BAR EXAM: A Particular State of Mind

A few words in praise of the Bloody Mary

Lissa Townsend Rodgers

I never used to like Bloody Marys. Perhaps it was because I don't get hangovers or because Mom made hers with Clamato juice, but it was about the only vodka cocktail that never took. Then I moved to Las Vegas and now I drink them all of the time. Even on weekdays.


A Bloody Mary is one of those cocktails that, rather like a martini, is not just a drink but a state of mind. The whole point of a Bloody Mary is to wind oneself up or down for the next stage of a bender.


It's a comfort drink, with just the right amount of pepper and horseradish, but it also has to be consumed in a setting that lends itself to preparation for whatever comes next. All aspects must be carefully adjusted for the cocktail to do its work.


The Peppermill offers two ways to have your Bloody. You can drink in the always-bustling dining room, along with your chicken-fried steak or eggs Benedict, or in the dim, usually empty (well, in the daytime anyway, and you are having that Bloody Mary in the daytime, aren't you?) fireside lounge. While they mix it a little bland here, the garnishes make it special: enough celery, cucumber and cherry tomato to fill at least two daily servings of vegetables and render breakfast unnecessary. And, since you've just saved money and improved your health, why not have another?


Champagnes Café also has food—hey, you really just want fries anyway—and the red-velvet- flocked wallpaper and womblike atmosphere, with the classic rock station burbling in the background and seniors picking desultorily at video poker, make it an appropriate place. Here, the Bloody Marys come in big pint glasses, light on the ice, with a surprising level of texture and heat. If that's still not peaceful enough, the Dispensary Lounge serves its tomatoey libation next to the soothing sound and hypnotic motion of a fake mill wheel; it's also the only non-restaurant bar that serves them with celery.


Maybe you don't want to succumb to Sunday morning—actually, you'd like the Morning After to be as much like the Night Before as possible. After all, the only thing separating the two was a trip across the street to buy cigarettes at 5 a.m. Which means you may well be at the Double Down. Which is fortunate, because they make an excellent Bloody Mary: well spiced and lovingly finessed with at least five shakers, bottles, twists, chicken bones and other juju. Besides, the screech of the punk-rock jukebox and skewed perspective of the murals will prepare you for the day to come.


However, if this morning cocktail is suppose to return you to civilization, rather than extend the running of the rampant, a more genteel setting might be needed, such as Bouchon. Mornings, the airy bistro and formal roof garden ebb and flow with people occupied in "taking a meeting" or "catching a plane." Ignore them and grab a seat at the impressive, pewter-topped bar for a leisurely Bloody Mary made with care and an astonishing garnish that twists an olive, gherkin and lemon peel into some kind of Atomic Age icon.


The Commander's Palace in the Desert Passage is a bit bright and full of brunching families, but the Dixieland is at just the right volume and the bartender will spice your Bloody to order, topping it with a red-peppered rim and a giant olive and chile speared on a wooden pick you could kill a vampire with.


There are a million Bloody Marys in this town of the endless stagger out into the sunlight. Zuri at the MGM Grand serves them made with things like yellow tomato juice and Kobe beef bullion. Gilley's over at the New Frontier has Texas red-hots—jalapeno Bloody Mary shots—but attempting a hangover cure in the same room as a mechanical bull is kind of like holding a funeral at a Chuck E. Cheese. Green Valley Ranch offers a make-your-own Bloody Mary bar at brunch. Some people swear by the ones at PT's.


Much in the same way we all become our own sort of drunken idiot, we all need to return to earthly gravity in our own way, with the right lighting, the right atmosphere and the correct calibration of Tabasco.



Lissa Townsend Rodgers learned to make a martini at age 6. E-mail her at
[email protected].

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