The Mutton Chop and the Garden Party

As the Big East tourney was getting underway, our family convened a block away, at Keen’s, for no particular reason aside from the great food and whisky. It was really just a coincidence, but I was scheduled to argue an appeal the same week that Mike was coming to New York for a moot court competition, and John was planning to be in the City for work. So what better place to meet?

We struggled to find a spot at the bar, as the place was mobbed, even on a Tuesday night. But once we commandeered a couple seats, and requisitioned the scotch listing, we settled in on a ten-year old Arran malt. I know what you’re thinking: why not Rosebank? We always drink Rosebank at Keens. The unfortunate answer to that question is that Keens no longer has any Rosebank behind the bar. Can you imagine? Fortunately, we still have a few bottles in the family, and can partake on special occasions, say if the Cuse were to make it to the Sweet Sixteen. I think that might merit a taste of Rosebank. But our favorite lowland malt, and in fact, one of our very favorite whiskies of all times, can longer be found at this venerable establishment.

So anyway, Arran is a new distillery, on the island which bears the same name (an eponymous whisky?), but has a character much closer to a Highland malt than anything we’d usually associate with the islands. Partly, that’s because the whisky is young; but more than that, there’s no peat, no smoke, no brine in Arran. When I first became enamored of malts, Ben sold me a bottle of “Arran Malt”, which lacked any age statement, and was thought to be about five years old. It was very clean and crisp, even lighter than, say, a Glenmorangie. This ten-year old offering had more flavor and more body, perhaps closer to an Aberlour or an Edradour. The difference between this bottling, and the malt I tasted several years ago suggests to me that, once the folks at Arran can begin selling stuff that’s been fully aged in the barrels, their malt will be well worth tasting. As it was, even though a bit young, it was enjoyed by everyone.

Our second taste was a Port Ellen, for the simple reason that there are very few places on earth where one can now taste Port Ellen, the distillery having been closed for well over a decade. Joe wanted to sell us a bottle of Port Ellen this winter for upwards of $400 (a bit rich, even for malt lovers such as ourselves). I can’t recall the exact age of this bottling (by Signatory), but it was somewhere in the mid-to-late twenties. I’ve waxed eloquent on Port Ellen before, as it’s featured on the Great Scots flight. Being able to taste Port Ellen is one of the reasons we love going to Keens. This isn’t some fashionable malt; and Keens isn’t soaking its customers for the typically generous pour. Rather this is a gem of an island malt, no longer being distilled, hard as hell to find, and reasonably priced. John commented about how we love Keens because it’s all go, and no show.

Speaking of which, when we sat down to dine, later to be joined by Casey and Shahed, we ordered the porterhouse for two, and the mutton chop. The mutton chop is Keen's signature dish, an enormous lamb chop, easily the size of a two-pound steak. (Those two dishes fed five people; we don’t count Casey as she remains a vegetarian, despite our best efforts.) The back of Keen’s menu tells the story of how, when Keens catered to a male-only clientele, some gal stormed into the restaurant one night and demanded to be served the mutton chop. I can understand why, although I confess that my favorite dish there remains the porterhouse.

And after dinner, we shared, not surprisingly, the after-dinner flight, which included Edradour Ballechin #1 and Talisker 25. I won’t reprise my previous posting on the after-dinner flight, except to say that, if you’re a whisky lover, I can’t imagine a better evening than a Keen’s porterhouse followed by that flight of whiskies. I mean, who drinks Port Ellen, Ballechin and Talisker 25 on a Tuesday night, for no good reason other than the fact that the whole family was together? Really.

Meanwhile, we didn’t get to see the Orange on Wednesday at the Garden, because they weren’t tipping off until 9:30, the last game of the day. I saw the end on ESPN 360, and Cuse romped in the second half. Devo was on fire; the team shot almost sixty percent, while taking a generous number of threes. Harris had a quiet game, but the rest of the front-court played well. And they tied a Big East Tournament record for assists in a single game. In fact, had Boeheim not emptied the bench with about three or four minutes to play, I’m sure they would have broken that record. Tonight will be tough against UConn, but I won’t be troubled if we get knocked out. For one thing, we’ll be better rested for the first round of the next tournament. And also, I recall that in 2003, it was one and done, losing to UConn in the second round, and that was the last loss of the season, to be followed by six straight in the NCAAs. Not that I’m expecting a repeat of 2003, but I wouldn’t mind seeing us play into the round of sixteen or even eight.

Maybe next year, I’ll have enough time to stick around in NY, and enjoy the festivities at the Garden. But this year I was content to remain a few blocks away, and there to enjoy my family, in a more hospitable setting, and with far better food and beverages.