Drink

Turn on THE LIGHT

by MIMI MONTGOMERY

IIF YOU WALK DOWN HARGETT STREET PAST THE Architect bar, YOU may notice a single green light glowing above its door. It’s not a relic from a bygone era or an homage to The Great Gatsby. It’s an invitation. Subtle, but that’s the point. The Green Light doesn’t need signs or logos – it’s a speakeasy. Opened in 2013, the space is located behind a wall in a corner of The Architect, tucked behind a bookcase that opens to reveal its secret location. While clandestine in theory, the bar has actually been widely celebrated. In 2015, it was named among Architectural Digest’s “Ten of the best speakeasies across America” and Thrillist’s “21 most secret bars in America.” While it shares a 1922-era building and former architecture office with The Architect, its identity is completely separate. “The Architect is a really busy place; people don’t even realize how cool it looks because it’s so busy at night,” says Local Icon Hospitality owner Jon Seelbinder, who owns both spots as well as the nearby LevelUp, Virgil’s Tacos, Linus & Pepper’s, and Little City Brewing. In contrast, Seelbinder says The Green Light’s unique setting (and its craft cocktails) are the bar’s focus. “I wanted to create … an elusive, secretive bar that people could sneak off to.” Inside the 32-seater, lights are low and music takes a backseat to drinks and conversation. Windows overlooking Hargett Street are bolstered by cozy banquette seating (upholstered by Raleigh’s Rainbow Upholstery) and small tables. Then, of course, there’s the bar itself. Reclaimed wood from a 1903 Johnston County general store flanks the front, and planks on its footrests are from a nearby historically black schoolhouse. Behind it stands the guy you want to talk to, bartender Geoffrey Cunningham. Not sure what you want? No problem – Cun-

ningham likes to work one-on-one with his customers to figure out exactly which drink they’d like best. “I think of myself as a little mad scientist,” he says, grabbing bottles from the shelf behind him. He likens it to a chef’s spice rack, but thinks like a chemist, giving a quick rundown of the five taste palates and juxtaposing them with the 400 receptors in the nose. The ideal cocktail is found in the intersection of the two, he says. It’s his job to find that balance. He doesn’t think of drinks in terms of recipes, and he sees a cocktail menu as suggestion, not law; he’d rather dabble in experimental chemistry, mixing flavors and spirits to create the best formula possible. “I try to learn new things every day,” he says. If you can’t make it into The Green Light yourself, Cunningham recently whipped up a drink recipe for WALTER readers to try at home. He says the idea for this drink, which he’s named Trinidad Cocoa, has been whirling in his brain for years, ever since he tried Zaya Gran Reserva rum. (Plus, he’s always wanted a reason to buy a blowtorch.) It’s a warm drink that makes an excellent nightcap, combining rum, cream, and hot cocoa. Amaretto-soaked marshmallows covered in almonds and caramelized (with said blowtorch, or over the stove, or with a garden-variety butane candle- lighter) top it off. It’s delicious, whimsical, and a little bit unusual – Cunningham’s sweet spot. And Steelbinder’s. “We don’t want to become stagnant; we want to continue to breath life into this,” says Steelbinder. “It’s an ongoing labor of love for us, and it’s been really fun to watch it play out from what I’d hoped and dreamed it would be, and it really being what that dream was.”

108 E. Hargett St.; Monday - Sunday 5 p.m. - 2 a.m.; architectbar.com/the-green-light

TRINIDAD COCOA

Footed 8 ounce glass (or any glass that can hold a hot drink) 1 1/2 ounces Zaya Gran Reserva rum 4 1/2 ounces hot chocolate* ½ ounce amaretto 2 large marshmallows Slivered almonds

Add rum to glass, then fill with hot chocolate until almost full. Add amaretto on top as a floater. Soak two marshmallows in amaretto, caramelize them (either with a blowtorch or over the stove), roll them in almonds, then use as cocktail garnish. Serve.

*HOT CHOCOLATE

Serves 6 10 heaping teaspoons 100 percent unsweetened cocoa powder 16 ounces heavy cream 14 ounces water Mix 1 ounce water with cocoa powder in medium saucepan to create a paste. Add heavy cream to paste mixture and stir, making sure all cocoa is thoroughly mixed. Add remaining water and place on stove to warm to desired heat. Do not boil or overheat mixture.

STORYof a house

THE LONG VIEW

A new purpose for the Poe House

by JESSIE AMMONS

TTUCKED BEHIND WAKEMED HOSPITAL AT THE END OF AN UNASSUMING side street stands a stately stone house, a gracious counterpoint to the health care center’s sprawling clinical grounds. “It’s always had a great spirit,” says Diane Smith, whose grandparents-in-law – Dr. Clarence Poe and his wife, Alice Aycock Poe – built the house in 1925. After decades of serving as a family home and then as a community event venue, Poe’s descendants donated the property to WakeMed in 2011. Recently, it was restored to serve as a hospital meeting space and as offices for the WakeMed Foundation. “It’s humming,” says Abby Johnston, director of major and planned gifts at the foundation. “We have a home now.”

EASY ELEGANCE

Clockwise from top: Most of the light fixtures and chandeliers throughout the house are original. The antique furniture in the foyer is from Acquisitions, Ltd. and donated by the Smith family, who are descendants of Dr. Poe (and owned the house and operated it as an event venue for a time in the ’90s). Many of the rugs were donated by WakeMed Foundation staff. Furniture, even in the large living room (pictured on adjacent page), is purposefully spare so that it can easily be moved aside to make room for functional tables and chairs on wheels donated by Alfred Williams and Company: Hospital staff and the WakeMed Foundation board use the rooms for conferences, training, and receptions. “This house is built well,” says Tom Calvander, WakeMed’s vice president of facilities and construction, who led the restoration. “It has a good air to it.”

It’s a handsome one, a place with easy elegance. Sand- colored stone and black shutters outside give way to a grand foyer featuring a sweeping staircase. Original chandeliers and light fixtures hang throughout, adding a bit of sparkle to rooms with simple, mostly bare walls in subdued colors and restored hardwood floors. There’s a sunporch on the ground floor and a former sleeping porch – now enclosed with windows – stacked above it. Built-in bookshelves accentuate high ceilings in the downstairs study, which is now a walk-through office. Most every room includes a fireplace, and upstairs two of the bathrooms still have claw-footed bathtubs. Smith says the decision to donate the house was in line with the original owner’s legacy. Clarence Poe, a civic leader and early Raleigh visionary, was a Chatham County native who became associate editor of The Progressive Farmer at 16 and went on to become its editor. He worked in downtown Raleigh for 67 years. When he purchased the plot of land for his house in 1919, it was just far enough from town – a straight three miles – to allow for a pleasant commute: “He rode his horse to his office downtown, and he wanted a good ride in the morning,” Smith says. Gradually, Poe amassed nearly 800 acres, where he put into practice the principles of his newspaper: He made his house out of stone quarried on the property, and built a working farm and

VISIONARY

dairy. The Poes dubbed their esThis page: Dr. Clarence Poe’s daily commute in the ’20s was a three-mile trek on horseback to downtown Raleigh. tate “Longview” Opposite page: Dr. Poe’s great-granddaughter to honor both the scene from Catherine Smith Farley’s wedding reception was held at the ancestral home last May. the front porch and their intent to stimulate growth and development in the area. Today, that tract encompasses the WakeMed campus and the Longview Gardens Historic District (a residential neighborhood Poe helped create), as well as the grounds of the Raleigh Country Club. The Poe House sits on a remaining 14 acres of land. “It’s always been a home and it’s always been a happy place,” Smith says. “For years, whenever there was a family occasion, it was always there.” Tradition came full-circle last May when Smith’s daughter, Clarence Poe’s great-granddaughter Catherine Smith Farley, held her wedding reception at the home before the WakeMed foundation moved in in September. “Her grandmother was married there. Seventy-five years later, the house was still a happy wonderful place for a family event.” Its current incarnation as home to the hospital’s foundation is “giving the house a rebirth,” Smith says. “It’s bringing it back to life.” Inheriting a home as office space has sentimental gravitas

that’s not lost on the hospital staff. “This is an institutional treasure and we knew it needed to be treated differently than other hospital structures,” says the foundation’s executive director, Brad Davis. “When it gets to a home, it feels a bit more personal.” Attention to detail infused every step of the renovation process. “We matched paint colors to old photos (of the house),” says Tom Calvander, WakeMed’s vice president of facilities and construction (who admits with a chuckle that his day-to-day doesn’t usually involve finding someone to carefully clean antique chandeliers). “We worked really hard to maintain the integrity of the original home.” That integrity remains in today’s workspace thanks also to sleek Alfred Williams and Company furniture-on-wheels, a donation from hospital supporter and longtime Foundation board member Blount Williams. Tables and chairs fold up and easily move among the restored original rooms. Many foundation staff members donated rugs and other elements, and the Smith family donated antique furniture to outfit the foyer. The sleeping porch is now a conference room, available for any WakeMed doctors, nurses, and other staff members to rent out and use, and upstairs bedrooms are foundation offices. “We have pretty good team morale, anyway,” Johnston says, “but since moving in, there’s been a noticeable shift. There’s a good vibe here. We take pride in this place.” Smith says that’s everything Dr. Poe would have wanted: for the house to be accommodating and bustling, a place to turn principles into practice. “It’s a wonderful face for the WakeMed Foundation. They’re going to use it, they’re going to love it, and I think it’s what it should be again.” Executive director Davis agrees: “Setting is important for framing who an institution is and what it does. This is a unique setting outside of either a corporate or a clinical setting. You feel miles away. Hospitals are a great place to show impact, but as far as broader conversations – training, planning, celebrating, building camaraderie – this is a special place for WakeMed’s mission to really blossom.”

ARTIST’S spotlight

BEAUTY FORGED

by HAMPTON WILLIAMS HOFER

photographs by PETER HOFFMAN

IIN THE BACK OF A FIVE POINTS WAREHOUSE, blacksmith Ben Galata produces custom ironwork using tools he’s made himself. On one side of his workshop is a pneumatic power hammer that pummels molten metal with an eightpound piece of steel. On the other side is a soot- covered coal forge reminiscent of centuries past, flanked by racks of hand tools. All of his equipment looks heavy, hot, and dangerous. Everything he makes with it looks airy and elegant, and can be found in private homes and in public spaces all over Raleigh. You may have seen his grillwork and hardware on the front doors of the warehouse district restaurant Humble Pie, his metal exhibit pieces at Marbles Kids Museum, or his Fiddleheads sculpture on N.C. State’s campus, to name a few. “Ben is a meticulous craftsman,” says Mina Levin, who with her husband Ron Schwaz has commissioned numerous pieces from Galata, “(he’s) imaginative yet flexible in his designs.” Iron has a long history of use in highly ornamental constructions, and most blacksmiths stick to convention. Not Galata, who uses the traditional material but has non-traditional taste. His creations are minimal and refined. “My focus is on stripping away everything that doesn’t have to be there. For instance, let the intrigue be just in this connection,” he says, pointing out a wall-mounted handrail he made, where two sections of iron join together such that one piece appears to be buttoned into the other. The rest of the rail is a straight line, but that connection is certainly something to look at. “When you see Ben’s work, whether it’s a birdbath or a standing lamp, it’s unmistakable,” says lansdcaper Jim Knott, who works with many of Galata’s clients and is a client him-

Rob Marnell (standing far right) in a production at Raleigh Little Theatre

CAPTION

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self. “There’s an understated beauty in what he makes.” Galata gets all of his steel locally from Dillon Supply Company. With his mixed-dominant hands (right for strength, left for detail), he forges and welds metal productions of every variety – from small fruit bowls to massive sculptures – doing all of the fine tuning with a homemade hammer. The Westfield, N.J. native made his way south in 1990 to attend N.C. State, and never left Raleigh. These days he has been living here and blacksmithing for longer than not. The first in his family to attend college, Galata enrolled without much direction, but was lucky enough to score a dorm room adjacent to the design school. He took advantage of State’s full design workshop, dabbling in all forms and media. It was the summer after his sophomore year that he spent a few weeks at the renowned Penland School of Crafts in the Blue Ridge Mountains near Asheville. He recalls sitting in on a blacksmithing demonstration: “I saw red-hot metal for the first time, and that was it.” Galata considers himself largely self-taught. As a young college graduate, he snagged some workshop space at Antfarm, a warehouse and creative mecca for a variety of artists in historic Boylan Heights. There, he began to master his craft, focusing primarily on constructing furniture, everything from dining tables to lamps. But Raleigh was growing, and the demand came for architecture: private clients wanted custom iron fences and railings for their homes. Twenty years later, Galata has a new, much larger workshop, and thrives on commissioned work. Still, he hasn’t lost his creativity: “Within every job, I’m crafting. I’m working with a customer’s idea, designing.” Essentially all of his business is word-of-mouth, just like it was when he first started in the pre-internet mid-’90s. Galata’s simple website proves that his jobs come from the name he’s made for himself. It’s not a sales pitch, it’s a portfolio: “I’m one of those people who likes to look at pictures and not read anything,” he says. “The website is just for people to see examples of what I do.” That’s all he needs it to be. Galata values his relationships with designers and builders around town who know and admire his style. He always wants his work to deliver. While most of Galata’s ironwork is in private homes, public pieces show his impressive range: In front of Fred Olds Elementary, for instance, stands a playful, kinetic sculpture made as a memorial for a student. On that piece, tapering stainless steel rods branch out like fishing poles, with colorful intersecting circles that spin. Perhaps the most labor- intensive production he’s ever made is also a sculpture, a 17-foot bottle tree complete with dozens of iron branches, each tipped

with a lightbulb inside of a glass bottle that, as the old myth goes, is meant to trap evil spirits. This massive piece sits in the landscape of a private backyard. Galata says it might be his favorite thing he’s ever made. Even the pictures of it are magical. The bottle tree, which was taller than the workshop’s ceiling and had to be assembled on site, looks so much like a crepe myrtle that landscapers at first believed it to be a real tree. Galata always oversees installations, and is typically down on the ground at project sites hammering pieces of metal in place. For one client, he constructed a 160-foot fence, complete with a classic arbor entrance, as a private dog park. That project required him to subcontract helpers for installation – he has no full-time employees: “I try to find guys who are where I was, just out of school looking to do creative things,” he says, “guys who are still young and strong with good backs.” A good back is essential for the immense physicality of what he does. Thankfully, many of Galata’s tools – like that pneumatic hammer with a gas pedal – allow him to do in a few minutes what would have taken ancient blacksmithers all day to do by hand.

UNDERSTATED BEAUTY

Blacksmith Ben Galata made his own tools and furnace, above. Grillwork and hardware on the front doors of Humble Pie restaurant showcase his artistry. “The front doors are my favorite part of our restaurant,” says co-owner Joe Farmer. Opposite: Woodworker Evan Lightner, left, talks to Galata. The two share a workshop and often collaborate on projects.

And his work requires not only strength, but speed: Molten metal doesn’t stay molten for very long. A propane furnace he made creates a long tube of heat, soaring to temperatures around 2,000 degrees. He rolls the furnace just outside the workshop door, and there, he can melt and mold small

sections of metal at a time. The plastic, pliable state of molten steel lasts for about two minutes. Galata works expertly in that small window. He admits he doesn’t make many mistakes anymore, but when they do happen, the only real loss is his time, because steel comes cheap. “If you heat metal too long, it will melt away. It’s very much like cooking,” says Galata, whose brother works as a private chef, “but a whole lot hotter.” Symbiotic creativity

All of these tools, scorching hot and hammering loudly enough to echo across a few blocks, do not seem like they would make Galata the best neighbor. But for sixteen years he has shared his workshop with custom woodworker Evan Lightner. “Ben’s tools tend to shake the floors,” Lightner says. Two Christmases ago, Galata gave Lightner a pair of yellow radio headphones to block the noise – “the ugliest things you’ve ever seen,” Lightner says. Still, he wears them daily. Lightner, who looks every bit the carpenter (his impressive beard appeared long before beards were cool) moved to Raleigh in the early ’90s to open a mid-scale diner. Galata used to go there to drink. The diner didn’t last, but their friendship did, and now two decades later the two work side-by-side every day, often collaborating on projects. Like their skill sets, Galata and Lightner just go well together. They play off each other with quick-witted jabs. But while the mood is light, the work is serious, with both of them typically clocking eight hours of physical labor each day, packing on extra time when deadlines get close. “Lots of times I design something and incorporate Ben’s talents or vice versa,” Lightner says, “Or I might need something metal to make a piece work, so I commission Ben.” One of their first collaborations was a table that sits in the Island Hotel outside of Los Angeles, featuring a forged steel bottom and an oak top with a starburst veneer pattern. Closer to home, they just finished a dining table for a local house: “I did the top and the legs,” Lightner says, “and Ben did a trestle on the underside as well as some stainless steel inlay on the top.” Lightner, too, employs traditional woodworking methods but values the simplicity of modern design. The majority of his work, including wardrobes, benches, sideboards, and desks, resides in Raleigh homes. But you can see some of his most notable pieces at the N.C. Museum of Art: intricate frames displaying masterworks like Renaissance altar pieces and Augustus Saint-Gautens castings. Currently, Lightner is working on a house nearby, fashioning everything from builtins to a staircase railing. He brought Galata in to do the hardware for that handrail. Interestingly, Galata and Lightner both balk at the term “artist.” Neither one wants anything to do with it, though they can’t argue with the fact that people are fascinated by their creations, that people want to keep looking at them. “I hesitate because calling myself an artist feels like patting myself on the back,” Galata says, “A lot of people look at metal, at the end product, and have no idea how that shape got there. People call it art because they appreciate the work.”