Tikigasm: Remembering the Kahiki. A Tiki palace so big, it had an entire village of buildings inside. (Thanks, HumuHumu!)

Once upon a time, a long time ago, there was an age of drinking called the Tiki Era. It was a perfect storm of circumstances and personalities that illustrates my contention that drinking defines and is defined by all peoples in general and America in particular. Tiki arose from the fact that The Noble Experiment and the Second World War had left a nation where rum was one of the few spirits available in quantity and quality at a reasonable price. The exposure of millions of American men to the South Pacific environment made fertile ground for Tiki’s faux Polynesian vibe. The agricultural revolution in California, Hawaii and elsewhere were changing and expanding the fruits and juices available. Labor was cheap and government regulation was light. And a man named Don and another named Vic, friends and bitter competitors, formed the tenets of Tiki and drove it to dizzying heights of creativity in a manner not unlike another rivalry in another industry between guys named Steve and Bill.
The first embers of Tiki flared in the 1930s, and it erupted like a volcano in the late 1940s. It spread across the US, establishing with its faux pagan shenanigans that America was not quite the stultifying land in those days that it seemed. Then, after but a decade to two, the torch guttered and began to go out.
The slow, ignominious death of the Tiki Era was due to the slow passing of the factors I noted above, and other reasons. But what is important is that as the original temples of Tiki slipped into the night, the knowledge that built them disappeared even faster. As the Millennium approached, a general rediscovery of the well-made cocktail led to a nascent revival of interest in the early, glorious Tiki drinks. But there was no knowledge to feed this hunger. There were never any good books of recipes and knowledge produced in the days of Tiki’s greatness. The Tiki gods were jealous of their secrets, it was part of the charm.
Bartenders and home mixers had no easy way to copy the glorious old drinks. Some might have had fragments of knowledge, a recipe or two. Others had only the debased versions from the end of the era to emulate, such as frozen Daiquiris, syrupy Pina Coladas, and Mai Tais made with grenadine or Hawaiian Punch. Most attempts to emulate the glory days were either stillborn for lack of knowledge, or discarded in disgust.

Enter a beach bum.

Jeff Berry is a bartender. Beyond that, I know nothing of his background. I could ask him, but it’s more fun not to know. He might have three advanced degrees for all I know. But I doubt it. And it wouldn’t be half as much fun if he did, because Jeff Berry is one of the more successful and accomplished legit cultural anthropologists working in America today.

Excuse me.
Did someone say, “nutritional anthropologist”?

Yes, but I didn’t mean you, Deb. Go bother Alton.

Beachbum Berry set out in the 1990′s to find, preserve, publish, and popularize the Lost Knowledge of the Tiki Gods™. He has dug and scrounged through trash heaps, attics, and defunct watering holes. He has interviewed and cajoled. He uncovered secrets and decoded archives. In short, he has conducted a more than decade long investigation and preservation of lost knowledge. And he has popularized his research with several books on Tiki drinks, food and history. Jeff thinks he’s a bartender. Too bad, because I think he is more of a social scientist than most who actually try to lay claim to the title.
Last Tiki Month, I reviewed his early work, Beachbum Berry’s Grog Log. Recently, I was sent an autographed copy of his latest, Beach Bum Berry Remixed for review. The cover letter suggested that after I read it, I might offer it as a contest prize…

HAHAHAHA!!
That’s rich!

Exactly.
Like I’m going to give away a signed copy of this book.

Remixed is a compilation of Grog Log, and another of the Bum’s works, Intoxica! (Now likely out of print forever) Remixed combines and re-organizes all the recipes from the other two books, adds a ton of new, tasty pours to explore, and garnishes with lots of short, enjoyable excursions into the history and minutiae of the Tiki Era. It is lavishly illustrated with color photographs and graphics from Tiki bars and restaurants of that time. It also has three distinct and useful indexes, as well as a detailed glossary.
Of particular note is the section listing and describing the sea of different rum types. If you are into cocktails with rum at all, buy the book just for this section. It is indispensable for any and all, unless you have a certain bearded hipster lying around your living room.
Remixed is that rare find among cocktail books: a definitive resource that is also a good read. Pick up a copy. At its current price on Amazon (and Prime eligible!), it’s a steal.

The Liquor Fairy Was Here!
The following product, Beachbum berry Remixed, was recently provided to me as promotional consideration to encourage me to discuss it.
For a complete disclosure of my policies regarding promotional items and all other financial interests, please click this link, or follow the Liquor Fairy link in the header of this page.

“My understanding of Tiki is that in order to do it right, one must have balls.”
—Giuseppe Gonzalez

While I’ve been to bars that can do a few good Tiki drinks, and I’ve been to at least one place with a great, Tiki-inspired menu, I have never been to a genuine, all-dressed-up-and-ready-to-dance Tiki bar. Thus I was intent on a visit to Manhattans’ new entry in the Tiki bar resurgence, Painkiller, during my recent trip to NYC. Behind the graffiti-style warehouse door you see above (it looks dingier in person), guarded by an enormous doorman (very impressive in person), is a stairway down into a narrow enclave of play Polynesian paganism.

Maggi and I arrived just in time to grab the last two seats at the bar, right on the end. This left me with a great view of the whole operation, only slightly obstructed by the twin towers of a pair of Blendtec blenders. Painkiller is not a big joint, so get there early or be prepared to wait.
The bar, walls, and ceiling are all covered or trimmed in bamboo and rattan. There are several tiki-themed murals, as well as lots of Tikis and Tiki doodads, but the decor is actually a little bit understated for what you might expect of such a den. Every inch of shelf space behind the bar that is not occupied by bottles of occasionally mysterious ingredients is crammed full of Tiki vessels, flowers, or accouterments.

We went on an evening that ended up affording me an even greater appreciation of the skills of co-owner Giuseppe Gonzalez than I’d have gotten otherwise. His second bartender was off sick, so Gonzalez was manning the bar all by himself! In a normal bar with this many patrons, that sounds like a recipe for being “in the weeds”. In an authentic tiki bar, that’s more like being in the heart of the jungles of Borneo.
Vic or Donn would have had a squad of Philippinos (most future Tiki gods in their own rights) backing them up, but Gonzalez stood tall with but a single bar back, who seemed pressed merely to keep the man supplied with the 5 kinds of ice they use at Painkiller. For all that, the service was smooth, the drinks were great, and the Man never looked rushed. If I sound impressed, I was. I wrote to him after we got home, and I’ll integrate his answers into this review and into a future post.

Painkiller is a pure bar, with no food to offer. They have some plans to offer hot dogs sometime this Fall. (I think that to get them, you should have to go through a secret door in a phone booth in back, but that’s just me….)
The cocktail menu is essentially a place mat, with pictures of the drinks recommended, but little detail. It goes wildly counter to the trend with high-end cocktail menus I’ve seen elsewhere, with their detailed information and leather-bound luxury. Instead, here you have evocative illustrations suggesting whole classes of drinks, from the questionably Tiki Daiquiris, through the variously suffering Bastards, to the deadly Zombies. There is only one Mai Tai, of course. (Sorry Donn-o-philes.) Really, the menu is the sole decision in Painkiller’s design that I question. For those who know their Tiki, as I sort of do, the mat is a cool, retro-looking kick start to the imagination. But were someone whose prior Tiki knowledge comes only from Chinese restaurant menus to enter Painkiller, I think this menu would be confusing and intimidating, and above all uninformative. I wonder how many first-timers come in, see this menu, and decide to… bluff. New Yorkers love to bluff, as do I, but I wish there was enough here to run a good one. If you don’t know a damn thing about Tiki, don’t let that stop you from going—just be prepared to swallow your pride and ask questions. You will have a happy educational experience.

The menu aside, the drinks absolutely rocked. We had six or seven different drinks between us. The only one I confess I didn’t particularly like was the Painkiller, though that was a matter of taste, rather than execution. I contend that if anyone likes all the drinks on a menu, the menu isn’t varied enough. And you can go beyond the menu, of course. Maggi wanted a Demerara Cocktail, and Giuseppe and I went back and forth about how it should be made. Eventually, he Burger Kinged up and let us have it my way, only to have my wife declare his result was better than my usual efforts… Perfidious woman!

If all cocktails are more art than science, Tiki is even more so. Gonzalez and his partner Richard Boccato are attempting to practice the full-on (faux) dark arts of tropical intoxication. There is every bit the precision in making the drinks here as at Pegu Club, but the impression you get as you watch is of jazzy improvisation. Giuseppe notes that Painkiller is still, by design, a work in progress. The decor will change as time goes by, with new tchotchkes jostling for space with old. More importantly, they recognize that there is no best model for the tools and mis en place of Tiki drinks, only better ones… models they intend to find.

I found Painkiller to be an exhilarating place to drink. It is clearly a labor of love, and a thoroughly professional joint as well. I’m not sure I could make it a regular hangout if I lived in New York (as I could with, say, Clover Club). I’d more likely come here in waves, as tiki-philia comes and goes in my heart. Any New York cocktailian who hasn’t gotten around to Painkiller needs to… now. And if you are like me, generally a tourist in New York, put Painkiller on your list of evening entertainment—it’s not to be missed.

{As of this writing, Painkiller’s website is down. If it still is when you read this, bookmark it for later perusal.}

The Summer New York Adventure is the first truly kid-free vacation Maggi and I have taken since, well, we’ve had kids. By day, we’ll be exploring Manhattan’s Garment District, buying fabric for Maggi’s coture workings, and by night we shall explore the SoHo dining and drinking offerings, which should give me some of the best material to blog about in a good long while! Cheers!

Aloha folks! Februaries may be Tiki Month here at the Pegu Blog, but we are halfway between, and I have a number of Tiki thoughts to share, so I hereby declare a Tiki-gasm this August.
I’ve got non-Tiki stuff to write about too, so we’re just dating, nothing exclusive. OK?