I don’t get out to cocktails bars often. I’m an unrepentant shot and a beer guy. A well-crafted Paloma changed my mind.
The Adiós Bar is meticulously curated to be both visually interesting and functional. Nothing is out of place unless it’s supposed to be out of place. The bar is pleasantly dim, with light filtered through backlit bottles and from underneath the concrete bar top. It’s comfortable. It’s a good place to sit down for a drink. A serious drink.
The bartenders are friendly and well dressed. I could watch them mix drinks for days. They work neatly but quickly. Cocktails are reasonably priced at $10-13. They offer an impressive stable of house and classic cocktails.
The clientele runs the gamut: a group of young ladies in evening gowns perch on barstools next to shaggy thirty-somethings in shorts and flip-flops. Neither seems out of place.
The Adiós Bar could be cast as a Foreign Legion post in an alternate reality. The kind of place that exists in movies where everyone is mashed together due to circumstances not entirely within their control.
That’s a tough look to pull off without being heavy-handed or sentimental. It’s a truly beautiful place.
The bar gets loud after a few drinks. Boozy conversations bounce from the concrete floors and up around the high ceilings. Good bars get loud. That’s their nature.
The Adiós Margarita is simple. Reposado tequila, over-proofed rum, orange liquor, lime, and agave. It’s garnished with what I’d guess is a dehydrated lime soaked in hibiscus, with a slight salt rim. It’s a fitting flagship.
I will return again, if nothing else, for the Paloma. Tequila blanco, lime juice, aperol, and a splash of Squirt soda. It’s remarkably light and reminds me of an agua fresca. It’s the $10 cure for a hot Birmingham summer afternoon.
I chatted up José Medina Camacho, founding partner of Adiós, who was posted up out front during the Adiós x Salud pop-up dinner event. We talked about the best carnitas we’d ever eaten. We bitched about the availability of mezcal in Alabama. He thinks that will change in time. I do too.
I subscribe to Camacho’s vision. I also want a city in which craft is rewarded, be it in the form of mezcal or whole hog carnitas or anything else simple and true.
Camacho sees a Birmingham that is getting better. We need more people like him.
And the wheels are in motion despite my own impatience. Ten years ago the lone mezcal brand in Alabama was Monte Alban, an industrial-grade spirit with a dare-worthy agave worm floating at the bottom. The mezcal market has matured substantially since then, as has Birmingham.
I believe we’ll look back and see that many great things started with the Adiós Bar.
-SB
Birmingham Food Scene 