Todian Boston

By Anais Wheeler, Wcities Boston Contributor

Somewhere around mid-March, northeasterners go into winter denial. We shed layer after layer of clothing despite the fact that the temperature has flat-lined at late February levels. Counter-intuitive as it may be, this dependable phenomenon makes spring a prime hot drink season. By all means, wear your ultra-mini with your thick socks and Uggs (the inherent problems of this outfit I’ll leave to a more patient blogger), but when you find yourself shivering in the decidedly un-summer-like sun, don’t pop into a bar for a lime rickey; instead, cozy up with the ultimate in winter warmers, the hot toddy.

There is something endearing and comforting about the words “hot toddy.” This is a drink that your grandfather (and your grandmother!) loves, that might be carried around the neck of a St. Bernard, that emulates maternal remedies and a certain masculine sophistication. It is also a great measure of the character of a bar because the drink has so many variations. A quality hot toddy depends on the presence of a few quality ingredients—in my humble opinion, the basics are whiskey, honey, lemon and cloves, although tea is a nice touch—and the care with which it is made.

The hot toddy, sometimes called a hot whisky, is thought to be as Scottish in origin as it sounds, but the etymology of the word toddy is uncertain. Toddy may come from the Hindi word, tari (that ‘r’ is an alveolar tap; that is, it sounds like a quick ‘d’) for the juice of certain palm trees, which by extension also referred to the fermented wine made from this palm juice. Another possibility says toddy is a homegrown Scottish word, evidenced by an 18th century poem referring to “some kettles full of Todian spring;” that is, water from Tod’s well, which supplied Edinburgh’s water at that time. The logic goes that since whiskey comes from the Gaelic word for water, toddy was another tongue-in-cheek reference to something a bit stronger than that life-giving substance.

Of course, the origins of any drink matter little while you’re imbibing, and imbibe you shall, since I’ve discovered some of the best and worst hot toddies in the area.

A favorite JP haunt is the Alchemist, whose Hot Toddy is featured on the Winter Warmer section of the drink menu. The menu claims it is served with a cinnamon stick, but I’ve often gotten cloves, which are the more standard toddy brown spice anyway. The Alchemist’s hot toddy is just right, hot and served in a jiffy compared to the production that goes with serving this drink in certain other bars. Their menu also features another old classic, the Hot Buttered Rum, a deliciously caloric take on the hot alcoholic drink.

The South End’s Beehive is popular with those in the know and I’ve often heard touted the talent of the bartenders, and yet when I ordered the most stodgy and basic of warm drinks there, I got a tiny lukewarm mug about 10 minutes later. With the slightly jazz age slant of their cocktail menu, I expected more when I ordered a retro whiskey drink.

Wally’s Café was equally as unprepared for serving this hot drink, but their presentation was endearing. As a slightly dive-y, definitely boho, jazz destination, Wally’s bag is less the perfection of its cocktails and more the atmosphere and history of the joint. Thus, when the aging bartender took several minutes to carefully serve me lemon, honey and a shot of whiskey and then insisted that I put on my own gloves to transport the accompanying glass of hot tea to my table, I just kept tapping my foot to the hypnotic mid-afternoon jazz. The tea is a nice touch that few bars add, and at Wally’s it comes with guaranteed live music—365 days a year.

At the Joshua Tree in Somerville’s Davis Square, the hot toddy depends entirely on the bartender. One night, it featured an unidentifiable hot juice—still not sure if it had a little cider or if the sweet stuff was a bit of lemonade—with whiskey, honey, cloves and lemon. That special ingredient was nowhere to be seen a few weeks later, however, when the hot toddy was three parts honey to one part everything else. You might want to ask what you’ll be getting prior to ordering our subjective drink at this neighborhood standard.

The beauty of the hot toddy is that you can order it at almost any bar outside of the grungiest of dives (both the JP and the Financial District locations of J.J. Foley’s are unable to provide hot water, for example) and get a drink that says something about the service and attitude of that bar. It’s a drink that can catch a staff off-guard and demonstrate their knowledge or lack-thereof, and it will keep you warm in that misleading sunshine to boot!

Weekend Getaways

By Anais Wheeler, Wcities Boston Contributor

I don’t know if you’ve heard the hubbub, but apparently, there is some sort of financial difficulty going on. And it’s not just the tycoons blubbering in their stock certificates anymore either, it’s actually affecting those of us beneath the income bracket made famous by Joe the Plumber. But before you give up your vacation time as fast as Edward Liddy can a retention bonus, consider the still-off-season getaways that are gentle on that Potential Layoff Fund.

Full disclosure: these two destinations are close to the heart of this blogger, serving as the backdrop for some formative (or dis-formative?) years. Despite my bias, though, outer Cape Cod and Midcoast Maine offer true respite from city life or geographically convenient adventure. This is the first in a series of two posts—this time, Provincetown.

Cape Cod juts out from Massachusetts like the twirl in an otherwise stodgy mustache, and Provincetown is the twirliest part. Many Bostonians know this little town as the site of some infamous weekend of debauchery—perhaps during their Carnival, which occurs every August—but Ptown has more to offer than beads and (dare I say?) BJs.

Provincetown in early spring is austere; there is a hush over the usually bustling town and a sleepy quality to the businesses that are open. As a former Provincetown service-person, I can attest that what’s known locally as “Augustitis” hits the help hard—and it hits in June. But this time of year, people are glad to see you. Ptown’s main drag, Commercial Street, is ridiculously dense with shops, restaurants and bars, but only the true necessities and the real troopers are open all year round.

Try the Provincetown Inn for digs almost literally at the tip of the Cape. Offseason prices are an excellent value, and you’ll find yourself using the word “buffet” (that’s a verb) throughout your stay; with the town’s breakwater a matter of feet away, the elements are evident here, but the center of town is a fair walk away.

For a more rarefied feel, head to the Anchor Inn, the location of which is imminently convenient if not quite as poetic. The Anchor Inn is just out of the center of town on Commercial Street, with harbor beach access. The hushed lobby is attended by a solicitous staff, and the rooms feature fine old four-posters and fireplaces (until June!), increasing the rooms’ cool-weather desirability.

The few restaurants that remain open represent a spectrum of options. For a great menu and wine list, try The Mews, which is on par with Ptown’s best restaurants all year round. Our inside connection, Erik, a cabbie for Mercedes Cab and real live townie, notes that The Mews offers an off-season two-for Thursday; two entrees, that is, for the price of one. Fanizzi’s offers mid-range standard New England fare, good for a late lunch of chowder or crab cakes. The dining room juts over the beach and the paneled windows frame a harbor panorama looking toward Boston and the South Shore; the light of the place during a rain storm is ineffably romantic.

In fact, there are many unspeakable, take-your-breath-away Ptown moments. Over Presidents Day weekend this year, Provincetown blossomed with unbelievable February weather. On a long weekend from Boston, we wandered about in sweaters—sweaters!—throughout the day Sunday. The weather was nice enough that we walked east on Commercial Street through the East End’s Gallery District, past the Cape Inn (another cheap year-round option, but dingier than the Ptown Inn), and out Snail Road (carefully crossing Route 6) to the dunes. The small driveway entrance there leads to a mile of shifting mountains of sand, eventually flattening to reveal the “ocean side” of the Cape, where the real buffeting happens. Our walk led us along the paths (careful of the vegetation, which is fragile) about half-way to the ocean, where the dunes fell away in front of us, the dune shacks appeared and the wind started to howl. These dunes are beautiful in every season, but the subtle Spring giving way to life is gasp-worthy.

This area, as well as the bike paths through the dunes out Race Road and through Beach Forest are National Seashore, meaning these areas are protected from development. This time of year, you often have to put on your game face to enjoy these areas, but the takeaway is worth it, red dripping nose and all.

After all this wholesomeness, remind yourself why Provincetown’s famous by stopping into the Governor Bradford, a grimy-but-great restaurant/hotel/bar in the center of town. Everything that’s anything happens at The Bradford in the winter, and you will likely get your fill of town gossip along with your warm Jack and Coke. Afterward, check for bands or events at The Pig (formerly the Squealing Pig and sister bar to the Boston location), or The Vixen. If you have TOO good a time, call my friend Erik to give you a lift in his Mercedes Cab.

If you have TOO good a time, call my friend Erik to give you a lift in his Mercedes Cab

In the morning, fight off that headache with a cup of darn good coffee from Joe or a full breakfast a touch out of the way at Chach .

On your way out of town, swing by Marine Specialties, a town landmark, which carries everything from old American Airlines china (don’t believe me? It’s been there for ages) and Provincetown calendars to feather boas and half-price Seven jeans.