Columnist Meg van Huygen recommends the Nghiện (“Addiction”) at Ramie, a dry, leafy take on a Boulevardier that combines whiskey, Vietnamese amaro, yuzu bitters, vermouth, and rice paddy herb. by Meg van Huygen Hey, look, it’s my cocktail column! It’s back after a seasonal hiatus and not a moment too soon, because… I heard y’all need a real stiff drink. Whewwwww.  It’s just as well that this is late. Back in the spring, Ramie opened up in the old Omega Ouzeri space at 14th and Pine, serving new Vietnamese fare and craft cocktails, and I was a little reluctant to rave about a brand-new restaurant before the kinks had appeared. Now that it’s had a minute to settle in, Ramie’s running like a top…. and this little cocktail of theirs is still spinning around my mind. Brought to us by Thien and Thai Nguyen, the chef-siblings behind Vietnamese desto-resto restaurant Ba Sa on Bainbridge Island, Ramie is named for a plant in the nettle family that’s native to Southeastern Asia and is usually used to make fabric. Where Ba Sa does contemporary Vietnamese classics with high-level sourcing and a few riffs on traditional dishes, à la Monsoon or Ba Bar, Ramie takes it a couple steps further. The completely bespoke menu has quickly drawn comparisons to Musang in re: waxing creative on the traditional stuff. An example of the sibs’ inspired creativity is the cá chiên (“fried fish”), a butterflied branzino served with chimichurri made from perilla leaves, cucumber kimchi, fried shallots, and a custardy onsen egg that arrives in a little bowl of fish sauce, ready for you to mix it all up. The canh khoai mo, meanwhile, is a veggie risotto with ube puree, pickled fennel, herb oil, crushed hazelnuts, and a pesto made from sawtooth coriander and ngò ôm (also known as rice paddy herb—more on this later). You get it. All your favorite stars from Vietnamese Food have been recombobulated into a fresh new supergroup, and each dish is a mashup of their distinct talents and personalities. This MO is extended to Ramie’s bar program as well. Led by Jen Rae—an alumna of Barnacle, Deep Dive, and Bateau, as well as the cocktail facet of experimental fermentation-themed popup Amino—the bar’s got a cool spread of cocktails that starts with well-loved concepts like the margarita or the Manhattan. But Rae’s folded in some botanicals that’re perhaps less commonly seen in Seattle’s cocktailscape, like longan, rau răm, fish mint, garlic chive, lemon basil, and calamansi.   The one I love is the Nghiện. This word means “addiction” in Vietnamese, and the drink comprises Suntory Toki Japanese whisky, yuzu bitters, May Amaro from Sông Cái Distillery in Hanoi, and vermouth blanc that’s been house-infused with ngò ôm—that aforementioned rice paddy herb. This drink revs up like a whiskey-powered Manhattan but drives like a Boulevardier, with the earthy amaro and the sharp citrus-floral edges from the ngò ôm and yuzu bitters eventually blooming through the wall of booze. It’s a drink you want to take your time with. Inhale the air around it before you take a sip. Consider the innovative entrees. Contemplate your next move.  Yeah, baby, I like it raw: With whiskey, amaro, vermouth, and a few droplets of yuzu bitters, the spirit-forward Nghien is pretty much all unadulterated booze. Meg van Huygen Let’s take the Nghiện apart. You might already know the green-appley, lightly honeyed Suntory Toki whiskey, for relaxing times. The simple, clean yuzu bitters are by The Japanese Bitters out of Ichikawa, Chiba, Japan (they also make an umami bitters that really pops in a dry martini). The Mẩy Amaro comes to us by way of Hanoi-based Sông Cái, a gin distillery that’s spent eight years developing the liqueur. The amaro is inspired by the medicinal tinctures used by the Red Dao people in Vietnam, and it’s named for medicine woman Lý Mở Mẩy, who consulted on the recipe. A combo of sarsaparilla, lapsang souchong, galangal, rose petals, fig, poppy, orange peel, horehound, angelica root, and dandelion root, all macerated in a neutral spirit made from rice and molasses, it’s sorta like smoked root beer. If you’re a fan of the classic European amari, well, you may or may not recognize this one as being in the club.  Originally from Portland, Rae has a strong background in wine, and it definitely informs her bar program. She switches between two different vermouths here—Yzaguirre Reserva Dry Vermouth and Vermut Lustau—and both are infused with the ngò ôm, a marshweed with flavors of lemon and cumin that grows throughout Southeast Asia. These choices are both dry as hell, made from coastal Spanish vineyards, with a bright yellow tone and mineral finish.   “I really like Spanish vermouths,” Rae says. “I think people really don’t know about them or even realize they exist.”  They’re obviously not the usual suspects you’ll find in the vermouth slot behind most American bars, though. Where’s the Dolin and Carpano Antica? “Yeah, the bar industry is very brand-driven,” Rae says, “and I actually think it’s a huge problem. Just like chefs, we have producers that we like, and it’s just as important when building a bar program, to bring in the right spirits for your bar program that you like and be less influenced by big brands.” She also points to bartenders often catering to homogenized American tastes—that is to say sugar. “In the history of craft cocktails, they tend to be super sweet, even vermouth!” she says. “I think it’s really important when you’re behind the bar to create your own style and their own palate. So I’ll always be like ‘Mmmm, this needs to be drier or more savory.’” “It’s not just about my personal preference, though,” she adds. “The style of food that we’re doing here is not Western, so it wouldn’t make sense to try to serve Western drinks made for a Western palate.”  It’s not just the Nghiện that’s making trails on Rae’s cocktail list. The Hoa Anh Túc cocktail (“poppy” in Vietnamese) is a canny cover of a margarita, with tequila, tangerine, red aperitivo, peppercorn, lime, and garlic chive, then edged with black volcanic salt and garnished with a sprig of chive. Lots of frooty juice in here, but it’s tempered wayyy down by the piney, sharp peppercorn and the alliaceous twang of the chive. Among a handful of other artisan wines, she’s got a melony amber mtsvane-rkatsiteli wine by Dila-O in central Georgia (the Republic of), fermented in open clay qvevris with natural yeast, and a bright vinho verde by Quinta de Santiago—members of the Vinho Verde Young Projects group of vibrant young winemakers in Portugal. The drink menu feels cultivated and thoughtful, like someone spent some real time thinking about what you wanted for your birthday, hand to chin, gazing at the heavens. Except your birthday is your dinner. It’s just what you always wanted. With an innovative New Vietnamese menu and a uniquely curated bar program, Ramie is a noble successor for Omega Ouzeri’s old spot, and they’re utilizing the space beautifully too. Seeing as the Nghiện is pretty much all unadulterated booze, it’s more of a dinner cocktail, so have a seat, order yourself some fishy dishes, and take your time with it. (Well, unless you’re an old barfly like me—it can be an à la carte bartop drink too, if you’ve got the liver for it.) Regardless of where you are with your addiction I mean personal relationship to booze, the Nghiện will rehab all your Western expectations of the cocktail classics.