As many a New York barkeep can tell you, letting us loose among the spirits spells trouble with a capital T and that rhymes with D and that stands for drunk.
But we were on assignment, so we paced ourselves . . . in the beginning.
Our intrepid search for the city’s best Bloody Marys was a task we happened to be well-prepared for.
Libby, hopped up on cold medicine, was fighting off a fever. Megan, having accidentally spent too long at superior subway dive Siberia the night before, was nursing a different kind of headache.
Bottom line: We felt like hell.
Trusting in the mighty restorative power of the Bloody Mary, we dragged our sorry selves to The Grange Hall, 50 Commerce St., at Barrow Street, (212) 924 5246, at our appointed meeting time of 11 a.m.
And promptly decided to call the whole thing off.
But the sight of a nearby diner — where we chowed down on scallion scrambled eggs with smoked trout and sourdough toast — changed our minds. And, hang on, wouldn’t a Bloody Mary go well with that?
Two BMs later, a third seemed like a smashing idea. That’s because Grange Hall’s Bloodys are by-the-book perfect — top-shelf vodka, piquant V8 juice, Tabasco sauce, Worcestershire sauce, celery salt and pepper — with an added tastebud tingler: a spicy dilly bean.
With renewed enthusiasm (and proof of our theory that a good Bloody Mary could bring Jesus back from the dead) we grabbed a cab to SoHo’s Cafe Noir, 32 Grand St., at Thompson Street, (212) 431 7910. Apart from the pepper-infused vodka, there was nothing particularly noteworthy about their BMs, so we headed over to the East Village.
At Vazac’s Horseshoe Bar, 108 E. Seventh St., at Avenue B, (212) 473 8840, we found graffiti in the bathroom, Cheap Trick on the jukebox — and a kick to the Bloody Marys that would put a Super Bowl punter to shame.
We’ve been fans of this gritty East Village hang-out, known to Alphabet City denizens as 7B, for years. But this time we gave ditched our usual Bud and asked the bartender to serve up the beverage of the day.
Steve, the charming weekend barkeep, grinned and disappeared behind the bar. A few minutes later he emerged with two pint glasses of the best damned Bloodys these bloodshot eyes had ever seen.
The secret ingredient, he confided, was “three tablespoons of love,” but we suspected that the unorthodox addition was actually wasabi. We may have been pretty drunk already, but we were right!
Wasabi makes for a smoother mix than the usual horseradish and provides a pleasantly tingly afterburn that lingers longer. Celery? Check. Tabasco? Check. Vodka? Check.
But it’s the unexpected ingredients — soy sauce, Old Bay seasoning, and perhaps the aforementioned dash of amore — that make Steve’s BMs the best in our book.
After five of the best, we were ready to try the rest. On to Great Jones Cafe, 54 Great Jones St., at Lafayette Street, (212) 674 9304, a tiny Bayou-flavored joint where the Bloody Marys make the wait to get a table a pleasure instead of a pain. We recommend sidling up to the bar and asking for one done Cajun-style.
With extra horseradish, these Marys do get a bit chunky, but that’s the worst you can say about such dandy drinks, which feature jalapeño pepper-infused vodka made on the premises.
Full of Dutch courage, we decided to venture uptown. We jumped off the No. 4 train at Grand Central — just because it was there — and, after gazing up at the wonderful new ceiling for more time than it warranted, we felt thirsty.
Soon we were on barstools, munching peanuts and flirting with the bartenders at The Oyster Bar, Grand Central Terminal, (212) 490 6650.
“Two Bloody Marys, pleash,” we slurred winningly.
That got us a pair of run-of-the-mill BMs served with a wimpy stick of celery in glasses more suited for a girlie cocktail than a stout drink of champions. While they weren’t likely to win any awards, we didn’t send them back.
Then it was on to The Oak Room at the Plaza Hotel, 768 Fifth Ave., at Central Park South, (212) 546 5330.
We’ve heard of some pretty weird stuff polluting our favorite elixir, including oysters and pickled asparagus. While one strange garnish is a mistake, more than two is a travesty. And The Oak Room doesn’t know when to stop. There’s barely enough room for the straw, what with the cocktail onions, olives, celery, pickles and shrimp.
Come on guys, it’s not a salad!
We stumbled out of The Oak Room at dusk with the sure knowledge we’d be feeling worse for wear upon waking the next day.
But nothing a good Bloody Mary wouldn’t fix!