Anton's at The Swan

Roll over Beethoven.

And then we decided to have a bar crawl of sorts of Lambertville/New Hope. Not that big of a deal - it goes with the territory. I feel like day drinking and bar crawling are sport-like in these towns, and part of the charm. But on this night, knowing that we needed to work in a swing through one of Philadelphia Magazine's 85 Best Bars while at the same time visiting friends at other bars, the progression of our night wound up having the same effect as a good strong case of whiplash. We decided to stop by Anton's at the Swan for a few cocktails.

Here's what Philly Mag has to say about it: Like partying at some musty old English manor house, but down the back stairs, with the servants.

Anton's at the Swan is a little old, and yes, musty, spot  in  Lambertville, NJ, possibly the edgiest adorably-quaint-village ever, tucked away on the Delaware River across from adorably touristy, but still cool, New Hope, on the Bucks County side. For such small little postage stamps of towns, they both pack a punch in terms of night life and fun. Lambertville is the locals-only brother to the happily queer, charmingly boozy, touristy sister town, New Hope. The bars range from dirty and skanky to storied and haunted to quirky and bizarre on both sides of the river.

Anton's is in the quirky and bizarre category. The sister haunt (at least decor-wise) of another of Philly Mag's top 85, the Boat House, I'd say that if these two places were members of a family, the Boat House would be the cranky and colorful great aunt who smells of mothballs and stale smoke but with whom you still love to have a drink and Anton's is the colorful, but less cranky, more intellectual uncle who will talk your ear off about the election of 58 and Hemingway's cats all in one shot.

Like the Boat House, it's covered wall-to-wall in photograph memorabilia. Magazine covers, old advertisements, and other bizarre historical tidbits, there is hardly a 6 inch span of wall free in any part of Anton's. See above for a shot of the inside of the stall in the ladies room. Seriously, the whole place is covered.

The bar is old and heavy and the bartender appears to have been working there since the doors opened. He makes a mean martini (this is what I always order when I get a bartender like him in a bar like this - they somehow always know how to mix a perfect martini.) He makes an even better Manhattan, which is what my trusty side kick, Ian, ordered. It was the smoothest Manhattan I've ever had - and I've sipped a lot. It's Ian's cocktail of choice.

The crowd was mixed between locals and sort-of locals from NYC and Philly, and maybe one tourist couple, who I'm only calling tourists because they were wearing what appeared to be gym clothes but had clearly not been exercising at any point that day. It was a good cocktail in a pretty cool spot. I'll go back - but sandwiched between visits to the Inn of the Hawke before and after, it certainly was a stark change of pace.

My arbitrarily assigned grade for Anton's at the Swan is a B. Quirky for days, which I love, great cocktails made by an experienced gentleman, but kind of a trek if you're not in Lambertville/New Hope anyway. Still, you should go out there for a night of weird fun, trust me.

Grace Tavern

Grace is the word. 

I'm totally biased toward Grace Tavern, one of Philadelphia Magazine's top spots to get a drink. A spot listed within the "Craft Beer" section of the list, (though it would easily fit in the "Neighborhood Bar" section)  I can confirm that it is definitely a neighborhood favorite because I live around the corner. A hole in the wall that sits catty corner to South Street on the very end of Gray's Ferry Ave, it's a simple spot to get a great burger, seriously weird and delicious green beans, and to choose from an always exciting craft beer selection.

Here's Philadelphia Magazine's take on Grace: With a great beer list and a full menu served till 2 a.m. (which means frites and sausages right up until last call), Grace is the neighborhood bar you wish was in your neighborhood. It might also be the only place in town that makes us excited to eat green beans.

Because Grace is one of my favorite neighborhood bars, I have seen how it looks it with its make up on, after it just rolled out of bed, when it was grumpy to have company over it did not particularly like, and everything in between. In the case of the company? Saint Patrick's Day crowd. My boyfriend, Ian, and I decided to stroll over to Grace for a beer on St Patrick's Day because we felt sure that Grace was safe from four leaf clover alien antennas and flashing Bud Lite lapel pins. We were wrong. And the bartenders, though clearly silently irritated with the influx of non-neighborhood, hammered, and bedazzled patrons, were very welcoming to us after we told them we were had just moved into the neighborhood. So just act cool and don't try it out on St. Patrick's day, for goodness sakes.

I've seen Grace on an average every day and night, both weekend and weekday, and it's typically busy but not crowded, and there are certainly no bells and whistles when it comes to this place. In the case of the bathrooms, it's more like there are no wheels and breaks to the place if we're staying with the locomotive analogy. Ladies, I hope you don't mind staring into a urinal whilst using the bathroom, because your face will be less than a foot from one here. But it's worth it because the beer selection is out of this world. The bartenders know what they're talking about and are always happy to offer a taste before you commit. When I moved to Philadelphia, I discovered a lot of the local breweries at Grace. I had my first Yards beer at Grace, in fact. The burgers are as good as everyone says they are - really. And the blackened green beans, while the weirdest thing I've had at a divey bar, are also definitely one of the best things about eating at Grace. I've never been this excited by eating something that tasted like burnt grill bits, but somehow here it's delicious.

I've also strolled in with a friend from out of town to have a drink in the middle of the day. I got to know the bartenders and found that they're offbeat, funny, and nice. And you know how I know for sure that this is a  neighborhood bar? I ran into one of the bar backs at  7-11 the other day and had a little catch up session about my last trip in.

Grace Tavern is a solid bar with solid food and beer. I always get exactly what the bartender recommends for me - something in a stout or a white beer, and whatever is seasonal. I always have a nice time, and if you just want a bar to go have a drink without any fuss, take the trip over to Center City West/Fitler Square/Graduate Hospital (depending on who you're talking to) and try it out. Yeah, it's dark and dirtyish, and rough around the edges, but I think that's exactly how its meant to be.

Arbitrarily assigned grade: Solid B. Lots of points thanks to a great beer menu & good food. Letter taken off for how close my face has to get to a urinal when using the bathroom.

Ranstead Room

Sex & Candy. And amazing cocktails.

The Ranstead Room shot to the top of my priorities list quickly when organizing the list of Philly Mag’s 85 best bars. This was based mostly on my understanding that it was a speakeasy sort of a place. I didn’t know much else about it, including the fact that it was a Starr spot. And if that makes me sound like I’m out of touch, forget not, darlings: I’m new to town. I also know that I have more of the same in store at Franklin Mortgage and Southwark, but come with me on my new-to-town journey. How often does anyone blog the Philly food and drink scene with totally fresh eyes? I went to Ranstead Room during the most jolly of seasons, the work holiday party season. It’s that magical time when companies all over town treat their employees to a rare open bar on a weeknight, and employees then scatter to continue drinking off the company dime, but with no chaperons. My boyfriend, Ian, met me at Tria after his company holiday party, and we then carried on to Ranstead Room, and well, we were pretty jolly and bright by the time we turned the corner onto the dark alleyway that is Ranstead street between 20th and 21st and found the only door that leads to something other than the back of a store. The only indication that it is anything other than the back of a store is the red RR that marks the door. Beyond that door is a small entryway that could be an out of service elevator shaft as much as the entrance to a cocktail bar.

…But before I go on, let’s first check out what Philadelphia Magazine wrote about Ranstead Room: Think of it as a grittier, more authentic backup when you can’t get into Franklin Mortgage. A perfect makeout bar because it’s pitch-black and has pictures of boobs everywhere—plus, the craft cocktails are delicious and will knock you flat.

Yep. We walked in and found immediate sensory overload. Red! Velvet! Leather! Boooooobies! Okay, it’s not the circus I’m describing. There’s a pretty serious, heavy vibe once you enter. It’s quiet, but not library-quiet. No, it's grown-up quiet, the quiet of people who take their drinking seriously and are here to socialize as much as they are to take a purposeful dive into a creative and extraordinarily well executed cocktail menu.

We took a spot at the bar a few seats down from a group of suits, whose happy hour had apparently extended into happy hours. Big, comfy red leather bar stools face a huge, sturdy wooden bar lined with bowls of fresh fruit garnishes instead of sad tubs of pre-cut lemons, limes and maraschino cherries you usually see within the bartender’s reach. Instead, bowls of oranges, pomegranates, a variety of herbs, and spices and jars of fresh juice lined the bar. This was starting to get exciting fast.

Our bartender, Alisha, came over and talked us through some points of interest the menu, including an awkward exchange about the New York Flip, a result of me trying to explain my new fear of egg flips and fizzes after my unfortunate gin fizz experience at the Farmer's Cabinet a few weeks back. She promised me that my fizz wouldn’t arrive in solid form, and I trusted her because frankly, I could immediately tell this girl knew her way around a cocktail menu. While she was shaking (seriously, she surely has a shake weight at home with the caliber of fizz-shaking-skills she brought to the table) we chatted, and she realized she had cocktail enthusiasts on her hands, which seemed to excite her, which got me all excited, and so from this moment forward, I was in tipsy, excited, cocktail heaven. And as a heads up to you other mixology lovers, she mentioned what sounds like a really rad event held at Le Bec Fin on Thursday nights focusing on teaching the ins and outs of making cocktails the proper way. (I’ll definitely be going to one, and writing about it later.)

After lots of careful mixing and shaking, my New York Flip was ready. Nutmeggy, eggy deliciousness, my friends. With bourbon, port and obviously egg yolk, it’s foamy and thick on top, but still creamy and drinkable, and has a cool, rich body. It would be the perfect cocktail on a snowy day. 

My boyfriend had a more refreshing, maybe even out of season if I do say so, cocktail of gin, lime, cucumber, and mint, called the Eastsider. A bright, tart drink, It was definitely a departure from my egg nog on steroids, so who knows what it’s like on a fresh palate, but even with my senses turned in a different direction, it was an awesome, cocktail I’d definitely recommend. My love fest continued as I ordered a few more drinks off of this seriously interesting and inventive menu. I worked my way through a a Major Bailey (gin and mint, another tart, sweet choice) and an Apple Jack 75 (Apple Jack, lemon, champagne.) My boyfriend had a Chin Chin (bourbon, apple, ginger) and ever adventurous, let Alisha the Bartender take the reigns and make a Bartender’s Choice drink, which I in no way can describe because well, I was kind of hammered by the time we ordered our last drink. I practically asked Alisha the Bartender to marry me, we paid our tab, and gushed about how awesome it was and how much we are Stephen Starr’s bitches wee wee wee all the way home. 

We returned to Ranstead Room the next week in a much more sober state to double check that our yuletide pre-gaming at Tria hadn't made for a rosier picture than we would have usually seen. Nope. Just as awesome. It was a Sunday and a different crowd with different bartenders. One was clearly in training and had invited his friends to visit his new bar (they seemed perplexed at how nerdily we poured over the cocktail menu as they sipped beer.) The more experienced barkeep, Derrick, was a pretty committed mixology geek, and we had some solid  drinks courtesy of his shake weight training, too. I had a Violete Fizz, which is a weirdly complex, but at the same time simple drink made of gin, violette, lemon and egg white. It’s a murky, cloudy purple mixture served in a glass you’d expect to be used to serve bathtub gin, with a nice fluffy egg fizz on top. It’s was deep, silky smooth, and dark, but with a little citrus zip tap dancing around the main flavor profile. 

Philly.com, the Philadelphia Inquirer’s online offshoot, describes Ranstead Room perfectly - it’s a grown up cocktail bar, a postgraduate place to get a drink, and a bar for people who know what they’re drinking and have an appreciation for a talented mixologist, to paraphrase. This is not a bar to get wasted on $2 PBR (not that there’s anything wrong with a good Philly Special, now) and it’s not a bar where you have to worry about some undergrad on the stool next to you knocking back lemon drop shots using daddy’s credit card, and trying to figure out how likely she is to puke on your shoes. This is a serious cocktail nerd’s bar. 

In short, I might now be Ranstead Room’s #1 fan. And super-bonus for the Philly Mag description? They were totes right: On our second trip, there was a couple making out in a dark corner booth, and I’m pretty sure they were rounding second by the time we left. Good for them.

Arbitrary assigned grade: A+.

Tria Cafe

Tin cup for a chalice, fill it up with good red wine...

I have a big crush on wine, no pun intended (but I admit I enjoyed it.) I say crush because I know a lot about wine, but not nearly enough to call myself a wine expert, or even an advanced wine drinker. But I’ve been to a few classes, and know my way around a wine menu, and if I have a haven in this town, it’s the wine bar. Today I’m talking about Tria, one of  four wine bars featured in Philadelphia Magazine’s top places to drink in Philly. Here’s what Philly Mag has to say about Tria, located on 18th and Sansom, just north of Rittenhouse Square:

According to one regular, “Though I’ll drink by myself pretty much anywhere, I truly believe Tria is the best place in the city for a woman to drink alone. It attracts the most harmless jerks of any wine bar in the city.”

Tria was already one of my favorite places to have a drink in Philly before I started the project, so I won’t pretend I haven’t been there a million times.

The Pineville Tavern

Thank God I'm a Country Girl!

Due to circumstances out of my control, (those mainly having to do with my boyfriend's social life, post-high school in Moorestown, NJ) I spend a lot of time in South New Jersey. On farms. It occurred to me recently that I have been on more farms since I moved to Philly than I had been on in my entire childhood in North Carolina. And you guys. I went to a college that had its own farm and agriculture school. How's about that for irony? So when I found myself out in the country again the other day to pay a visit to Peddler's Village in sprawling Bucks County to see their Christmas Light display, I realized that the second bar I was going to visit for my tour of Philadelphia Magazine's Best Bars List was going to be in...the country.

The Farmer's Cabinet

Let's Do the Time Warp Again!

I've visited The Farmer's Cabinet twice. Once before I embarked on this project, and once just after. Neither visit included food, so apparently I'm kicking off by doing the exact opposite of what I promised, which is to eat at each establishment. Forgive me. I assure you that this will absolutely happen again. Before we get started, here's what Philly Mag has to say about The Farmer's Cabinet, at 12th and Walnut:

This place is what would happen if Ridley Scott were directing a happy hour for beer snobs, cocktail historians, Jazz Age hep cats and righteous old drunks. It’s one of the strangest and most amazing places to have a drink in Philly right now.

And here’s my take:

You know the feeling of seeing a a movie after having viewed too many previews beforehand, or better yet, having read the book? It's always kind of disappointing, isn't it?

85 Firkins of Beer on the Wall...

It's a tough job, but someone has to do it.

A few weekends ago, my boyfriend and I drove to the embarrassingly charming Peddler's Village in Bucks County and, as we do, stopped into a Wawa for a soda. He spotted the November issue of Philadelphia Magazine, plastered with the month's feature - their take on the 85 best bars in Philly - and picked up a copy. As we drove back to Philly, I read aloud the often hilariously accurate descriptions of all the bars we have visited since we moved to our Center City home in January, just 9 months prior. We concluded that we are either 1) in need of a hobby or 2) extremely dedicated supporters of Philly's food and drink scene. We went with the latter, even if it's slightly delusional, and suddenly an idea was born: Why not go to all of them to decide how our own impressions stack up to Philly Mag's? I mean, what's the worst that could happen? Aside from pickling ourselves. But we'd eat at each spot, too, I decided. That seems much less borderline alky. Right? And I'll give myself an entire year in the name of liver preservation.

So, I give you Whiz & Firkin, the spot where I will document our "scientific findings" as we work our way through the 85 spots listed. But what about the other great places to find a drink? The outcry over the McGillin's snub that can be found in the comments section of the piece (and my own confusion over the lack of representation for North Third or the inexplicably towney Doobies in Center City) means that I will color outside of the lines now and again. Because it's my party and I'll blog if I wanna.

Ready? Set. IMBIBE!