters glory, with a weighty ball of ice that chills but doesn’t dilute the good stuff. We really want to bask in all this aromatic wonder and keep on breaking the one drink rule. But the hour is getting late.
45 Ivan Allen Jr. Boulevard, Atlanta, 404-582-5800
Panic At the Disco
Around 12:30 a.m., we make our way onto the elevator and up to the rooftop 11 Stories at the Glenn Hotel, Downtown. Stepping out into the cool night air we’re greeted by a young man who offers, “You better hurry, it’s last call.” Oh. Panic. This could ruin the best laid plans. We bolt to the awning-covered cabana, where the bartender repeats the “last call” command, and quickly order the first thing on the menu. “Think Mojito with a ‘KICK’” is the come-on for the $10 Mexican Mule. Sadly, the combo of tequila, ginger beer, agave syrup, lime, and mint, on the rocks in a plastic cup, is really too sweet to follow a Sazerac.
No matter. The beat is on up here above the pavement, with a penthouse view and a couple of DJs trading clever mash-ups of pop, rock and dance tunes. One guy, with the word “punk” printed across the backside of his designer jeans, does a jerky dance with himself, while his friends look on and laugh. It’s a long way from the St. Regis, in time, distance and attitude. And looking out over the elegant expanse of glittering lights that stretch back to Buckhead and beyond, we feel satisfied. It’s time to go home and get some sleep.
110 Marietta Street N.W. Atlanta, 404-521-2250
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