Oh yes, daddy finally got to go to Thunderbolt. For those who don’t know–It’s #1 in L.A., the #9 bar in all of North America and #66 in the world. Damn respectable placings…Damn respectable. I don’t really know how these ratings are calculated and this is the only one of these places I’ve ever been in, so I have zero experience and no meter to compare it to. I do know the ratings come from “industry professionals” whatever that means. My type of bar is usually the urine soaked hellhole archetype where I order a Miller High Life in a bottle and then pull a swift Irish goodbye

The interior of Thunderbolt is wide open with odd, cheap, modern decor. Dark, very dark. The bar top is formica with chips of orange and green throughout. Again, not my favorite style…But different. I like something worn in and smelly, like comfortable old shoes. New things give me the creepy crawlies. Yes, yes, I know. To tell the truth, I didn’t know what to expect. This place keeps ringing the bell and I’ve wanted to go for literal years.

Here’s the menu:

My buddy Daniel and I had just pigged out on Korean BBQ. We were ready to tear into some drinks. We started with two spirit forward bevvies. For him, the P-Town Boxing Club, for me, the Tart Cherry Thunderbolt. Both were pretty good but just ok and I was thinking to myself, hmmm, this place might be overrated. Yes, my ego was already building up a brick wall so I wouldn’t be too hurt later when it all came crashing down.

The Tart Cherry Thunderbolt was served in an amber glass with pebble ice and a sprig of mint. Delicious, but nothing crazy. I’ve got to say, the bartender really knew his stuff, fielded every question quite politely with no rolling of the eyes, and described every ingredient to a tee.

Next up I got the Barcelonette and Daniel the Echo Park Trash Can. I had been wanting to try this one for a while, ever since they put the specs on instagram for their crazy methyl cellulose syrup they use and call “meth syrup.”. This was really good, creamy, bitter, smoky, and passionfruity. Whipped in a little side milkshake machine built into the wall. Went down a little too smoothly.

A couple sitting next to us ordered two vodka sodas which I thought a bit odd considering where we were. But hey, there will always be some jackass ordering a vodka soda and now I’ll feel less insulted when it happens to me sometime this week.

After the two cocktails I noticed something a little odd about the place. To me, at that moment, there was no actual “bartending” going on. What I mean is, when they made cocktails they simply reached into a cooler and poured them. There was no stirring, no shaking. The bar itself was well designed. There was no hectic pace. The bartenders never got into the weeds. There were no eight ingredient tiki cocktails that took twice as long to build and make. Everything about the cocktails and how they were designed was thoughtful toward the bartenders themselves and how quickly they could execute. It was an odd thing to watch at first, like I said, it didn’t look to me like anyone was “bartending” because all the work had already been done.

I understand why this is important. One, batching everything creates a perfect consistency so every drink is always the same no matter who is making it. Two, it makes service incredibly easy. Now, to me, it’s also a bit detracting because there is no level of actual bartending skill involved. The skill comes from the person behind the scenes who had created the cocktails in the first place. The owner behind all of it, Michael Capoferri, said in a L.A. Times article, “I didn’t want a place where the drinks cost $20 and took 20 minutes to make. There might be 12 or 14 hours of prep that go into each cocktail, but when you order them, it’s 10 seconds to serve them. All the techniques are behind the scenes.”

Makes a lot of damn sense, but I wonder also if it can be done with some of the old school “pomp and circumstance.” To me, that’s part of the allure of a good bar and good bartender. Watching them put everything together. But Capoferri is right, too. I mean, technology is at our fingertips for a reason, no? We don’t have the big, new stuff at Rustic. Never have. I’m speaking of the Kold Draft machine, the force carbonation (which would be quite easy actually), the centrifuge, the canning machine, the c-vap distiller, and whatever else the kids are using these days. Now, it isn’t necessary to have these things, but at the same time, it makes life a lot goddam easier. It’s really got my wheels spinning.

The big thing at Thunderbolt is the canned cocktails and I’ve got to say, the Candy Paint was the best drink I’ve ever had. The pecan flavor was subtle but big and bold and the drink lasted on my tongue far after it went down my gullet. At this point I was really blown away and also had the Fu Gwa Falsetto bitter melon drink with the weird dried plum powder over the top. Also incredible. I topped the night off with another can of…Something…Things get a little fuzzy from here. The drinks are potent but you’d never know because the flavors are so integrated you barely even know the booze is in there. The headache I felt the next morning told me it was all too real.

At one point in the night I got a bit bummed out. The Candy Paint was really that good, so good in fact that I had no idea how it was pulled off. This is the other aspect of what they do at Thunderbolt and why it’s so fantastic. The cocktails are unique and mysterious. Any other place and I’d be able to analyze what was in the drink. Here? No way. The technology and the technique were both over my head. Sigh.

I remember as a young boy thinking that if I just worked hard enough I could make it to the NBA someday. My dad told me Larry Bird shot free throws every day until the sun went down, so I did that too. I was dedicated. We had open gym sessions during lunch at my high school where we would all play a game called taps. A new kid who had transferred form another school joined us on the floor. David root, a freshman who was 6′ 2″. We were all chummy with him, messing around. We all thought we were so good.

“Hey check this out,” he said to me.

“What’s that?”

“One step dunk.”

He did exactly as he said. He had the ball, took one step, and dunked on me with two hands.

That’s when I knew I’d never be in the NBA.

I hadn’t felt that in some time. The beauty of jiu jitsu is that even an old fart like me can have a competitive advantage against the younger kids through savvy, technique, wisdom, and consistency. I’ve rattled off the old adage before that “power is the last thing to go.” You hold onto your “old man strength” for a long time. But there’s also the next level. I’ve rolled with guys from the UFC and it’s obvious there’s just something very different about them. Whether it’s athletic ability or just plain mindset but probably a combination of both. That’s exactly how I felt that night at Thunderbolt–as if I had just rolled with a UFC fighter and they toyed with me before going in for the kill. Technology be damned, this was something else. I’m not beating myself up here. It is what it is. We make damn good drinks but we don’t do things like Thunderbolt. Maybe we could if I only knew how. Most of this cocktail stuff I’ve learned from reading books and trying new things out on my own. The other stuff, the technological know how is so over my head. Maybe it’s better that way. Maybe Rustic is just fine without all this and maybe people still want some old gnarled bartender flailing around on a busy night, sweating, going down while in the weeds.

Dammit, maybe I just want a pebble icer…