Stepping Gin-gerly

Cru has one of the finest wine lists in America, if not the world; the wine program, led by the Honorable Robert Bohr, the Pontiff of Pairing, is unparalleled; only a fool would bypass such access to knowledge in favor of a cocktail.
And, indeed, I am that fool.
Sometimes, one is simply in the mood for a drink in an atmosphere that does not involve Philippe Starck or expats from Williamsburg. Cru offers a happy medium featuring a warm, welcoming front room, a superb staff, and, of course, a mastery of mixology. Their libations are made with a care and finesse hearkening back to a romanticized early era that probably never was. When one orders a Brandy Alexander, the Nutmeg is carefully ground over a microplane, and before bartending baron, Patrick C., completes the assembly of a Sidecar, he hand squeezes the citrus insuring that the sugar rimming the glass serves as a compliment, not a mask.
The establishment makes no pretenses about being a "drink" bar as it is not one. Further, they offer no qua-pseu-faux intellectual philosophy purporting to elevate the cocktail to a transcendental level. No, this is not a theme libation lounge a la Pegu Club, simply a fine dining restaurant that delivers the service one expects from an upper tier establishment.
Last night, I popped in to enjoy the King of Cocktails, the Martini. I prefer this beverage served up & dry, with a twist, unless I am in a venue stocking my gin of choice, Hendricks, in which case I take the Scotch Courage sans vermouth and accompanied by the de rigeur slice of cucumber.
However, in the evening in question, I was presented with a new option on the Gin front, and I served as a guinea pig sampling GBT Summer Gin. Yes, the micro-monster was not full after devouring a tasting menu of beers, bourbons, and vodkas; the beast is now snacking on some petit-fours of gin.
GBT is an American product, named after Portland, Oregon's cult restaurant, Gotham Bldg Tavern. Their kitchen is manned by Batali protege, Tommy Habetz, and owned by Michael and Naomi Hebberoy who are also the minds behind the gin. The liquor itself is only available in limited release; as opposed to retail sales, they have opted to distribute through 100 "top restaurants" in the United States. The gin will also be offered in a winter varietal come autumn.
In an interview with Food & Wine, Hebberoy explains his epistemology as that of an artist, citing influences such as the Clash and Keith Haring. (Oookay... Crack may be wack, but booze is beautiful.?!) The restauranteur proceeds to liken his forthcoming book, Kill the Restaurant to Rilke's writings.
In many ways, his product does taste like a Bowl of Roses, and the translation of his ontology from solid to liquid works a bit better than converting Rainer Maria's German to English. However, the philosophy may be flawed. Like a California wine, the gin strikes me as uber manufactured! Why must we over-engineer what works naturally? (Or in the case of gin, somewhat naturally...) Regardless, the drink was herbal, very herbal with an earthy finish featuring the sort of minerality that I covet in a Chambertin, but I find a bit awkward in a liquor. Further, there seems to be some floral elements thrown in, but that's the problem: they seem to be thrown in! This is not to say that GBT is an overstated drink, (it's not a Gin Zin,) but the are apparent after some sniffing and swishing. They are neither distinct nor purposeful, and I wonder whether the inspiration comes from a conscious, contrarian case to include ingredients that are not etched into the side of a bottle of Bombay S.
As for GBT's own bottle, it is exactly what one would expect, unlabelled, clear glass, with a wax sealed cork top. All very "indie," I'm certain that Mick Jones must be proud!
It's not that GBT is bad; in fact, it's certainly superior to plenty of products, but for now I'll stay square & east coast, sipping my consumerist Hendricks.