DAVE KAPLAN
This book would not exist without a near-endless number of individuals: My agent, Jonah Straus, started me on the path and was an ever-present guide through the process. He first led me to my partner in crime and fellow distraction enthusiast, Nick Fauchald. Nick did what few others could, patiently wrangling a ragtag crew of Death & Co alums, as well as chasing me down from coast to coast throughout the process. Tim Tomkinson and Katherine Tomkinson have been entrusted with the appearance of our menus and much more since we opened; they turned our proposal into an art object and, as expected, continued to outdo themselves with their work on the book.
With proposal in hand we met with Aaron Wehner at Ten Speed Press. He listened patiently as I waxed poetic about what this book could be and ultimately shared that vision, and a few cocktails, as we sat at table 7 at Death & Co. A week later, I’d just landed in Jackson Hole and was still on the plane when I received a call from Jonah saying that we were going to be part of the Ten Speed family. I had been holding my breath waiting to hear the news.
Emily Timberlake proved to be the ever-sweet voice on the Ten Speed end of the phone through times of both stress and accomplishment. William Hereford brought just the right amount of light to the darkness of Death & Co with his beautiful photos. To my partners, Ravi DeRossi and our ever nonsilent silent partner Craig Manzino, thank you for seven years now of epic highs, and for enduring the occasional lows.
To Paul Pacult, Dale DeGroff, David Wondrich, Steve Olson, Doug Frost, Simon Ford, Allen Katz, Julie Reiner, Audrey Saunders, Sasha Petraske, Lenell Smothers, and many others, thank you for inspiring, teaching, leading, or helping to hold up the bar during those first years.
Death & Co was and continues to be defined by our staff. The early days spent with our first head bartender, Phil Ward, as we decided what this thing would become were some of my favorite moments. Phil, you’re an odd duck and brilliant as hell; thank you for taking a chance. The head bartender torch was then handed over to Brian Miller and his love for all things tiki and Johnny Depp. Thomas Waugh then grabbed the reins and brought a little bit of San Francisco to NYC. Jillian Vose is our current head bartender, and the position has never looked as effortless. Thank you all for putting in absurd hours and an incredible amount of energy and creativity, and for all the leadership and love you have given this place.
Thanks also to the rest of the D&C staff: Joaquín Simó gave five years to D&C, was everyone’s favorite bartender, and will forever be the nicest guy to work behind the stick. Jessica Gonzalez came on as a waitress, moved up to bartender, and stayed with us for five years before moving on to be head bartender at the Nomad. To Toby Cecchini, the oldest, grumpiest, and wittiest bartender we’ve ever met; I hope that by the time this book is on the shelf, you finally finished the foreword—now let’s go get a haircut. And a big thank-you to everyone else who has put time and energy into the bar: Anne Claire, Cabell Tomlinson, Damon Dyer, Kelvin Joyner, Sean Newell, James Flak, Placido, Alexandra Lacey, Jacquelyn Leon, Mary Berhane, Jason Littrell, Michelle Bernardi, Zach Lombardo, Edgar Crutchfield, Shannon Tebay, Wally Suarez, Katie Emmerson, Isabella Huber, Eliad Mendez, Angel Colon, Bobby Weinberger (thank you for passing the bar exam and becoming my daily counsel), Samuel Vega, Stephen Fletcher, Chris Darsch, Serena Chow, David Powell, Constance Sousek, Miguel Rivera, Eryn Reece (the fastest there is), Christina Gerasimovich, Stephanie Joyce-Solis, Devyn Sisson, John Evans, Eva McGarry, Arnie Marcella (long live purple), Tim Elledge, Brad Faran, Stephanie Borris, Felipe Colina, Peter Mullin, Tyson Buhler (you’re fired), Andrea Jaramillo, Scott Teague (insert modeling joke here), Jordan Gomez, Jane Danger, Joshua D’Oyley, Jourdan Gomez, Shae Minnillo, Edmund Marvelli, Jack Burns, Erin A. Reitz, Anthony Byron, Justice McFadden, Brittney Chadbourne, Zachery Ellis, Paul DiStefano, Oscar Valle, Drew Bushong, Valerie Zolkina, and Michael Russel. To anyone who has worked a day here that I missed, I’m sorry for the lapse in memory. I blame the booze.
Frankie Rodriguez, thank you for keeping the lights on, the leaks at bay, and the Death & Co family together. You’re the best manager and friend anyone could hope for.
The acceptance speech continues: A special thank- you to my family, who have always been my support and inspiration. To my mom, Barb Kaplan, I don’t know many parents who would support a son’s art school education and then his leap into bars at twenty-four years old—in Manhattan, no less. The same is true for my father, Robert Kaplan, who doesn’t drink cocktails and upon the opening of D&C asked what sort of a bar it was (“A pick-up bar?”). My grandpa Morry Kaplan, who has always been my hero, used to ask me how my saloon was doing until one day, before he passed, when he got to visit. I asked him what he thought of my saloon, and with his beautiful smile, he replied, “This is no saloon; this is quite the enterprise.” To my sister Sarah, thank you for being my best friend and always one year ahead of me.
To Alex Day, thank you for being a brilliant bartender and an even better businessman, for sitting down in front of Joaquín on your first visit to Death & Co and drinking that French 75 that led you down this cocktail path, and for taking the risk and partnering up with me. Your drive and passion for our business keeps me going, and your friendship keeps me sane. Let’s build more things.
Most importantly, thank you to all of the Death & Co customers, both regulars who visit us weekly (or more often) and who we’ve come to think of as family, and also the first-timers with whom we get to share our love of cocktails. Death & Co—both the bar and the book—exists only because of you.
Finally, a thank-you to our insane, loving, welcoming, brilliant, often-drunken industry. I can’t imagine another job or a better place to call home.
ALEX DAY
To thank everyone responsible for making Death & Co an amazing bar—and for making this book a possibility—might result in a census of the global bar industry. For the honor of having Death & Co be a place that our industry loves to visit, I will be forever grateful. Thank you to every single bartender, chef, spirits maker, brand ambassador, and liquor-industry hooligan for making Death & Co your first stop in NYC and your home away from home, and for teaching us something new every single night.
Above all else, thank you to my partner in all these boozy shenanigans, Dave Kaplan. He gave me a gig at his exciting new bar when I was in no way qualified to be there, and has since become the counterbalance to my professional neurosis. The day I became a co-owner of Death & Co will forever be one of the greatest of my life. Thank you for including me in this book and allowing me to smudge some pages up here and there.
Dave has probably thanked the same people I thank here, but I love them, too, so there. The D&C crew changed my life, both professionally and personally, and I will forever be grateful for the chance to work with such passionate people. That first cocktail Joaquín Simó made me opened my eyes to great drinks, and experiencing it became the most important moment in my professional life. It sent me down the path to putting words on this page. That first terrifyingly shaky trial shift (I forgot the agave nectar in a Oaxaca Old-Fashioned!) with Phil Ward, who turned into a mentor—a man of few words, certainly, but always with insight and wisdom—taught me the value of not accepting mediocrity. Brian Miller, dodging your formidable shake and blistering wit, and being inspired by your obsessive commitment to your work, has been invaluable to every page in this book. Jessica Gonzalez kept pretending she wasn’t a badass bartender, but then she stepped behind the stick and made us all look like newbies. Thomas Waugh, thank you for moving to New York, changing our perspective on cocktails, and bringing an unbridled creativity to the table. Jillian Vose, your leadership in the next era of Death & Co has been invaluable, your dedication unmatched, and your cocktails jaw-dropping; we’d be lost without you. Brad Farran, a lot of your ideas seemed so ridiculous at first, but goddamn do your drinks taste good; thank you for livening up the bar every night and making our guests excited to be on our bar stools. Eryn Reece, by the time this book is out, I’m sure your maniacal professionalism will have taken you great places; I just hope you don’t forget us little people, okay? Tyson Buhler, I couldn’t be more grateful for your time at Death & Co; as with Eryn, your assured greatness will take you far—you’ll probably be a senator or something by the time this book is in print. Way to make us all look like dumb-asses, Ty! Al Sotack, I couldn’t be more honored that you joined the team; since we first worked together in Philly, you’ve developed into one of the most creative bartenders I’ve ever met. Lane Ford, we didn’t get any time behind the stick together, but having the opportunity to drink in front of you many times was nothing less than inspirational; I always left with a new idea. Cabel Tomlinson and Katie Stipe, thank you for being the loveliest women on the planet (aside from my mother). You are both better bartenders than everyone—anywhere.
It all comes back to my first coveted Sunday night shift at D&C and the coworkers who held my hand through it. Maria Diamond, wherever you are in Ireland, thank you for dealing with me dropping stuff and running amuck. Sam Kershaw, I’ll always be thankful for the marmalade you put in every cocktail. You’d be surprised how much that impacted the rest of my career. Damon Dyer, your genial demeanor and ever-present smile, not to mention your perfectly timed dirty jokes, will continue to be the envy of every smart-ass who has worked at this bar. Well done, sir.
In any job, you can get numb with the day-to-day monotony of things and tend to lose sight of the magic that surrounds you. I can confidently say that on my nights off, when I’d stop by the bar for a drink and sit in front of everyone listed above while they made me cocktails, my excitement about bartending was quickly reignited. A greater group of professionals has never been assembled.
Frankie Rodriguez, our longtime general manager and all-around nicest guy in the room, deserves more thanks than most. Although we fancy bartenders hog the limelight while you shy away, Death & Co surely wouldn’t exist without you, Frankie. We’re all so grateful for your leadership and for directing the service culture at Death & Co.
D&C’s tireless group of door hosts, servers, and other staff deserve more praise than I can possibly put into words here. Shannon, Connie, Andrea, Valerie, Anne-Claire, Fletch, Bobby … so many! Anyone I forgot, forgive me, please. This is all very overwhelming.
To our partners Ravi DeRossi and Craig Manzino, thank you for being so supportive of all the crazy decisions made in support of the lofty Death & Co ambition. Your business sense and guidance are immeasurably helpful and appreciated.
Death & Co has always been a beacon for great restaurant pros, who mostly fill our bar stools after closing down their restaurants and kitchens for the night. Phillip Kirschen-Clark, I miss getting to make you drinks and being challenged in the most productive and exciting ways by your enthusiasm and intelligence, but I take solace that you’re there to properly vet new bartenders. Amador and Alina Acosta, I love you both so much; by simply being present in a room, you make everyone feel better. Nadine Proctor, I’ve never experienced a boring conversation with you and can’t imagine that anyone else has, either; you make our bar a more interesting place. Arnie Marcella, first a regular patron of D&C and now a good friend, thank you for stepping in and leading our kitchen—a task far below your pedigree and skill, but you’ve never once scoffed at it. All our Plymouth gin has your name on it.
I first met Nick Fauchald years ago, while I was making mediocre drinks in teacups, and he somehow became convinced that I’d be useful in putting together a book. Thank you, Nick, for your unbelievable patience in what could only be described as a full-time job herding drunk kittens as you gathered the material in this book from me and my ilk. I couldn’t be more honored to have my name on the cover of this book, and to have it next to yours implies that I know what I’m doing! As always, thank you for allowing me to cop your style.
Thank you Aaron, Emily, and everyone at Ten Speed for believing in this book and making it happen. Did we do okay?
Last, but definitely not least, a bar is nothing without the people who come and enjoy it. Press accolades and awards mean absolutely nothing without the folks who walk down East Sixth Street every night, newbies and regulars alike—many of whom have become like family. As a bartender, I hope to have been your counselor at some point, and many of you have been mine as well. Thank you, of course, for coming to our little bar, but more than anything, thank you for your friendship.
My first experience at Death & Co happened to fall on their first official day of business. I’d lived nearby for years and had heard whispers of a new, ambitious cocktail bar opening up in the neighborhood. I opened the ominous-looking door on a chilly January evening and found a stool near the end of the bar. From my perch I recognized Phil Ward, who had served me on many illuminating occasions at the Pegu Club, which at that time offered one of the most progressive cocktail programs in New York. Phil’s presence alone gave this fledgling bar an instant aura of serious cred. I’d just begun my own self-education in cocktails and asked Phil to make me his favorite drink on the inaugural menu. (Little did I know then that bartenders hate this request.) He made me an Oaxaca Old-Fashioned, and my first sip of that electrifying drink told me that Death & Co was going to be a big player in the new cocktail craze.
As I started writing more about cocktails, Death & Co became my most reliable fountain of knowledge. Any time I needed to know what was happening next in drink trends, I paid a visit to Sixth Street to see what those innovative bartenders were up to—and figure out what other bars across the country would be serving next. Over the years, Death & Co introduced me to many firsts: my first punch service, my first swizzle, my first proper tiki drink, my first tastes of countless spirits, bitters, and other exotic ingredients, and so on. I never planned on writing a cocktail book, but at some point a few years ago, I decided that if I did, I would want it to be about this bar that has taught me so much.
So it was with great kismet that Dave and his agent, Jonah Straus, approached me about writing this book. We quickly realized that we shared a vision for a different kind of cocktail book—one that could teach both professionals and home bartenders the hows and whys of making great drinks. Jonah, thank you for putting us all together and for selling our stubborn proposal to Ten Speed Press. Aaron Wehner, thank you for believing in us enough to add this book to Ten Speed’s ever-impressive legacy.
To my agent, advocate, and sounding board, David Larabell, you were right: this book was a beast. Is it too late to renegotiate?
Dave Kaplan, thank you for dragging me from coast to coast (and points in between) as we cobbled this thing together. Without your innate knack for hospitality and refusal to let Goliath win, 433 East Sixth Street would be some shitty Indian restaurant today. Your contagious enthusiasm for your bar, its staff, and this project has never wavered and keeps us all striving to reinvent the wheel. Let’s do it again sometime.
Alex Day, before you took me under your tiny wing, everything I knew about cocktails I’d learned from watching Cocktail. Thank you for unteaching me my Tom Cruise ways and showing me the path to enlightenment, beginning with a pair of chopsticks and an empty water glass in that Chinese restaurant on St. Mark’s Place. Your many contributions to the book turned the impossible into the enjoyable. Arigato, sensei.
To all of the past and present Death & Co bartenders and staff, thank you for sharing your hard-earned knowledge, for answering my dumb questions, and for keeping my liver lively. Jillian Vose and Frankie Rodriguez, you get an extra round of thanks for all of the organizing, wrangling, double-checking, correcting, and moral support. Please get some sleep.
To Death & Co’s always affable and accommodating doormen (and women), thank you for letting me inside (usually).
Will Hereford, I’m honored to have worked with you on your first big-boy book. You literally gave the shirt off your back to this project and made the bar and its drinks come alive on the page. Along with Tim and Kate Tomkinson, you’ve created the handsomest cocktail book on the shelf.
Don Lee, I wish I had one-tenth of your cocktail brain (and one-fifth of your magnificent mane). Thanks for all of the invaluable input on equipment, science, and all the rest, and thanks for letting me hang out in Cocktail Kingdom’s library. I promise I didn’t steal anything.
Toby Cecchini, thanks for adding your wit and writerly touch to this tome. In case anyone doesn’t already know, Toby invented the cosmopolitan; ask him to make you one next time you see him.
Jasmine Star, your impressive cocktail knowledge, copy editing skills and tireless sleuthing did way more than polish our prose.
Finally, a thank-you to Emily Timberlake. You’re the most patient and proficient editor I’ve ever worked with. I’m grateful to you for organizing a mess of ideas, and for asking the right questions and answering the tough ones. The next round’s on me.
