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Confessions of a Vodka Cocktail Judge
How I sipped 20 drinks in Finland and lived to write about it. Soberly.
By Becca Hensley
Illustration by Josh Cochran
So, I’m talking to a guy in a bar — actually, a whole bunch of guys, most of whom are bartenders. We’re in Helsinki’s newest and grooviest boutique hotel, the Klaus K, squished together in an all-white design symphony that screams snow. We aren’t drinking (yet); after all, it’s only nine o’clock in the morning. Instead, we’re enduring a tedious but necessary meeting about the organization of the event we have come to cover as journalists — or, in the case of the bartenders in the crowd, to compete in for fame and fortune. “Welcome,” says our host, “to the eighth annual Finlandia Vodka Cup, a mixology competition.”
It’s the first morning after the first night, and we’ve all been gathered together to learn what our duties during the competition are to be.
“Please, please, all competitors in the corner,” says Markku Raittinen, Finlandia’s global ambassador of vodka, at which time 24 bartenders from around the world drag themselves to the appropriate spot.
“Journalists, here — no, there — actually, here,” he says, making our heads ache (more than they already do, mind you, thanks to the late-night cavorting we did in Helsinki’s energetic bar scene the evening before). At last, in our assigned places, we listen to the rules of tomorrow’s contest, which will determine the best bartender and the best Finlandia vodka drinks in the world. There will be an American heat in the morning, and the world finals in the afternoon. Each bartender will make three types of cocktails: an aperitif, a long drink, and a dessert drink. They must make each drink, garnishes and all, in under seven minutes — and they will do it all in an ice bar 95 miles from southern, coastal Helsinki. In fact, they’ll be way up north, in landlocked, icy cold Finnish Lapland.
This is the first year Americans have been invited to participate in the contest, and five (from five different regions) are among the crowd. Only the winner of the American heat will go on to compete in the international finals. The bartenders, a marvelous mix from across the globe, from Kazakhstan to Israel to Italy, come in all shapes, sizes, ages, and genders. What they have in common is the desire to become Finlandia’s Bartender of the Year and to please the judges, an international crew of highly touted cocktail connoisseurs such as Dale DeGroff, a.k.a. the King of Cocktails — a Dean Martin–type character who opened the Rainbow Room in New York and was Zsa Zsa Gabor’s chauffeur in the golden era of Broadway. These days, he travels the globe teaching cocktail politics, perfecting recipes, authoring columns and books, and mentoring young bartenders who aspire to be like him. Then, there’s a demonic duo of drink dictators hailing from London, together known as the Soul Shakers (individually known as Michael B and Giles Looker), who conceptualize bars internationally — from interior design to drink menu. Other judges include prominent bar owners, past competition winners, and employees of Brown-Forman, the Louisville, Kentucky–based company that owns Finlandia Vodka.
I have come to Finland, along with five other U.S. writers, to cover the competition. So imagine my surprise when the 12 judges’ names are announced, and at the end of the very impressive list, I hear (think Finnish accent) “Ms. Becca Hensley, from the United States of America.” I’ve just been whispering to my fellow writers about what I perceive as the horrors of being a drink judge, especially in the dessert-drink category. (After all, who can fathom sipping multitudinous sweet drinks?) Unfortunately, it must be a karmic thing, because the ambassador announces my fate as if he’d heard every word and aims to punish me. “She will judge in the dessert-drink category.” My fate, it seems, is sealed. Flummoxed, I wonder in horror: How can I possibly sip nearly 20 drinks without getting wasted? Fruity, creamy, pretty drinks at that. I ponder my higher calling: journalist or judge? Hmm, judge does have a nice ring to it — even dessert-drink judge. So I accept the challenge. And I vow to be the best Finlandia Vodka Cup judge the event has ever known. I will be good — and I won’t get hammered.
After we leave the Klaus K’s bar, we head off on a tour of a couple of local sights such as the Rajamäki Spring (the source of Finlandia’s “pure glacial water,” which defines Finlandia’s vodka) and the spring’s bottling facility, where, as luck would have it, we’re given the chance to partake in a vodka comparative taste test. Three shot glasses are set before us so that we can determine the vodka’s essence. We smell, swirl, and sip them, determining which is flowery, which is malty, and which is pristine. We learn that good vodka is neutral vodka (sounds like a song) and that clean and pristine make it so. In our blind taste, most people choose Finlandia for its neutrality, which is a lot like choosing a little black dress when shopping. That is, neutral is not ambiguous or anonymous or dull; neutral is elegant, confident, and transforming. Cocktail dresses and vodka cocktails, two peas in a pod — who knew?
Following a break for lunch (which means just enough reindeer to soak up any errant vodka), we fly to Kittilä, 95 miles north of the Arctic Circle, in Lapland. The Narnia-like world of the region spellbinds us instantly. Since the temperature is –30˚ Celsius, we don puffy red suits and put on thermal boots to ensure a toasty comfort. The result is a sort of homogeneous group of Santa Clauses.
We spend the night at the Lainio Snow Hotel. Door-free bedrooms have slabs of ice for beds, and roommates are first come, first served. As it turns out, this is a boon for international relations: Picking a bed (or shall I say a slab of reindeer-pelt-covered ice?) in this sculpted igloo with mazelike halls feels a bit like the Oklahoma Land Run — and most everyone ends up with a roommate from another part of the world. This giant surreal slumber party bonds us all, from bartender to judge, and by morning’s light, the day of the competition, we are ready to root for our new friends from different countries.
We gather bright and early in the ice bar (after a warm breakfast and a much-needed Finnish sauna to thaw our snow-bearded bodies). The palpable excitement in the open, nippy room suggests an Olympic event. Red-suited fans prepare to cheer on their favorites, their new friends, and their colleagues. Festive and laden with every manner of cocktail tool and ingredient, the bar swarms with color and texture. Besides bottles of Finlandia, there are also bottles of Campari, Midori, blue curaçao, and amaretto, which glisten like multicolored jewels. Tall lights set up for the event cast a blue glow throughout the bar, evoking a sultry — albeit frosty — nightclub ambience. And behind all the martini glasses, bowls of lime, and passion-fruit puree, stand the contenders.
“Ready, steady, shake!” says Markku Raittinen, and the bartenders begin. An impossibly tiny bartender, a veritable sprite from Ukraine, grins fiendishly as she measures ingredients; a strapping, former professional basketball player from Belgrade struggles with matches to light orange peels for his garnishes; and a handsome Turk rubs his hands together between shaking canisters. Thrill joins the chill in the air as the seven minutes speed by. Some bartenders work studiously, their manner sober and profound. Others play to the audience, raising bottles like the holy sacrament before pouring thin streams into tall glasses.
As a judge, I must retire to the “panic room,” a heated room adjacent to the bar, and prepare to receive the drinks. It’s hard to leave the frosty dither of the competition. Already briefed, I know that drinks will be judged by taste, aroma, aesthetics, and star quality, an all-encompassing category that includes the power of the drink’s name. My team of four, led by Soul Shaker Michael B, gets serious. Though I have been hoping to spit, Michael threatens me with my life. “Nobody on my team spits out a cocktail. You must swallow it in order to experience its entire palette.” I see. My hopes of remaining moderately unscathed and uninebriated are immediately dashed.
The drinks arrive on trays and are arranged on the table before us. The effect is that of a living tablecloth — especially in the after-dinner-drink category, where all the cocktails have a moody, evening-gown feel to them. Immediately overwhelmed, I rummage through my papers, pick up a pen, and wonder where to begin. My fellow professional judges have commenced to sniffing, quaffing, and gazing at the drinks at arm’s length. So I dive in — one straw at a time.
In this mad muddle of tempting potations, all is chaos. It’s not long before I find myself drink-dazed, giddy as a goose. The cocktails seem to come alive, growing little faces that talk to me. “Drink me, drink me!” they seem to be saying. I concentrate on one compelling libation at a time. All the while, the deranged, slave-driving head judge cracks his whip, saying “Focus, judges; hurry, judges; just 10 minutes more.” A drink with floating strawberries begins to overlap with a garishly garnished (think a chunky bananas-and-cherries configuration) milkshake-like beverage. I gather courage and forge ahead, sipping, swallowing, sniffing, and stargazing. At last, I get nearly 20 drinks down the hatch — thankfully not in their entirety. I push them aside and complete my paperwork. I have sipped like a fiend and lived to tell the story. I swagger up the stairs and immerse myself in the ice bar.
The next day we spend in celebration of the snow: We ice fish, snowmobile, and ride on sleighs. That night, relaxed from our frolicking in the cold, we attend the awards banquet, which includes a feast of reindeer meat, salmon, and — what else — lots of Finlandia vodka. The Finnish contender, Jan Lindgren, is announced as the winner, while the basketball player from Belgrade, Aleksander Stipcic, places second. In celebration, shots are downed, arms are slung over shoulders, and lips are smacked. Suddenly, the world seems like a very small place.
Back through the looking glass in Helsinki, I spend my final day detoxing with shopping. Finnish design mirrors its people: functional, avant-garde, sexy, well formed, and durable. I stride through Helsinki’s Design District, an eclectic downtown area with more than 100 shops offering creative fashion, jewelry, art, antiques, furnishings, and more. I walk in the shadows of the romantic Art Nouveau buildings topped with fairy-tale touches like gargoyles that come from not-so-scary nightmares. I hit the Arabia Factory and its showroom, buying greatly discounted Iittala glasses and Arabia bowls. I go to Stockmann, which is London’s Harrods meets Paris’s Le Samaritaine — an awe-inspiring department store so huge, I am certain people must live within it. And, at last, I splurge on jewelry at Kalevala Koru, a shop offering modern and traditional designs based on pieces found in Finnish archaeological excavations.
Bags in hand, I consider one last vodka for the road, but without the mantle of judges and an international cadre of competitors, it just doesn’t seem worthwhile.
Well, maybe just one more … and make it Finlandia.
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Some Winning Drinks
Finlandia Blues
From first-place winner Jan Lindgren, Finland; Level 5 Bar, Hyvinkaa
3 to 4 lime wedges
2 teaspoons blueberries
1 centiliter blueberry syrup
3 to 4 mint leaves
2 centiliters Finlandia Cranberry Fusion
2 centiliters DeKuyper Sour Apple
Muddle
limes, blueberries, blueberry syrup, and mint together. Add in
Finlandia Cranberry Fusion and DeKuyper Sour Apple. Stir and then
double-strain into a martini glass. Garnish with blueberries and mint.
Butter Lee
From second-place winner Aleksander Stipcic, Serbia; Allingston’s Bar, Belgrade
1 centiliter Finlandia Vodka
2 centiliters DeKuyper ButterShots
Schnapps
1 centiliter vanilla liqueur
1 centiliter cream
1 dash Amaretto
Combine ingredients in a mixing glass with ice. Shake and strain into a chilled martini glass.
The Finlandia Sidekick
From winner of the American heat, Ross Simon; Drift, Scottsdale, Arizona
25 milliliters Finlandia Vodka, stirred and chilled
1 ounce beetroot juice, freshly juiced
1 ounce carrot juice, freshly juiced
1 dash Worcestershire sauce
1 dash hot sauce
1 dash coriander
Salt and pepper to taste
Squeeze of lemon
Mix all ingredients together over ice. Shake and pour into two shot glasses.
Lapintini
From Yaroslav Vladimirovich Panov, St. Petersburg, Russia
40 milliliters Finlandia Cranberry Fusion
20 milliliters Vermouth Rose
5 milliliters honey
Fresh cranberry juice
Grenadine
Muddle and double-strain. Serve in a martini glass, garnished with a kumquat.
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If You Go
Sleeping
Hotel Klaus K is a perfect boutique hotel with a hip Finnish design. Bulevardi 2,
www.klauskhotel.com
Hotel Linna
is a centrally located “castle hotel” that manifests the marriage in
Finnish culture of all things Swedish and Russian. Lönnrotinkatu 29, www.palace.fi
Drinking
The American Bar at Hotel Torni, Kalevankatu 5, www.sokoshotels.com
The Arctic Ice Bar, Yliopistonkatu 5, www.uniq.fi
Dining
Ravintola Kappeli is located in a historic building overlooking the square and offers nouveau Scandinavian cuisine. Eteläesplanadi 1, www.ravintolakappeli.com
Ravintola Nokka offers fresh Finnish dishes and is right on the water. Kanavaranta 7, www.royalravintolat.com/nokka
Shopping
Jewelry:
Kalevala Koru, Strömbergintie 4,
www.kalevalakoru.com
Department Store:
Stockmann, Aleksanterinkatu 52B,
www.stockmann.fi
Clothing:
Marimekko, Pohjoisespl 2, www.marimekko.com/eng
Finnish ceramics and glassware:
Arabia Factory and Shop, www.iittala.com
Design District Information:
www.designforum.fi/designforumfinland_en
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