Bar Zizz: Refinement Without Pretense
I am not a fancy cocktail guy. My preference is a frosty beer or the ubiquitous Lemon Sour (shochu and soda water with fresh lemon juice). I like wine with food. When it comes to hard alcohol, I enjoy whiskey and ice, shots of near-frozen vodka or a good tequila; perhaps a gin and tonic in the Summertime. If I ever do feel like a cocktail, I slant to the basics: very very dry vodka or gin martini. Fancy cocktail bars make me feel a bit like I am getting conned. I don’t quite understand the drinks, the various bitters, and mottled ingredients. When I order a fancy cocktail, no matter what it is, it seems to taste like yummy fruit juice and I am tempted to drink the entire thing in one sip. I sense disapproval from the bartenders, a sense they know I am a barbarian in their midst. They seem too hushed. Too self-serious. Too elevated. Give me a smoky izakaya and a $5 whiskey highball any day.
The one exception that I have found is Bar ZIZZ in Naka-Meguro. I was first taken there by some friends that I play records with. We had eaten yakitori, drank many beers and lemon sours and walked over — still fragrant from charcoal and roasting chicken parts. The bar was on a quiet block, no other businesses nearby. We opened the door to find a small bar, maybe ten seats at a dark wood counter. The lighting was recessed, very dim and intimate. Glass cabinets on one side held rare whiskeys; a plethora of bottles were shelved behind the counter. The Master (bartender/owner) looked like a Japanese Steve Allen — dark suit; thick, black horn-rimmed glasses; neat, black hair swept back from the forehead. Indeterminate age — somewhere between 55 and 70. He knew one of my friends and put on a Studio One CD, volume low but the sound was pristine. The Master had skill in conversation; whatever was thrown at him, he gathered it in with grace; what he threw back was gentle, a lobbed ball right to the glove. He spoke a little bit of English, 4 months spent living in Queens. He laughed easily and genuinely; retreated at the appropriate moments. He owned the space behind the bar, a true Master of his domain. I watched him work, selecting just the right goblet for red wine, carefully pouring a beer into a chilled mug; for my lemon sour, he deftly carved ice cubes from a large block, swirling them around until, like a game of Tetris, the individual cubes dropped into a perfect formation. Best lemon sour of my life.
Since that first visit, I have returned on a number of occasions. I eat in Naka-Meguro a lot — Grilled pork parts at Motsoyaki Den; the incredible horumon at Onoda Shoten; the BBQ at Hattos Bar. Given that all of those places are meaty, smokey and a bit rough and tumble, it is a pleasure to take the ten-minute walk from the station to Bar Zizz where I can partake in a bit of indulgence. The bar is never crowded. There is always a seat. The Master is always perfectly dressed, smoothly coifed, the epitome of cool and collected. I learned he had been a salaryman, worked for a famous design company. He became enamored with cocktails and spent his nights interning at a few famous bars after spending his days working his regular job. At a certain point, about 12 years previous, he went all-in and opened Bar Zizz, living in a small apartment above the bar. Watching the master make a drink is to witness a mini-performance that is totally devoted to your pleasure. He is totally focused, takes his time stirring, mixing, switching glass-ware for different purposes, giving a little spray of lemon over the edge of a glass. What comes to you is perfect — a chilled gin martini, herbal and ethereal; a bracing Negroni, an Aperol Spritz that somehow seems elevated. Some people might like a dessert, but for me, a little bit of indulgent theater at Bar Zizz is the exact way I want to end my evening — a touch of refinement with zero pretension.
2 Replies to “Bar Zizz: Refinement Without Pretense”
Steve Allen allusions certainly date us! Great piece.
You have a point!