Bob Peters is not messing around. From his lair on the fifteenth floor of the Ritz Carlton in Charlotte, he is crafting cocktails. I normally stay away from the word “craft” these days, because it evokes artisanal micro-green salads and small batch kale tallow soap. Peters is a craftsman, though, and Mrs. Guitars and Gin and I headed up the big elevator one windy March evening to see the man in action and taste his wares.
Things kicked off in a distinctly 007 mood. A R-C staff member showed us through the lobby bar (itself lively and hip enough to be a happy destination) to the elevator. Upon emerging at floor fifteen, we were faced with a plain corridor ending in a hostess stand and what looked to be a black leather covered wall. The Punch Room only has thirty-seven seats, and while there is, apparently, often a queue in the corridor, we were, as always, unfashionably early and walked right up.
The hostess slipped a key-card into a slot in the leather wall and then opened a leather door (it’s possible these were not real leather- they could be vegan for all I know). This led to an ante chamber featuring a single leather-doored restroom. From there. . . the Punch Room itself beckoned.
The first thing that happens when you enter the Punch Room is that someone hands you a glass of punch. Peters makes up a big bowl every night of a different variety. Historically, punches are older than cocktails, and the one we had was delightful (and strong) indeed. I wish I could tell you what was in it, but I’m not even sure we found out. He does have several punches on the menu (made in batches for two); for example, the one called “A Rad Miracle” features Milagro Reposado tequila, salted radish syrup, and Lillet Blanc.
From there, we put ourselves in Peters’ hands. I first went to the bar to seek his advice, and he walked back to our table to ask about our preferences and favorites. He and Mrs. G&G had a deep conversation about flavor profiles and botanicals. I gave him the directive to treat me like a sorority sister on spring break who’d never had a drink without an umbrella.
For Mrs. G&G, he came back with this:
The lovely Pisco Sour, featuring pisco, muddled lemon and lime, and St. Germain foam on top. Pisco is a light amber Peruvian brandy, but unlike the heavily flavored European brandies most of us know, it is unlawful to age pisco in any sort of wood at all. The result is a lighter, grapey-er spirit.
For me, the offering was a carbonated Aviation. I hadn’t told Bob about my love for the barely-violet gin cocktail, but in his wisdom he had sussed it out. He uses Cardinal gin, lemon juice, Luxardo, and creme de violette, as per tradition, but carbonates it himself with his personal. . . carbonator? It was wonderful, combining a fine-bubble fizz with a lovely light drink.
Then we moved up to the bar, wanting to continue our impromptu education uninterrupted. He let us taste the difference between green and yellow Chartreuse, let us in on the best-kept-secret ABC store in Charlotte (Cherry Street ABC), and further prodded our palates. When I confessed that I had no love for the über-hip Negroni, he took it as a challenge and prepared for me a Cynar Boulevadier, subbing cynar for campari and creating a bitter-but-slightly-less-so drink that allowed the complexity and sweetness to shine through the shadows.
I haven’t discussed the luxe decor, the bar snacks, or the views of downtown Charlotte. They’re all superb, but the real draw here is Peters. The hours he mulled over glassware, his curating of small batch exotic spirits, his unrelenting search for new flavors, and his generosity of spirit as host and teacher: these are the real draw. We’ll be back; stop by and tell Bob we sent you.