Whiskey and Pickles, #Why??

Some experiences are more “cautionary tale” than “epic adventure”. Like cocktail ingredients that shouldn’t occupy the same shot glass. Irish Cream and lime juice, for instance. Plus, others that shouldn’t even be in the same room.
Case in point, mayonnaise.

AND YET!…
Bailey’s Irish cream + lime juice = The Cement Mixer
Absinthe + vodka + mayonnaise = The Stinger Worm

Just goes to show there are people with minds and palates far more open than mine. Like the Irish!
Although, their reactions don’t vary much past anger:

https://youtu.be/rFH0J29QMKc?t=109

Sometimes just the names are fair warning; ones that only the truly brave would point at and say ‘Oh yeah! Gimme that one!’

https://youtu.be/P6vMqW0FZNo?t=409

Which brings me to today’s cautionary tale (or epic adventure) – The Pickleback!

Cocktail History: The Pickleback

But first, a little cocktail history. The pickleback is a whiskey shot chased by a shot of pickle brine/pickle juice, or a bite of whole dill pickle. Upon first hearing about the pickleback, I was torn between curiosity and outrage. So I tried piecing together the pickleback’s origin story.

Some say in 2006, a customer at Brooklyn’s Bushwick Country Club asked for a shot of pickle juice to accompany her vodka. Curious about this request, bartender Reggie Cunningham decided to have his own little experiment by downing several shots of Old Crow Bourbon, each followed with shots of McClure’s pickle juice. He loved it, and started serving what he dubbed ‘The Pickleback’. Later, Jameson became the whiskey of choice for the pickleback.

However, pickle juice chasers aren’t new to the cocktail world. Long before Reggie’s epiphany, they were paired with tequila shots in Texas. Plus, pickle dills followed vodka shots in Russia.

This all sounded like crazy talk. And in my deeply heartfelt opinion, whiskey is an art and a science, involving craftsmanship and a quest for perfection. So why would anyone … ANYONE … want to F– it up with pickles?? According to one theory, the brine soothes the burn from the booze. We’ll see about that.

On a mellow Tuesday late afternoon, I wandered over to a saloon called The River Pig – a quick stop before heading over to meet a gal pal for HH nachos and half-price, top shelf tequila.

What is a “river pig”, you ask?
Back in the day, they were the guys who guided logs down the river to saw mills. They also walked on the floating timber, and used a 12-foot pike to free up log jams. It was a super dangerous job, with guys sometimes falling off one log into the river, before being smashed to death by several others. Because it was so risky, the river pigs were paid more than lumberjacks. Later, that hard-earned money was spent on many glasses of whiskey at the end of the day.

Soon as I sat on my bar stool, I ordered a pickleback. The barkeep brought me two shots – shot of Old Taylor Bourbon and shot of pickle juice. For a while, I just sat there staring at them. The bourbon shot, I could totally do; it was the pickle juice that gave me pause.

I mean, it was A LOT of pickle juice! My courage was faltering. Hmm.

Decided to put in an order for some curly fries, as a precaution or ’emergency response’ tactic. Figured I might need them to scrape my tongue, after I threw up in my mouth. As soon as the curly fries arrived, I was ready.

Down went Old Taylor (MMMMM! Zero burn, by the way). Down went the pickle juice, and….
HUH! It really wasn’t all that horrible. It was actually…kinda tasty! The sweetness from the bourbon and salty sourness of the pickle juice reminded me of those experimental, suprisingly tasty fusion snacks you find at the potato chips section, like chipotle ranch dressing Cheetos, or something.

They say conquering your fears makes you stronger. And perhaps I am a better person after this.

But I STILL draw the line at mayonnaise in my booze. Cheers!

The Pickleback
Courtesy of Liquor.com

Ingredients:

1 1/2 ounces Jameson Irish whiskey
1 1/2 ounces McClure’s pickle brine

Steps:

Add the whiskey into a shot glass.
Add the pickle brine into a separate shot glass.
Instruct the drinker to take the whiskey as a shot, then the pickle brine as a chaser.


Credits:
TRY Channel on Youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rFH0J29QMKc
https://www.mentalfloss.com/article/513951/brief-history-pickleback-shot
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pickleback
https://www.thrillist.com/drink/nation/pickleback-shots-11-things-you-didn-t-know-about-picklebacks
https://www.liquor.com/pickleback-recipe-5087251

Between the Sheets at a Bordello Museum

You know how you start out in one place, go down a rabbit hole or two, and end up somewhere unexpected, yet oddly cool? I was in Idaho that week, and was looking for a huckleberry festival. I went from the festival web page, to the map (which I enlarged), to “…Hang on! What’s this thing over here…a BORDELLO museum??” YESSSS!

So naturally, I had to look up what kind of town would have one. Turns out, it was the kind of town that would hold a funeral procession for a decommissioned stoplight.

“…They had a grand funeral for the stoplight, putting it in a coffin, and had a horse-drawn hearse carry it as a bagpipe band played. Now, a sign at the old site gives directions to the Wallace Mining Museum, where the light can still be seen resting in its coffin.”

Plus, has a manhole cover downtown commemorating their mayor’s announcement that Wallace was the Center of the Universe. Because just saying it makes it true, obviously!

So we drove to Wallace, wandered a bit, and did a little shopping – a…(ahem)…makeup bag, coffee mug and garden accessories.

Unfortunately, we couldn’t stick around for the yodeling performance that night, which I am STILL bummed about!

But when we got to the museum, it was closed (NOOOOOO!!).

Unable to tour the “workplace”, I could only take pics of the bordello outside, and had to curate pics from other sources (credits listed below). Their Yelp page had some great pics, too.

Wallace, Idaho, one of the “Most Silver Rich Places” in all of history since 1884, had a thriving prostitution industry, up until the Feds raided and shut them down in the late 1980s. The Oasis Bordello was just one of five brothels along Wallace’s main street.

Every detail of the 10-room Oasis Bordello was left intact, so museum guests could see how it was on the night Madame Ginger and her ladies escaped during the raid. Mannequins were also set up to showing the ladies in various poses on a typical work night – showing off on top of the piano, taking a bubble bath, putting on their stockings, etc.

When customers showed up, money changed hands and the timer was set. Records were kept on how many guests were serviced, on which nights, and with which ladies. For two weeks straight, the ladies worked 12-hour shifts, serviced 35 to 40 clients per night, and made upwards of $2,000.

In case you were wondering how much the ladies charged for their time and talents, here’s the menu (I recommend you consult the Urban Dictionary for details on these offerings):

Menu

Straight, no frills $15, 8 minutes
Straight, regular $20, 13 minutes

Half & Half, no frills $20, 11 minutes
Half & Half, deluxe $25, 15 minutes

Straight, French, no frills $25, 10 minutes
Straight, French $30, 15 minutes

“69” $30, 15 minutes
Half Hour $35
Per Hour $70

Bubble Bath & Half Hour $50
Bubble Bath & Hour $80

Positions, $5.00 ea. plus $2.00 ea.
Vibrator – $15.00 plus regular party price plus $5.00
Doubles – double price per party, time same as one

—————————————————————————–

And now, the cocktail!

Between the Sheets
(courtesy of liquor.com)

1 ounce cognac
1 ounce light rum or white rum
1 ounce triple sec
1/4 ounce lemon juice, freshly squeezed
Garnish: flamed orange peel

Add the cognac, rum, triple sec and lemon juice into a shaker with ice and shake until well-chilled.

Strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Flame an orange peel over the top of the drink to express its oils, then discard the peel before serving.

Cheers!

___________________________________________________

Credits

Most of the photos and factoids were courtesy of:

https://www.spokesman.com/stories/2009/aug/02/wallace-history-both-weird-and-wonderful/
https://visitnorthidaho.com/activity/oasis-bordello-museum/
https://www.wallaceid.fun/places/united-states/idaho/wallace/attractions/oasis-bordello-museum/
https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/oasis-bordello-museum
https://maps.roadtrippers.com/us/wallace-id/attractions/oasis-bordello-museum

The Bard & Banker: A Tale about a Pub, a Poet, and Damn Good Ale

victoria-waterfront

 

There it was.

Early afternoon in downtown Victoria, and the sight that made my eyes go all sparkly  – a Scottish pub (Bard & Banker), an English pub (Garrick’s Head), and an Irish pub (Irish Times), all in a row. Or as I like to say, just staggering distance from each other!

 

bardandbankerpub

garrickspub

irishtimes

And as a bonus, right smack in the middle of the English and Irish pubs is Bastion Square, where locals watched public hangings back in the day, then hit the nearby watering holes afterwards for some conversation. I love a town with a rich history!

How do you gentrify a site of gruesome, tragic history, plus make it trendy again? Tourism!

bastionsquare

 

In addition to being a lover of classic cocktails and hard spirits, I am a huge fan of craft beers. Expanding my horizons has been very good for the soul. Having never tried a Scottish ale, I decided today was the day!

 

bandbpubinsude

 

Bard & Banker was beautiful inside, shiny yet cozy, with its cream walls, dark wood, and many chandeliers. Awfully fancy for a Scottish pub, I thought, as I headed for the bar (Hint: It used to be a bank).

As I sat down, I beheld yet another wondrous sight: A place of honor for their best Scotch whiskys! Next to it was a shelf for the rest – bourbons, vodkas, less special whiskeys, etc.

 

bardandbanker_specscotch

 

I told the bartender I wanted a Scottish ale. He handed me a menu, and there it was – big, bold red letters, burning into my eyes and brain, like Destiny: Stone Fired Scottish Ale. I ordered it immediately, and was told it was a fine choice.

 

scottishredaleonmenu.jpg

 

“Barkeep”, says I, “What be this ‘Phillips Robert Service’?”

“Phillips is the brewing company”, he replied, “As for ‘Robert Service’, aye well, there’s a tale!”

The bartender hurried to the other end of the bar, and brought back my ale, a poster, and then the tale.

 

scottishredale_fullglass

 

Robert Service started his career working as a banker in Scotland, like his father. During that time, he devoured books on poetry by Browning, Keats, Tennyson, etc., and started composing some of his own. He later moved to Vancouver BC, and wandered up and down North America, doing odd jobs, falling in love, hitting his family and friends up for money, and having one crazy adventure after another (something about a cowboy outfit, a bordello in Mexico, and so forth). During that time, he published several pieces.

This guy! There oughta be a movie!

While honing his poetic prowess (and being flat broke), the “Bard of the North” got a day job as a Banker, at the Canadian Bank of Commerce in Victoria BC. He rented a room upstairs, in this same building where he worked. And the building later became the bar where I’m sipping this damn fine Scottish red ale named after him – one of the finest craft beers I’ve ever tasted!

 

bardandbanker_sml

 

This Robert Service Stone Fired Scottish Ale, it was absolutely delicious – rich, flavorful, yet light and fresh!  I highly recommend you order this beer when you’re at the Bard & Banker in Victoria BC. , or anywhere else in the world, if you can get it!

Robert Service’s journey continued to the Yukon, where he had many more adventures that inspired some of his most famous poetry. I’m envisioning a web series of the Bard/Banker’s adventures. Think of the creative liberties the writers could take, on top of an already amazing story!

One of his funniest and most popular poems is the famous “The Ballad of the Ice-Worm Cocktail“. Below is a snippet. Click the link if you want to read the entire poem:

“…”There’s been a run on cocktails, Boss; there ain’t an ice-worm left.
Yet wait . . . By gosh! it seems to me that some of extra size
Were picked and put away to show the scientific guys.”
Then deeply in a drawer he sought, and there he found a jar,
The which with due and proper pride he put upon the bar;
And in it, wreathed in queasy rings, or rolled into a ball,
A score of grey and greasy things were drowned in alcohol.
Their bellies were a bilious blue, their eyes a bulbous red;
Their back were grey, and gross were they, and hideous of head. 

And when with gusto and a fork the barman speared one out,
It must have gone four inches from its tail-tip to its snout.
Cried Deacon White with deep delight: “Say, isn’t that a beaut?”
“I think it is,” sniffed Major Brown, “a most disgustin’ brute.
Its very sight gives me the pip. I’ll bet my bally hat,
You’re only spoofin’ me, old chap. You’ll never swallow that…

Cheers!

 


All photos taken by Alexandria Julaton

 

Gin Fizz: Booze, Bonfires and Beach Parties

ginfizz-daydream_sml

 

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.

 

MadMen party scene

 

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.

 

DCbay

 

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.

 

harrisidahosteam1

 

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.

 

breakfsttiffpartyscene

 

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.

 

mrz

 

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.

 

secretingred

 

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

Cheers!


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.

————————-

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

Cocktail Backstory: The Communist and Tom Collins

commcocktail_5

 

A perfect martini should be made by filling a glass with gin then waving it in the general direction of Italy.” – Noël Coward

 

commcocktail_2

 

“Barkeep!” says I.
“Aye, miss, what shall I make for ye?” says he.
“I would like a cocktail…with an interesting backstory.”

The gauntlet was thrown, and he met the challenge with two words,”Communist Cocktail.”

 

commcocktail_1

 

He didn’t know the details, but said the cocktail’s name had to do with the era during which it was created. As I sat waiting for my cocktail, he handed me a book entitled, “Vintage Spirits and Forgotten Cocktails”.

 

I looked up The Communist:

“This enjoyable number with the unforgettable name derived from a crude and otherwise quite forgettable cocktail pamphlet from 1933 titled Cocktail Parade. As photographers say, though, it just takes one picture.”

 

commcocktail_4

 

Huh. Not much of a backstory. When my drink arrived, turns out it wasn’t much of a cocktail, either. My reaction after a couple of sips was a shrug and a “Meh.”

It became apparent that the only thing this cocktail had going for it was its cool name. And clearly, it did belong in a “Forgotten Cocktails” book. Not only should it be forgotten, they should also put a “Do Not Rescucitate” warning next to the recipe.

 

commcocktail_6

 

Here’s a cocktail that actually has somewhat of an interesting backstory:

Tom Collins

Back in 1874, someone decided to play a joke a bunch of New Yorkers. He’d go to one person, asked them if they knew someone named Tom Collins. “Nope, never heard of him.” they’d say. Then they’d be told Tom’s been bad-mouthing them all over town, ruining their reputation. Of course, the enraged person would go on a revenge-seeking manhunt for Tom Collins, ready to lynch the slandering bastard.

This would be done over and over again to different people, until what began as one upset person became a vengeful, angry horde. This lame joke went so viral it became “The Great Tom Collins Hoax of 1874.”

One bartender decided to capitalize on this trend by creating a cocktail called Tom Collins. Anyone popping into his bar looking for Tom Collins would end up ordering the cocktail. Hilarious, right?

Here’s a youtube video, in case you wanted to try making this at home. The recipe itself is after the post.

Click on image to watch video

tomcollinsvidpic

 

Corpe Reviver #2

This cocktail doesn’t have an elaborate backstory, but I like the name. In my last blog post (Cocktails – Craft versus Cool), I ordered a Corpse Reviver #2. When made properly, it’s actually one of my favorite cocktails. Interestingly, it was one of several other concoctions of the same name that was originally created in the 1930s as a hangover cure…

Hangover cure = Corpse reviver.

Get it?  :^  )

 

corpsereviver

 


 

Tom Collins Cocktail
Recipe courtesy of New York Times

2 ounces Old Tom gin (like Ransom)
1 ounce simple syrup
¾ ounce lemon juice
Soda water
Lemon wedge, for garnish
Cocktail cherry, for garnish

Shake gin, syrup and juice with ice until chilled, about 15 seconds. Strain into an ice-filled highball. Top with soda water. Garnish with lemon wheel or wedge and a cherry.

 

 

 

Stripper Nachos and the Margarita Lesson

flamingcoffee

 

What could possibly make quittin’ time even better? Happy hour!

My girlfriend Renee was meeting me after work. I worked through lunch so that I could leave early and snag us a table at the bar. Downtown bars filled up fast during happy hour with people trying to score cheap eats, house drinks, and someplace to go to wait out the horrible traffic.

Renee was my newest gal pal, so I wanted to pick out a nice bar for our first meetup, one with extensive happy hour offerings. She liked Mexican food, so I figured a nice, upscale Mexican bistro with a death fetish and flaming coffees would make for a great impression. I think she mentioned she was vegetarian, so I ordered non-meat nachos from the happy hour menu as our starter snack. And of course, a good, solid margarita (this place uses fresh lime juice, not sweet and sour mix) to celebrate the end of the day, and the beginning of a new friendship!

 

muert2

solidmargarita

 

I chatted with the bartender a bit, told her I noticed they made margaritas with just tequila silver, a blanco, as opposed to a reposado or anejo. She explained that because the anejo and reposado were smoother and sweeter than the blanco, they would make the margarita too sweet and the tequila too difficult to detect. Plus the anejo and reposado, being aged and smoother, were more expensive than the blanco. Mixing them into margaritas would be wasteful, and should instead be enjoyed neat.

 

margtequilas

deadsurfers

 

A few minutes into my margarita, I texted Renee to see if she was still coming. When I looked up, there she was with her sparkly hazel eyes and grinning red lips. Even after a full day’s work, she looked wide awake and unstoppable! I offered her the nachos while she was reaching for the cocktail menu. “Oh, I can’t.” Renee said apologetically. “I’m vegan, gluten-free and dairy-free.”

We scoured the menus for animal-free/gluten-free items and came up empty. “That’s okay,” she said. “I’ll just order a side of carrots.” This place was a fail and utterly unacceptable. I was open to suggestions.

 

muert1

 

Renee was familiar with the dietary restrictions food scene, and suggested a place I’d never heard of that was just a few minutes away. The entrance was in a narrow, seedy alleyway. Fortunately, it wasn’t completely dark yet. But at this time of year, 4:30 pm was sundown.

 

santeria_gmb

entry

 

Looking at it from outside, I thought, “Wow, what a hole. Renee comes HERE?”. Walking in, I noted that the place was small but clean, and did have a respectable bar with a good liquor selection. The prayer candles were an interesting detail, too. There were lots of them, for whatever reason. I decided to trust and roll with it.

 

prayercandles

tequilas

 

It was still happy hour, so we could get deep discounts on food, well drinks and cocktails. Renee ordered vegan nachos and I got tacos. In my experience, happy hour margaritas were mostly fruit-flavored sugar water with almost no tequila, and the one I had there lived up to all my expectations. Still, the food was really tasty.

 

vegannachos

 

Halfway through my drink, I needed the restroom, and was told to go through this strange door to get there. The signage confused me. No minors allowed in the restaurant, or no minors permitted to use the restrooms?

 

thedoor

 

As I opened the door, the first things I noticed were darkness, and loud throbbing music. Not the clubby, dance-y kind you’d bounce to while sipping your appletini; more like the slow, grinding raw kind you listened to while sullenly throwing back shots. As my eyes adjusted, I noticed a silent crowd drinking, watching young pretty girls on stage writhing, swaying, and whipping their hair around.

On the dimly lit path to the bathroom, I had stumbled into a labyrinth of sin and nubile flesh that left nothing to the imagination. I watched as men walked up to the stage and shoved their dollar bills into unmentionable places on ladies bending, kneeling, waiting to receive their treat.

Where the hell was I??
Oh. Right. I’m at a Mexican restaurant that shares bathrooms with a strip club, of course.

 

theclubcom2

 

I took no pictures of all this because the bouncer seated by the door was looking at me like that would be a really bad idea. Seeing the ladies prance and dance with money tucked into their naughty parts really made me think about the dollar bills in my wallet. Oh, the places that paper money may have been. I think I’ll be transacting on a credit card-only basis from now on.

From that day forward, to Renee and me, that restaurant was code name: Stripper Nachos.

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.

DGhood2

 

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.

 

woodlady_trouncealley

 

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.

 

outsideramshead

 

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.

 

downtown

 

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.

 

thehipbar

 

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.

 

pintofcider

 

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 – …

kirkandbabe

 

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.

 

hotlipsfocaccia

 

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.

 

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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?”

 


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

Cognac: A Warm Beautiful (Cocktail) Memory

warmbeautiful_filtered2

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.

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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.

victoriabar baroffgovst

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. my brother Arthur 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 and fragrant varieties of burning incense. It was summer, warm and perfect. And I had no intention of rushing anywhere.

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chinatownvictoria1

I found the bar just a block and a half away. Arthur 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 an oil painting hanging directly in front of him.

paintinginvictoria
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, which took up half the wall. 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 cocktail

The Beautiful is a delicious, potent and citrusy cocktail made of cognac and Grand Marnier orange liqeuer. Arthur 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. My brother wanted something a bit more imaginative.

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

thebeautiful

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.

remymartin_wenglei
My brother’s Warm Beautiful cocktail was created using Hennessey VS, but a Courvoisier VSOP could have also been used, instead. 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.

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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!


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 YouTube video

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

austinladies_new

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!

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Yeah, nope again. But kudos for originality!

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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.

Luc Lac bar

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!

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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.

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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!

Luc Lac single knight cocktail


 

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.

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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!”

whiskeylounge

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.

sippingscotch

“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.


The Lady Finger Cocktail
(courtesy of absolutdrinks.com)

1 part gin
1 part cherry brandy

Combine, shake with ice, serve neat.

Dark Matter and Irish Times

irish times

 

One of my biggest regrets about my visit to Victoria BC was not doing a pub crawl between the British, Scottish and Irish pubs downtown. However, being determined to die with little or no regrets in life, I endeavor to go forth with this worthy cause one way or another. It’s important to have goals, after all. Therefore, even with all the whirlwind of activity involving family gatherings, sightseeing and visits to local hot spots, I was able to fit in a few stops at various watering holes.

During a wander downtown, I suddenly stopped in my tracks. An Irish pub sat just to the right of the Scottish pub, which sat next to a British pub. Seeing them all lined up in a row like that, all just a stagger away from each other…well, that just put a smile on my face and made my eyes go all sparkly! Lovers of good beer, you know what I’m talking about! Unfortunately, I had dinner reservations soon, plus some freshening up to do beforehand (I am a girl, after all), so I could only pick one pub this time. My boyfriend, being Irish, recommended we try the Irish Times pub first, of course.

Irish Times

Unlike many Irish pubs I’ve been to in the U.S., the Irish Times pub doesn’t have the charmingly rustic feel of old neighborhood pubs in Dublin. High cream-colored ceilings, dark wood arches, crimson walls, gold etching and immense windows made this possibly the most stylish Irish pub I’ve ever tarried in. Still, they tried to make it feel less “uppity” with prominent displays of random, antique pub accessories, growlers and small kegs.

 

But enough about the ambience – let’s get to the beers! The Irish Times boasts an impressive array of domestic and imported beers (the picture only shows one section of the bar). As a bonus (and my boyfriend certainly thought it was), they get served to you by ladies with small kilts and big smiles. Looking around at the happy crowd around me, I’d say many would agree that this is a fine way to spend a gray, cold wintery afternoon.

 

I ordered a delicious pint of “Dark Matter”, a fills-your-mouth, sigh-inducing, dark-colored beauty of a beer that is part stout, part lager. Made with mild hops and roasted malt, the richness of this lovely brunette is balanced and smooth, with no trace of bitterness. I decided I must have this splendid craft beer.

 

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Sadly, “Dark Matter” is made by Hoyne Brewing Company, which only distributes in Canada. Their “sin tax” would likely make it cost a small fortune to purchase a case online, assuming it was even possible. And so I’m back home reminiscing about that wondrous beer and the cozy Irish Times pub, and telling friends about it. Victoria BC has given me a few more reasons to visit again soon. In the meantime, I’m off to my comparative study of Irish/Scottish/British pubs.

 


All photos taken by JE Alexandria Julaton