Photography by Kevin A. Roberts
What’s the best way to spend a hundred bucks in the Central West End? We’re delighted you asked.
On a rainy night, order a glass of 25-year-old Laphroaig Islay Scotch at Gamlin Whiskey House, and sip it, slowly, gazing out into the soft rain that renders the twilit corner of Euclid and Maryland avenues into an impressionist canvas. Gamlin is the area’s most extensively stocked whiskey bar. It’s also, rainy night or not, a very fine place for a meal.
Gray walls, along with dark tile floors and stained wood tables, make for a dim interior. It’s cozy, but with all of the pickled vegetable jars on the shelves, it’s also a bit folksy—like that bar in The Shining meets Cracker Barrel. Recycled white-oak whiskey-barrel wood is incorporated into the furnishings, and book-length drink menus are stored in boxes of the same wood. Given the videos of various distilleries that silently loop on TV screens, one senses the usquebaugh is taken seriously here.
The menu is as brief as the liquor list is expansive. Check out the former before you turn to the latter, so you can fully peruse the libations list, which demands much concentration. Begin with some oysters, grilled over an open flame. (The night we visited, they were from the Gulf: plump and glistening, served on the half-shell surrounding a luscious mignonette of shallots, butter, bacon, and bourbon.) The Three Little Pigs is a perfect starter for sharing, with a trio of porky mounds: barbecue pork shoulder, pork belly marinated in bourbon and maple syrup, and golden strips of salty-sweet bacony jowl, accompanied by hefty slabs of beer bread and rough-grained mostarda.
A bread board is another appetizer worth sharing; the beer bread, focaccia, and a superior baguette are all lovely, and when you’re offered a choice of butters, go with the marrow butter. “Unctuous” is a wildly overused word in describing food, but it applies to this creamy, ruinously rich butter.
Cow is presented four ways at Gamlin. A flat iron steak is marinated in brown sugar and bourbon, then sliced into neat medallions that are fork-tender and beefy, altogether enjoyable. The steak is served with house-cut fries that are limp and tasteless. A side of sautéed wild mushrooms and grilled asparagus accompanies an 8-ounce cut of tête de filet, glazed with an understated splash of sage-infused balsamic vinegar. The filet’s marbling melts flawlessly into the meat. The charred crust of a 16-ounce dry-aged rib-eye is flavored with bright Cajun spices. And finally, chunks of grass-fed beef are braised in a potpie of carrots and peas that’s topped with a big square of puff pastry. We went with a vegetarian version of that same potpie. The flaky crust nicely folds into the vegetables and rich gravy. Crusts are to potpies what high heels are to Lady Gaga: If they’re not working, it’s pointless. But you’ll appreciate this one; fluffy, flaky, and layered, it stayed that way no matter how long it spent in that vegetable-studded gravy.
Half a chicken is “brined” in bourbon, then fried with a light crust and served with Kentucky spoon bread, which is like a firm corn pudding spiked with jalapeño, a nice match for the poultry. A pork steak is St. Louis–size: There’s no way a normal person can eat it all. It’s smoked and slathered with a mildly sweet barbecue sauce and accompanied by baked beans. Squid ink–black pasta is sprinkled with blue cheese; it’s a great complement to the wedge of grilled salmon.
You’ll also want to order sides. Portions do come with main courses, but they are diminutive. And you can’t do better than the potato gratin, the thin sliced chips of potato baked with just a hint of thyme and a white cheddar that renders down, adding lustrous intensity to the dish. Pass on the side of risotto, a bland, chalky concoction that doesn’t benefit from a few leaves of overcooked bok choy. But the Brussels sprouts—roasted with apples and nibbles of bacon—are excellent, earthy and sweet. And grilled asparagus gets a noticeable upgrade with a bacon vinaigrette and Manchego cheese crumbs.
For dessert, a scoop of mouth-puckering Meyer lemon ice cream lightly bounces off the dark and delicious chocolate pistachio tart. The house-made sorbets are also a respectable way to finish dinner. And there’s nothing wrong with the wine list. The steaks here can go steady with the 2011 Finca Decero malbec. And a Ramey chardonnay from 2010—when a sunny autumn came early to the Russian River—is already a difficult-to-find vintage. While Gamlin still has it, try it with the chicken, where its flinty notes of mineral sharpness work wonders.
Of course, the wine list here is entirely overshadowed by whiskeys and some masterful cocktails. Among the latter, try the innovative take on a whiskey sour: Canadian whiskey aged in sherry casks is poured with a muddle of orange peel that provides a citrusy sparkle. And the West End Lemonade combines lemonade and Canadian Club’s Dock No. 57 blackberry whiskey. Though fruit-flavored whiskeys might be considered gimmicky, not for serious sipping, this cocktail demonstrates a worthwhile use.
The real whiskeys and bourbons at Gamlin, however, are astounding. Aficionados will be thrilled, while novices may be intimidated. Trust the staff, which takes an interest in both the food and drinks.
And remember: If you’ve got a C-note, consider that peat-smoked, low-tide Laphroaig on a rainy night. Life rarely gets better.
The Bottom Line: Gamlin combines marrow butter, beer bread, a lovely rib-eye—and one heck of a whiskey selection.
236 N. Euclid
Central West End
314-875-9500
Lunch and dinner daily, brunch Sun
Average Main Course: $26
Reservations: Yes, unless you want to spend a lot of time in the bar here—which, come to think of it, isn’t a
bad idea.
Noise Level: Hearing both the background music and one’s dinner companions is rare—and much appreciated.
Chef: Ivy Magruder
