The Smoking Cocktail

One warm summer evening, I was suddenly surrounded by a flurry of pink. It was everywhere – feather boas, hats, tutus, bags, cocktails. There was a charitable event going on and ladies were swarming the town.

I ducked out from all that activity into an alley where I found a cozy bar with large industrial machine parts as theme decor.

As I looked through the drink menu, this stood out almost immediately:

SMOKEE MUSKOGEE • ROCKS • 12
jack daniels honey whiskey, lemon juice, lime juice, simple syrup, cedar plank smoke

Cedar plank smoke?? You saw that right, the bartender said with a smile. I ordered it right away, dying with curiosity as I waited for the show. The bartender came out of the backroom with his ensemble, including a blowtorch and a wood plank.

It was SO butch!

 

Other customers turned to watch, as he held up the piece of wood and torched it to a fiery glow. It was so close that I could smell the burning cedar.

 

 

While the flames were still dying down, he placed the burned wood plank down in front of me, then inverted a rocks glass over the char.

 

 

I stared fascinated at the roiling smoke captured in the glass, but also wondered nervously if the glass would suddenly explode and shatter from the air pressure and heat.

 

 

I was suddenly distracted by the bartender shaking up a cocktail – one of my most favorite sounds in the world (am I right, Nick Charles?). He poured about an ounce of the cocktail into a small glass and set it aside, but kept the rest in the shaker.

 

 

In a few seconds, he turned the rocks glass upright. With the smoke still inside the glass, he poured in the cocktail, infusing it as the smoke slowly drifted up and around the rim.

I was given the small glass with the ounce of cocktail, to first try the cocktail without the smoke. It was delicious and fresh.

And then I tasted the smoked cocktail.

 

 

Mind blown! It was AMAZING! The smoke infusion gave the cocktail depth and dimension that no other ingredient on a bartender’s shelves ever could. Now I’m wondering what other cocktails can be smoked and taken up several notches.

This definitely made it on my shortlist of greatest cocktail experiences and cocktails that are simply beyond!

Cheers!

Gin Fizz: Booze, Bonfires and Beach Parties

 

The 1960s were an awakening. Young people were revolutionizing music, fashion, art and sexuality. Men of business, who had boldly taken the reins, were racing full speed towards the future. With a burgeoning economy, they were howling war cries, pounding their chests, and feeling like masters of the universe. All this I know from watching the show Mad Men, and sipping gin fizzes with Mr. Z, another bad-boy product of the 60’s era.

 

 

After a few more sips of his cocktail, Mr. Z was ready to lead me even further down memory lane.

Bonfires and Beach Parties

Back in the late 1800’s, there wasn’t much around Lake Coeur d’Alene, except for a few cabins, a lot of trees, fish, sandy shores, and possibly the occasional Yeti sighting.

Much of the property on Del Cardo Bay had belonged to his grandmother’s family. His grandmother, an “it” girl of the beach party set, threw some of the biggest and best in the Pacific Northwest, including at the bay, where Mr. Z and I were having cocktails.

 

 

Back then, supply ships would travel between the quaint little towns of Coeur d’Alene and Harrison, Idaho. To get to Del Cardo Bay, his grandmother’s party guests would pay supply ships to tow their row boats to the bay, which was conveniently located along their route. When the parties were over, guests would row out to the middle of the lake, wave a white flag at a passing supply ship, and get towed to the next town.

 

 

At this point, you may be wondering, what happens when a bunch of beach party guests gather away from civilization and uptight neighbors? The revelry could be heard echoing across the bay, and one could only imagine what shenanigans were running amok. Naked dancing around bonfires? Drum circles and peyote? Maybe. Decades later, people still whisper about how the tents and vacation cabins not only housed the guests, but also accommodated their…sexy time (wink).

Booze

With such lofty lineage, it made sense that the bawdy, adults-only shindigs Mr. Z threw at his fabulous homes in the 1960s were the swingin’-est among the party circuit back in the day. It was that winning combination of booze, broads and bartending badassery. Mr. Z’s creative twists to popular and classic cocktails made them not just better, but also more, shall we say, effective. Good times rolled and drinks flowed – gin martinis, bloody mary’s, gimlets, and so forth.

 

 

At 92 years old, he looks back at his youth with a playful grin, a twinkle in his eye, and oh so many stories to tell. Amazingly, he has an excellent memory and knows all his cocktail recipes by heart, as well as dastardly details about his parties and guests, I’m sure.

 

 

He allowed me to print the recipe for this deliciously refreshing gin fizz we were enjoying if I promised to leave out one ingredient, what he calls the “pièce de résistance”. His daughter poured some into an unmarked jar for me use to make Mr. Z’s giz fizz at home, and for other cocktails that I’d want to experiment with.

 

 

Have fun trying to guess that secret ingredient. And above all, enjoy all the gin fizzes you’ll make during “research”.

Cheers!

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Mr. Z’s Gin Fizz

6 oz. Minute Maid lemonade frozen concentrate (they come in 12 oz. cans so use just half a can)
6 oz. Dry gin with a high alcohol proof, like Beefeater Gin
6 oz. Whole milk
1 Raw egg
1 Tsp Unnamed secret ingredient

Fill a blender halfway with ice. Add all the ingredients listed. Blend until completely mixed and frothy. Enjoy.

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Photo credits

Photo of gin fizz version without the milk and egg by Alexandria Julaton

The Steamboats of Lake Coeur d’Alene
http://www.harrisonidaho.org/steamboats.html

Party scenes from Mad Men tv show and Breakfast at Tiffany’s movie

You never forget your first time: A hard cider tale

One sultry Saturday evening, my besty and his partner invited me to join them on a neighborhood crawl. It was impossible to resist: summer, Saturday night, and a trendy ‘hood filled with quirky stuff/people – a winning trifecta I just couldn’t turn down.

 

I met D and G at their charming little downtown studio, conveniently located just a couple of blocks from hipster central. We were all hugs and chatter about shops and bars to check out that night. There were a couple of places on our radar, but the rest of the evening was wide open.

 

 

We bounced around like pinball triplets – an antiques store here, until we dashed over there to the chocolates specialty store, pondered a visit to the palm reader, went around the corner for adult costumes, which was near an exotic tea shop, next door to a place with soaps that looked and smelled good enough to eat, etc.

 

 

It was about 8 or 9 pm when we stopped at a pub for some refreshment before we continued exploring. The pub aspired to be unpretentious (which you can’t really be with such a strong hipster vibe), with lots of wood and brick, family-style dining tables, speakers playing random music genres, and a really friendly, young, tattooed/pierced wait staff. We went straight to the drinks menu, to get the really important choices out of the way, before considering any after-thoughts, like food.

 

 

By the way, this was years ago, before I was fully immersed and versed in the craft cocktail scene, and definitely long before I knew my limitations. D ordered a pint of their hard cider, and G decided on a crisp lager to cool off with on this humid summer night. Being new to the art of imbibing in boozey beverages, I played it safe and ordered a glass of dry white wine. When our order arrived, I kept eyeballing the others’ drinks. Such beautiful amber colors! G let me try his lager, which was refreshing and light, with a tiny bit of hopsey bite. D let me try his hard cider, and I couldn’t give it back.

 

 

I have never had hard cider before. D tried to explain the cider-making process, but I was too distracted to really listen. He may have also mentioned that it was pretty potent. But all my brain could hear was “MMMM it’s like…apple juice! But better! How can a process, with a few steps more or less here and there, end up producing either apple cider, apple cider vinegar or hard cider? Genius!” The hard cider was delicious, fresh, not too sweet, and lovely to look at. So golden. I just couldn’t put it down. It was like apple juice, but better, and with a kick! Realizing he wasn’t getting his hard cider back, D ordered another one.

 

 

Did I mention we forgot to order food? Hard cider on an empty stomach. Naturally, you know what comes next.

It’s funny how the booze gently flows into your bloodstream before sucker punching your brain. I recalled a quote from Jack Kerouac’s book “Dharma Bums”:

“The first sip is joy, the second is gladness, the third is serenity, the fourth is madness, the fifth is ecstasy.” He was talking about sipping tea, but it sort of outlined my stages of hard cider discovery:

1 – What is this tasty, amazing drink? MMMM
2 – I’ve discovered a new thing and it’s wonderful!
3 – Ahhhh, yessss, so delicious…hard cider….
4 – What?? No! You’re not getting this back!
5 – …

 

This is where my brain goes fuzzy, then the room, and everyone in it, gets that weird but wonderful haze around it. Like the lotion-on-the-camera-lens effect in a Star Trek scene when Capt. James T. Kirk notices an attractive female on-board. Cue the flutey seduction music.

G paid the bill, and we walked outside. I felt wonderful and float-y, I decided to do a pirouette I just learned in ballet class, when I suddenly felt a couple of firm hands on both my arms yank me back. Apparently, I almost danced into oncoming traffic.

I was insufferably silly, and D and G were losing patience. They outvoted me and called an end to our evening adventure. Spending the night with two lovely men in their cute downtown studio sounded, well, crowded. D, my wonderful knight in shining armor, decided to drive me home to make sure I got there safely, even though my apartment was just a bus ride away. G stayed behind to, I don’t know, fluff pillows or something.

D decided to take a shortcut through the hills. Unfortunately for me, they were winding hills. I opened the window, thinking the night air would get rid of my nausea. I unbuckled my seat belt. With every turn, the cider splashed around in my stomach, becoming increasingly volatile. And ready to erupt.
Splash. Splash.
And then…OMG.

Suddenly, I grabbed D’s arm and gripped it. Hard. I didn’t even have to say a word; he took one look at my face, panicked, slowed to a stop immediately. But it was too late. I lunged onto the door and shoved my head out the window. In my weakened state, I didn’t have enough lung power to projectile vomit a polite few inches away from the car. So it all slid down the outside of D’s car door in waves, as it gushed out of me. Wow. I hoped the stomach bile/hard cider upchuck wouldn’t take the paint off his car.

 

 

The next morning, I couldn’t tell which was worse, my loudly pounding head or my gut-churning nausea. I have never been drunk or hung over before. I prayed for death, but it would not come.
Damn it.
I dragged myself over to Hot Lips Pizza across the street, and forced foccacia bread down my throat, in an attempt to soak up the excess stomach acid (my brother said I’d feel better). I got it all down, and spent several minutes breathing slowly, focusing steadily, using all of my willpower to keep it down. I took some painkillers for my throbbing head, and waited for the food and chemicals to save me.

 

Never ever again. Oh man, I really think that cider fermented in my stomach overnight and I woke up with a belly full of vinegar. I had plans with D and G later that day. I felt slightly better in a few hours and headed over. G greeted me at the door and couldn’t get the damn shit-eating grin off his face. He and D probably laughed their asses off as they hosed the vomit. I mean, I managed to hold it just long enough to puke on the OUTSIDE of his car, instead of ruining his upholstery! Where’s the gratitude? Come to think of it, where’s the sympathy?? Aren’t they supposed to be my FRIENDS??

D came out of the kitchen with a huge smile, carrying a pitcher and a large glass.
“Cider, anyone?”

 

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All pics taken by Alexandria Julaton, except for Star Trek screenshot

Cognac: A Warm Beautiful (Cocktail) Memory

It was a bright summer morning in Victoria. I was sipping coffee in the balcony, and watching planes skim over the water. A text from my brothers said we were meeting later today, after their afternoon of selfies and shopping.

Until then, I decided to go exploring on my own. A five-minute walk later, I was at the Inner Harbour, wandering in and out of alleys along Government Street. I briefly checked out some trendy bars and cheery pubs, making mental notes of which ones I’ll visit later.

 

After lunch at Trounce Alley, I ended up chatting with a sous chef from Montreal on his smoke break. He gave me his card and suggested, with his heavy French accent, that we have dinner at his place some evening. “I cook for you, we have some wine and…”, he let the sentence trail off with a nodding smile and a crook of his brow. I kept the card.

Just then. one of my brother s texted me that he was cocktailing at a bar in Chinatown. He invited me to join him if I was nearby, before meeting up and dining with family in a couple of hours. Past the fruit stands and tea house, I found Fan Tan Alley, which looked almost too narrow for two people to walk through, shoulder to shoulder. I took my time exploring the tiny shops, fragrant with burning incense. It was summer, warm and perfect. And I had no intention of rushing anywhere.

I found the bar just a block and a half away. My brother wasn’t seated at the counter, where I expected him to be. I saw through a glass partition that he was sitting at a table, staring at a huge oil painting taking up half the wall directly in front of him.

I wish I knew the name of the artist who did this painting

He was completely absorbed by that gorgeous painting of what appeared to be a sort of … costume party? He could barely look away, even as he spoke or took pictures of it with his phone. More interesting to me was the cocktail my brother was sipping. He called it the Warm Beautiful.

The Warm Beautiful

The Beautiful is a delicious, potent and citrusy cocktail made of cognac and Grand Marnier orange liqeur. He preferred it topped with a lemon zest. Having worked part-time as a bartender while in medical school, he knew that cognac’s flavor and aroma deepened when warmed. Cognac lovers would often just cradle the snifter in the palm of their hand, warming the cognac with their body’s heat.

However, my brother wanted something a bit more imaginative.

The cocktail was served in a snifter. He then asked for a “heater”, a small glass half-filled with hot water. He placed the snifter on top of the hot water. As he waited for the cognac cocktail to reach the proper temperature, he would rotate the snifter now and again, still gazing in awe at the absurd yet fascinating painting across from us.

Age of the cognacs

According to the Bureau National Interprofessionnel du Cognac (BNIC), there are three official classifications of cognac, depending on how long the cognac had been stored in casks:
VS (very special) – At least two years
VSOP (very superior old pale) – At least four years
XO (extra old) – At least ten years

Other classifications have also been used by producers when the cognac had been stored beyond official age scales, such as Extra and Hors d’age (beyond age), which can be as much as 100 years old.

“Rules” of enjoyment

Cognac connoisseurs have very strong feelings about cognacs being used in cocktails. One forbes.com article mentioned that, whereas it is acceptable to use a young VS or VSOP cognac as part of a cocktail mix, it is considered a tragedy to do so with an exceptional-tasting, wallet-busting XO or older cognac. Those can cost hundreds or thousands of dollars per bottle.

My brother’s Warm Beautiful cocktail was created using Hennessey VS, but a Courvoisier VSOP could have also been used. On the other hand, Remy Martin’s $3,000-a-bottle Louis XVIII, which is very popular in China (along with all the other premium cognacs), is an example of one that should be showcased as a solo act.

All drinking aside (for the moment), younger cognacs should also be used for flambe, marinades, sauces, chocolates and fruit preserves.

And if you’re in the mood to immerse yourself in all things cognac, the French town this liquid luxury was named after hosts the annual La Fete du Cognac , where you can party for three days with cognac cocktails, crowds, cuisine and concerts.

Cheers!

The Beautiful cocktail recipe

1 oz Hennessey or Courvoisier VS/VSOP cognac
1 oz Grand Marnier orange liqueur

Add both ingredients into a brandy snifter, mix and serve. Optional: Top off with a lemon zest, the way my brother and I like it.

Enjoy!

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All photos of Victoria BC, Canada by Alexandria Julaton
Remy Martin shop photo by Weng lei – Imaginechina/AP
Still shot of Cognac Festival, courtesy of La Fete du Cognac
Vieux Carre image from liquor.com

Cocktails: How to fail at picking up ladies, and the fabulous flavored cube

There are so many wrong ways to meet women.

On our way to a cocktail adventure downtown, my gal pal and I added a few more to that list. Here’s one: A dark-colored car with tinted windows pulling up alongside us. Then an unseen driver slowly lowering his driver-side window to reveal a hand, palm up, and fingers beckoning in a “Bitches, come here.” gesture.
Nope.

Here’s another: A guy stopping his car on the corner at a green light, angry drivers honking behind him, while he’s shouting lame come-ons at us with a huge, naughty grin on his face.
Really big nope!

Yeah, nope again. But kudos for originality!

Maybe?
I mean, what woman could resist a suave, fashion-forward icon like Austin Powers, am I right?

After that obstacle course of weirdness, we made it to the bar and grabbed seats in front of the bartender. We like to watch the magic happen.

The Single Knight cocktail at Luc Lac’s bar was a game-changing, Whoa!-inducing twist on the Old Fashioned cocktail that made our tastebuds do a double-take. First, a large cube made of deeply smokey Lapsang Souchong tea was placed in the glass. This was followed with their sigh-inducing blend of bourbon, pho syrup, and angostura orange bitters. But wait, there’s more! The finishing touch was a lemon twist, wrapped around a blowtorched bourbon cherry and cloves! Daaaamn!

When I order cocktails that arrive with a large, slow-melting cube, I usually leave it alone for a couple of minutes before I take a sip. This is so a little of the ice will melt into the mix and make it less syrupy. One sip of the Single Knight and MIND BLOWN! The smokiness from the melting tea cube adding to the bourbon, further flavored by zest with burnt cherry and cloves – I was caught up in a swirl of amazingness.

Citrus with burnt fruit and spice was all kinds of nice (especially in a bourbon), but that giant cube made of smokey Lapsang Souchong tea made me realize flavored ice cubes that bring out another flavor dimension in cocktails is a thing!

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Single Knight Cocktail at the Luc Lac bar

I wish I had the recipe for this cocktail. However, I do have the ingredients list:

Four Roses single barrel bourbon
Pho syrup
Angostura orange bitters
Lapsang Souchong tea ice cube
Bourbon cherry
Cloves
Lemon zest

 

 

Dating Tales with Cocktails: The Bad Touch (Lady Finger Cocktail)

Samantha’s Story

I was at an upscale whiskey lounge one evening with my gal pal Samantha (not her real name), celebrating her recent interview at the Starbucks corporate office. Sure it was an interview, not a job offer (yet), but in this brutal job market, you celebrate every victory, even small ones.

After studying floor-to-ceiling beverage options, flipping through the whiskey bible and consulting with the bartender, we settled on a fine choice: A shot of Dalwhinnie single malt scotch, followed by another. Diageo’s 15-year-old was a definite crowd-pleaser, with its smoothness, aroma and lingering flavors of honey and peach. It’s no wonder it won a gold medal at the 2015 San Francisco Spirits Competition. A perfect scotch to sip through tales of dating drama.

Sam’s relationship with her man had been pretty stormy lately. I asked if she had a Match or Tinder account yet. “Oh my god, dating SUCKS!”, she replied loud enough to raise eyebrows across the bar. “I still remember how awful the guys were before I met Jason (not his real name), which is why I’ve stuck with him. Seriously, I went on a lot of dates. A LOT! And, oh man, the stories I could tell you!”

Sam moved from Some Itty Bitty Town, Washington to big sparkly Seattle for grad school. She made a few half-hearted attempts at exploring the city, but still felt awkward not knowing where anything was or anyone to show her around. Tom, who went to the same grad school, had seen Sam wandering around downtown alone a couple of times. Eager for a friend and grateful for his attention, Sam accepted Tom’s invitations to cafes, movie houses and bars – anyplace a couple of dirt-poor grad students could have a good time, for not a lot of money. Plus, Tom was not a bad-looking guy.

After another heavy makeout session at his studio apartment, they decided they wanted to take it to the next level. Sam, with her unusual Russian-European beauty, had been with plenty of men. Plenty. She had a healthy sexual appetite, and was up for just about anything.

But not this.

“Stick your finger in there,” Tom said, lying naked on top of the sheets with his back to Sam.

“You want me to stick my finger in…” Sam felt she couldn’t finish her sentence, even as she tried to not sound like some blushing naive bumpkin.

He had told her it felt so good, in ways he couldn’t even describe. There are so many nerves clustered in that little area that the pleasure centers are overwhelming, he explained. So not wanting to be a silly spoilsport, she continued to play along, moving her finger to the spot he directed her to. For all her impressive experience with men, she had never rubbed anyone’s prostate gland before. Now if she could only just find the damn thing.

Weird, she thought. What WAS that? Something floating…disturbing texture…she started to pull her finger out. Something dark and squishy was on it! Tom suddenly grabbed her hand and shoved her finger back in. Oh my God, she thought, was that feces?? “EW EW EW!”, her mind screamed even as she rubbed his prostate gland. Since his back was to her, Tom couldn’t see the shock and disgust flitting back and forth on Sam’s face that whole time.

After he had climaxed, Sam told Tom she needed to leave. Something on her research report she realized she had forgotten to add. Sam also decided she needed to get out more and make other friends, since she had no intention of hanging out with Tom ever again.

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The Lady Finger Cocktail
(courtesy of absolutdrinks.com)

1 part gin
1 part cherry brandy

Combine, shake with ice, serve neat.

Soul Rejuvenation: Life Has More Flavor with Friends

I was getting ready to tuck into my favorite chair with a cocktail (well, maybe two) within reaching distance. It’s nice to have these quiet moments to yourself, a bit of meditation and Zen in one’s hectic life.

However, one can have too much soul-searching solitude, and start to feel cut off from the outside world. So I texted one of my girlfriends, and we checked out a new-to-us bar downtown.

The Paymaster Lounge in NW Portland successfully pulled off the “we’ve been your favorite neighborhood bar for years” feel, with edge-y posters, comfy pleather lounge seats and turned-down lights, but was still too clean and new-ish to be truly dive-y. And there was no duct tape on the pleather. In our reckless booze-infused wanderings, we came across their vending machine, filled with a nice selection of lip gloss, condoms, fangs, old movies, and packets containing info on finding your spirit animal.

We made our way to the patio, where we enjoyed our cocktails and ordered from a menu with an impressive array of tater tots options. For the rest of the evening, it was all about boyfriends, family, fashion, DIY beauty treatments, trips we wanted to take, etc.  The hours flew.

 

In case you were wondering, no I couldn’t resist finding my spirit animal in a vending machine.  It’s a wolf. And I’m not as evil as I fear, according to the message inside.

 

When I look back at my life, I want memories of adventures and mayhem I shared with friends, not just the sacrifices to my time and life I made so I could work more and harder for my career, until one day I woke up old and alone.

For me, friends (and cocktails!) are good for the body and the soul. Friends not only help us feel like we’re not alone in our struggles, but they also enrich the greater, more meaningful portions of our existence, a.k.a. having a life.

Now get out there, call a friend, and share a cocktail moment with them. Cheers!