Ernest Hemingway and bullfighting go hand in hand like, oh, Ernest Hemingway and drinking. So the fact that there’s a bar named after Papa’s book on the subject — bullfighting, not drinking — is hardly a surprise. But Death in the Afternoon, the book, certainly has its fair share of dipsomaniacal characters, as does Death in the Afternoon, the bar. The primary culprit in both is absinthe, that much-maligned spirit falsely accused of everything from hallucinations to murder. No, if there’s any slaying going on inside this moody Mills 50 booze den, it’s at the hands of owner-bartenders Arthur Boothe and Julian Burgos, who kill it with their cocktail game, and chef Eric Norvelus, who executes with aplomb.
Death in the Afternoon
Goading and coercing my wife and then, on a separate occasion, my reluctant pal into this dimly lit lair of crapulence had me feeling a bit like the legendary literary brute.
“You know, I was born beneath the snows of Kilimanjaro,” I declared to the missus, “and I cut my journalistic teeth at the Toronto Star, just like Hemingway did.”
“Shut up and open the door.”
And with that Hemingway-esque utterance, we took our seats in the corner of the patina-textured space, then conversed of the Lost Generation (both old and new), real estate, the social safety net and debt — heavy topics we washed down with spirited absinthe-forward quaffs including the French Pearl ($12) and, of course, the namesake Death in the Afternoon ($15).
The latter was allegedly contrived by Hemingway and some sailor buddies, but the bar’s version makes the potable a lot more palatable by adding raspberry syrup and lemon to a flute containing a jigger of absinthe and sparkling wine. “Drink 3 to 5 of these slowly,” says the original recipe in a 1935 book of literary cocktails titled Breath in the Afternoon. “After 6 of these cocktails, The Sun Also Rises.”
As bold and refreshing as it was, I only downed one before laying eyes on Norvelus’ gnocchi in a garlic cream sauce served with P.E.I. mussels ($18). Impressive, and not a dish I expected to be enjoying in a Spanish-leaning absinthe bar of all places. Jamon pastries ($14), however, fit in perfectly. The brie-and-spinach-filled puffs may have been a bit light on the jamon, but the pastelito-like pockets were polished off in mere minutes nonetheless. Octopus braised in fennel and smoked pimentón ($17) came lightly charred and topped with a mound of seasoned black lentils — an ideal accompaniment. Dollops of paprika aioli and roasted red pepper romesco framed the plate.
Norvelus has come into his own after stints at Primo, Santiago’s Bodega and as sous chef at the Monroe under the tutelage of chef Nikk Burton, who reportedly was “sad to see him go.” I was sad to see the pork belly ($12), served atop a molé made from smoky pasilla chilies crunched with pepitas, go. It went fast, as did the 23-day aged New York strip ($20). The three slices, amounting to six ounces, came glossed in an absinthe compound butter. Something tells me Hemingway would’ve loved it, except that it was just six ounces.
Hemingway loved a good burger too, but he was partial to one he made with Heinz India Relish, capers, parsley, sage, Spice Islands Beau Monde seasoning and Spice Islands Mei Yen Pepper. The chorizo burger here ($16) is nothing like that. The spiced 80/20 pork/beef sausage is smashed and layered with peach jam, Manchego cheese and arugula between a brioche bun from Olde Hearth. Accompanying frites, much like everything else we sampled here, were impeccable.
The lone fail came with the beignets ($8). The cream-filled cappers dusted with nutmeg and cinnamon are baked, not deep-fried, and took on the texture of stale dinner rolls. You’re better off going with the fluffy Basque cheesecake ($10), which we ultimately couldn’t finish. We took it, along with half the chorizo smashburger, home with us.
For a place paying homage to Ernest Hemingway, after all, “a moveable feast” is practically a given.
Subscribe to Orlando Weekly newsletters.
Follow us: Apple News | Google News | NewsBreak | Reddit | Instagram | Facebook | Twitter | or sign up for our RSS Feed
This article appears in Mar 27 – Apr 2, 2024.