The Maison Premiere Almanac

The Maison Premiere Almanac

PREFACE

on the almanac form; how to corral a vexingly
diverse subject into a book; and the rare
combination of style and substance

I was first brought to Maison Premiere by a friend who knew I would like the place. At the time, which was a few years after Maison opened, I lived in San Francisco but came often to New York. As I drank an excellent cocktail, marveled at the intricate layers of interior design, perused a shockingly canny wine list (especially for a place recognized as a cocktail bar), and swallowed supremely pristine oysters, I thought to myself, “Where did this place come from?”

Making it even more mysterious was the absence of any authorial signature. While a well-dressed gentleman stood at the door to lead us to our table, he was not the owner. Nor, it turned out, was anyone in the room. No one seemingly cared to take credit for this impressive act of creation.

It would be a few years later that I would find myself sitting down at a table over seafood and drinks with Joshua and Krystof, the men responsible for Maison Premiere, talking about the possibility of adapting their precious vision into book form. We parted company that night not with a concept but with the knowledge that we liked one another and the promise of working together.

The concept would take a while to hash out. After all, given the realities of selling a book these days, Maison’s inability to smoothly fit into any category posed a problem. Like the old cities that inspired it—New Orleans, New York, and Paris—Maison is a haphazard collection of diverse influences, whose identity is very much in the eye of the beholder. To seafood enthusiasts it’s an elite oyster bar with good drinks. To cocktail geeks it’s a rigorous bar with oysters. To scenesters it’s a Brooklyn specialty spot with cool design. To summertime bon vivants it’s a sunny garden with pretty cocktails.

Some people swallow an oyster whole; some people chew on it a bit first. I chewed on this oyster a great deal before at last the word almanac somehow came to mind. If you quote the Oxford University Press to point out that this book is not “an annual calendar containing important dates and statistical information such as astronomical data and tide tables,” you are correct. Such were almanacs as they appeared for the couple of centuries following the first printed one in 1457.

As it evolved in the New World, however, the almanac, notes the Encyclopedia Britannica, developed into “a genuine form of folk literature containing, in addition to calendars and weather predictions, interesting statistics and facts, moral precepts and proverbs, medical advice and remedies, jokes, and even verse and fiction . . . [as well as] much incidental information that was instructive and entertaining.” It seemed I could at least superficially borrow the concept to contain all the information I wanted to include but didn’t know how to categorize in the book.

The attempt to wrangle all that is Maison Premiere ultimately proved impossible. Not done justice in this book are the breadth and quality of the food menu (including recipes) and the culinary minds behind it, the full extent of Krystof’s wine vision, and the ever-fascinating and delicious local brews that circulate constantly through the beer taps. Nevertheless, given the challenges of organization, design, and maintaining focus and connection during an exceedingly tumultuous pandemic, I’m happy with how this came out.

Many places you might patronize might be stylish but lacking in food and drink. Conversely, many great culinary destinations aren’t captivating spaces. Maison Premiere is one of those rare places that has both style and substance to a degree that’s almost mind-boggling, given how difficult each is to pull off. We wanted the book to reflect that feat, while hoping that—as properly as it might settle onto your bookshelf—it would also look perfectly natural when observed on the fireplace mantel next to the antique phone, or at the end of the bar within Maison Premiere itself.

—Jordan Mackay