photograph by bruce vanwyngarden
Bartender Tyler Morgan with a “Viser.”
The first thing that hits you when you enter Café 1912 is the smoky aroma emanating from the compact open kitchen, where chef Keith Riley and his small crew are creating the classic country French dishes that have long been the staple of this Midtown bistro.
Make a quick left turn and then a right, and you’re in the cozy back-room bar, amid a stellar collection of vintage French food and drink posters pulled together over the years by owners Glenn and Martha Hays. You’ll likely be greeted by bartender Tyler Morgan, who — as anyone who’s met him will tell you — loves a good conversation. It may be his college philosophy-major roots or it may be that he’s just a smart, gregarious guy, but whatever it is, Tyler is very good at his trade.
“I noticed that when I showed a film, it created connections from one person to the next at the bar.” — Tyler Morgan
Behind the bar, the television is tuned to an old black-and-white film called Keeper of the Flame, with the sound turned down. Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn are fiercely smoking cigarettes and appear to be discussing something quite important. A Coltrane tune plays softly over the bar’s sound system, providing an oddly appropriate soundtrack. I like this place.
It’s early and the dinner crowd hasn’t arrived, so Tyler and I have time to talk. I first ask him why he shows movies, which turns out to be a good place to start a conversation.
“It got to the point where I didn’t like the energy that sports created,” he says, warming up. “I noticed that when I showed a film, it created connections from one person to the next at the bar. It started conversations. ‘When was the first time you saw this film?’ ‘Who is this actor?’ It helps people get to know each other rather than them just yelling at a touchdown or something. Since the sound is turned down with subtitles, it’s a fun way for me to get my customers to talk to each other and to me, and to create a conversational atmosphere, like a little nightly community.”
That settled, I ask Tyler what his favorite drink is to make. “A beer,” he says, adding quickly, “That’s a bad bartender joke. I actually like making some of the classics — Sazeracs, Manhattans, whiskey sours.”
“Wow, I haven’t thought about a whiskey sour in a long time,” I say, thinking about a whiskey sour.
“I make one I call the ‘Viser,’ says Tyler. “It’s named after a customer who always asks for it. I make it with over-proofed whiskey — in this case, Wild Turkey 101 — lemon juice, simple syrup, and an egg white. You combine everything and give it a dry shake — without ice — then add ice and shake again to chill. Then I toss in a maraschino cherry for color.”
“Sold,” I say. “Fire one up.”
Two minutes later, Tyler slides the concoction across the bar. My first impression is that it looks like a late-night Coltrane tune, creamy and lush and dangerous. And it is. The texture is velvety, but it’s cut perfectly by the lemon and, to a lesser extent, by the whiskey. It is a very satisfying cocktail, one of the best I’ve had in a while.
As I savor my drink, a few customers come in. Over there is a woman from France and her American friend, Mary. A noted local attorney and his wife enter and hold down the far end. An old friend walks in, says hello, and sits next to me. We chat among ourselves, our attention occasionally drawn to the screen, where Tracy and Hepburn are still working out some dilemma that involves a lot of smoke and dramatic lighting on Hepburn’s astonishing cheekbones.
“Were they already lovers when this film was made?” asks the French woman, to no one in particular.
“I think they were lovers,” says the lawyer’s wife, “but I read that the studio set them up in a marriage later because they found out they were both gay.”
“What? Tracy and Hepburn? Really?”
“That’s what I read somewhere.”
“That’s a new one for me. Guess I need to google that.”
And so it goes and on it went. Cocktails, dinner, conversation, a movie, and even a little mystery. Classic.
Café 1912 is located at 242 South Cooper, 901-722-2700.