Rattle n' Hum

I've always been a snob.

Before I was a wine snob, I was a cocktail snob. Before I was a cocktail snob, I was a beer snob.

Despite its central location, Rattle n' Hum had escaped me, because I was a snob, and couldn't bring myself to drink at a bar in Midtown East, after having dealing with waves of douchery at Joshua Tree, Turtle Bar, and Galway Hooker.

Rattle n' Hum is not a snobby place on the surface: big screen TVs, extensive bar menu, large seating area. However, the inner snob was drawn to the "No Crap on Tap" slogan at the bar, the War-and-Peace length draft and bottle selection, and the blackboard wall that politely suggested beers that were similar in style, but better in taste than ones you currently drink.

My partner-in-crime and I each ordered three 4 x 4 oz. flights each, ranging from bitter IPAs and American ales, saisons and lambics, to stouts and smoked beer. For the professional beer drinker, the beers are conveniently arranged in Brewers Association approved styles, approximately from light-to-dark, and dry-to-sweet, which makes ordering a flight a matter of picking beers from left to right.

Although the draft list isn't as comprehensive as the Ginger Man, the draft list fully represents the different styles that are brewed by craft brewers across the United States. There's a smattering of beers from Belgium, France, and Germany, and some token representation by Ireland (Guinness).

After Rattle n' Hum, at least there's one bar that I would happily drink in Midtown East.


On the surface, this reeks of pretension; although wine makers speak of terroir, no such thing exists for brewers, since they control everything that goes into the final product.