A Night on the Town

Going out is quite a rarity for me these days--that's the wimpness of old age, y'know.

Not only did I go out recently, I went with a friend--not just my husband (not that he's an enemy or anything)--and we hit two whole places. Well, admittedly, I still got home by 9 pm but I was out and that's the big deal.

And while out, I tried a new drink I liked very much and went to a Madison tapas bar that impressed me greatly with both its gin selection and the enthusiasm of the bartender for discussing cocktailiana.

First, the drink. I had this at a fairly new Madison piano bar which I'm afraid is going to suffer if its food selection doesn't expand to live up to its drink menu. The drinks offered are imaginative and well made, offering something for the cosmo crowd and for drinkers who aren't looking for a soda pop. But having only pizza, cheese bread and snack mix just isn't a draw for someone drinking a classic Manhattan while listening to good jazz piano. The drink I tried was, the owner told me, created by her and turned out to be a terrific summer cooler. Something of a riff on a Mojito, the Gingermint starts with some muddled mint leaves and adds ice, gin, then tops off with ginger beer. I think it's the first drink I've seen that uses ginger beer other than the Dark N Stormy and the counterpoint with mint and gin was refreshing, not too sweet, and light enough to start an evening off right. (And would be great with Coconut Shrimp or steamed edamame with sea salt.)

As much as I liked that, we moved on looking for more substantial food and ended up at Icon. I had this tapas bar recommended by several people and was pleased I finally stopped in. As I always do when I plop myself on a bar stool, I scanned the shelves for the gin section. Usually, if I'm really lucky, this will include Beefeater, Tanqueray, and both Bombay Sapphire and Bombay Dry. Really, really lucky and Boodles and Hendrick's will be there, too (though I'm not a Hendricks fan--cucumbers belong in salads and on eyelids). But at Icon, I saw all those plus Plymouth, Miller's and, allors, even Zuidam, a Dutch gin that I can't find at any liquor stores anymore and have never seen at a bar. I felt like Dorothy and was tempted to call my companion Toto for the rest of the evening but I think she would have taken it as an insult--can't imagine why. Of course, I ordered a Zuidam martini, straight up, very cold, and with olives but no more than two. The young man bartending sparked and said, "Absolutely. I've got frozen glasses ready to go" and proceeded to make the best bar martini I've had in Madison--or Chicago for that matter.

When my Cosmo drinking pal asked for my suggestions for drinks a little less sweet than her go-to but not too much like a real alcoholic drink, I suggested a Sidecar--that sugared rim keeps it a bit sweet while the citrus gives tang--and the bartender joined the conversation, agreeing with that choice and pointing out another drink on their menu that might also do the trick. Between the excellent drinks and the tapas--served one at a time as they should be--I'm putting Icon on my list of Madison places I most like to go for apps and cocktails, along with my old favorite, Magnus.

Maybe if I could find more places--other than my kitchen--that served innovative but not trendy drinks, well made by engaged bartenders (not engaged like that--I don't check marital status when I order), I might have more nights on the town: at least early evenings on the town.

An Ode to Neglect

Written in rhyming couplets of iambic tetrameter because no one is going to mistake "rhyming couplets of iambic tetrameter" for an attempt at real poetry.

Alas, my poor neglected blog
You've lain there like a bumpy log.
It's not my brain that fallow lies,
Nor am I drawn by sunny skies.
In fact, I play more solitaire
Than take long walks in summer air.
The bookwork snares a little time
But not enough to blame this rhyme.
I wish I could curse demon rum
Or gin for dulling cranium.
But neither's left me weak or hazy. (that's called a "weak ending"; still acceptable)
Let's face it; I've been too damn lazy.


Coming up soon (I hope): new posts returning to the old subjects of ice and Dark 'n' Stormies. As well as how to cheat on a Mojito.

Sometimes Life Is Beer & Skittles

Lest you think I drink nothing but cocktails. . .
No, I don't. Sometimes I even drink water. Oh, wait, proving I'm not a constant imbiber wasn't going to be the point of this post--beer is. Or more exactly, beer, games, and summer. When the temp gets above 70 and any outdoor activity is involved, beer is best. Unless you're playing cricket--I'll get back to that.

What's watching a baseball game without the vendor yelling "Millah, Millah Lite, heah." Can you imagine sipping a Cosmo while eating a dog or munching peanuts? If you can, shame on you. Or how do you end a morning round of golf without a stop at the 19th hole for a tapper? A cocktail at noon after hours in the sun--or if you're me, in the shade because you shanked it into the woods...again--just doesn't sit right. I remember my Father playing horseshoes in the backyard with his buds--yes, we had a regulation horseshoe pit in our backyard along with the concrete half-court basketball court and the badminton net (how did I ever grow up to be such a couch potato?)--and while he might have enjoyed a Manhattan after work or an Ouzo with the neighbor lady (see earlier post), with horseshoes, it was always a cold beer.

I'm not as much of a beer snob as liquor snob, so I'm willing to drink the ballpark brew when that's all that's around. But I really prefer something with more "teeth" to it. Beer is, after all, practically food with all those malts and hops and carbs, so it should taste as good as something you eat. I hate that commercial for the 64 calorie beer. If you can't splurge on a few more calories to get some flavor, drink Diet Mountain Dew. And since I'm now a Wisconsin girl, I've become a fan of Wisconsin brews, especially Capitol Brewery's Blonde Doppelbock and Ale Asylum's Nut Brown Ale. (But try an August Schell Pilsner--despite its Minnesota heritage--very nice, more hoppy than a typical Pilsner.)

But on a really hot, really sticky late summer day, Mid-August, when even Wisconsin starts to feel like it's drifted south of the Mason-Dixon Line, I reach for the beer equivalent of Sun Drop Soda. Sun Drop is an outrageously sweet citrus soda that I learned the glories of when I lived in Tennessee. Anytime the temperature and humidity both climb above 90--which is about 5 months of the year in the South--Sun Drop is insanely refreshing, maybe even life sustaining. For me, the beer that matches that profile is Corona. So light you can read through the bottle, nothing challenging about it, no hoppiness, no bite. Just a cool, chuggable quaff that will lower your body temp by at least 10 degrees instantly, I guarantee. Yes, shove the lime wedge in the bottle neck. No, don't even think about substituting one of the big brand American variations that claim to be "lime-flavored." Might as well drink snot.

After that comment, let's get civilized again and back to cricket. I suppose you could drink beer while watching or playing cricket but blimey, man, then what would you drink after the game at the pub while you play darts and skittles. No, a game that lasts literally for days deserves a sipping drink, not a swilling one. Which, of course, means gin & tonic--at least when it isn't tea time. Remember, though, a British G & T is mostly gin with a splash of tonic. So I wouldn't use Tanqueray 10 with its 94 proof. Pick a nice British gin--either Plymouth or Bombay Dry. And take it slow. You don't want the 'sticky wicket' to be you.

Lillet Blanc & Me

I was chatting with Dave, one of my cafe regulars, and I learned something about Lillet I didn't know.

Dave was in Paris and ordered two "Lill-ay" trying to get an aperitif but "Madame" brought out two glasses of milk, having apparently heard it as "le lait." And she had never heard of Lillet. Now, the bottle of Lillet Blanc sitting in my frig definitely calls it French, even has a map of the region it hails from. Could it be that it's no longer sipped in Paree? That it's become purely an export? I'd love to know more about that.

But after telling that tale, Dave and I started talking about cocktails, so I mentioned the Vesper, the gin, vodka, and Lillet Blanc "martini" made famous by James Bond. (I wrote a blog piece on the Vesper before. If you click the title of this blog post, it will take you to my GrandeDameIt blog and you'll see it: Cries and Vespers.) Dave's lunch mate, the ever-charming Newell (no, Mr. Smith. There are just some people you can't call by their first names. He's one: more gracious and fascinating at 90 than I would ever be if I were reincarnated 300 times.), was appalled at the idea of any martini that wasn't gin--which 99.9% of the time I would agree with--but I make one exception and that's for the Vesper.

Then Dave raised an interesting question. He likes Manhattans made with Jack Daniels. Sidebar: This drew another groan from Mr. Smith who couldn't imagine mixing anything with Jack Daniels--damn, I wish I were thirty years older; this is my type of guy! But Dave wondered whether Lillet Blanc could be used instead of sweet vermouth in a Manhattan. Or, better yet, because I suspect it's more similar--although I haven't tried it--what about Lillet Rouge? Not that I want to kick Vermouth out of bed for eating crackers, but now that I've gone as far as drinking those "impure" Vespers, a little experimentation might be nice. Wow, I love it when experimentation is called for when it comes to cocktails. Let me check my ice supply and I'll get back to you. Or you get back to me, if you've got some thoughts on Lillet--Blanc or Rouge.

To Write or To Bask in Spring

I've been trying for weeks to write about a couple of my favorite warm weather drinks, but it's been too warm.
Spring is always a time of dilemma in Wisconsin. If it's a nasty Spring, you want to curl up under the covers and forget the whole month of May. But if in May, we get multiple days of 70 degree weather, I instead want to wallow in the unexpected bounty. I've lived in Tennessee, so I know this would be hard to understand for anyone living below the Ohio river where by mid-May, the crocuses have bloomed and croaked and where the drink that is most welcome when the temp is 95 with humidity to match is Sundrop but in Wisconsin, back-to-back seventies before June are lusciously rare.

So I've waited for Memorial Day weekend to write about a summer drink. Because, as all Northerners know, regardless of the sun and 88 last Thursday, Memorial Day means cool and cloudy, if not cold and rainy--occasionally snowy. (The other weekend you can count on this in Madison is in March when the Boy's Basketball tournament is in town. 25 and icy.)

Many summer drinks are obvious, so let's move on from Gin & Tonic, no matter how glorious.

One of my favorites for warm weather is a classic: The Dark & Stormy (also my bro's new fave) which you can find recipes for many places. Just be sure you stay classic--Gosling Rum and Barrit's Ginger Beer. I've been told that Reed's Ginger Beer is a decent substitute if you absolutely can't find Barrit's and Cruzan Navy Dark Rum isn't a bad sub but stay with the tried and true if possible.

My other suggestions is so much a "girlie" drink that I'm almost embarrassed I like it so much: visions of ladies in straw hats out on the lawn in stilettos come to mind. Worse, I found it in an article by Bobby Flay. And it couldn't be more simple which is essential when all you really want to do is plop down in a hammock and read Elle. I don't remember its official name, but it's rum and lemonade with a little mint muddled in it and used as a garnish on it. Wow, that was hard.

Fill a big glass with ice (yes, chunky) and add a jigger of rum. Top with lemonade--I suppose you could use homemade but I never have: always just used frozen concentrate. Rub a mint leaf between your fingers to bring the oils out and stir in, then top with another mint leaf.

Mint comes in far more variety than people tend to imagine and while any will work, if you can find some, use chocolate mint. It has a very subtle undertone of dark chocolate that blends well with the rum. This is another drink I use a dark rum for, in part to kick it up out of the ladies' garden party spot at least to cricket watching (the game, not the bug) and in part because I'm too cheap too keep two kinds of rum around. Despite being willing to have three or four different gins on hand.

May your Memorial Day weekend deserve a Rum & Lemonade. Mine will probably need a Hot Toddy.

Derby Day--And Not A Julep In Sight

Ah, The Kentucky Derby: the most exciting two minutes in sports surrounded by four hours of commentary.

Yes, the Mint Julep is the traditional Derby drink, and I have no quarrel with it being a dandy libation, but everyone and his jockey will be writing about the Julep. So let's talk about another drink that would fit the requirements of the day.

You want something properly celebratory, of course, since the Derby is all about having a grand time. And it should have a bit of the old-boy snob appeal to go with all those men in tuxes and women in wide brimmed hats. But it can't be a sissy drink, needs to have some alcoholic oomph to get you numb enough to ignore how short the race actually is (see comment above). My pick for a drink that fits all the above: The French 75.

You might call this a "Champagne Cocktail" but it's about as similar to a Mimosa as Mrs. Lovett is to Dorothy Gale. The French 75 is named after the French 75mm cannon built in 1897 and used in WWI; the cannon was designed to have a smoother recoil than those built before but still use a powerful shell, which as Ted Haigh says in Vintage Cocktails makes the name appropriate for a drink that is "smooth, yet packs a wallop." I first tried it because, of course, it has gin it. But how weird is it to combine gin and champagne of all things? As it turns out, not weird at all and one of the best party drinks I've found. So on to the recipe:

2 oz. gin (avoid overly herby gins for this one)
1 oz. lemon juice, fresh of course
1 tsp. of simple syrup or 2 tsp. sugar
Champagne

I almost always end up using the sugar because I never plan far enough ahead to make simple syrup. I think Monin makes a bottled simple syrup--but I've also never planned far enough ahead to look for it. Spontaneous drinker.
Fill your cocktail shaker with ice--and let me harp once again on the importance of using nice big cubes so you don't water the drink too much (if you're getting really pissy about me mentioning this every time--too bad). Put everything in but the Champagne and shake. Pour it into a flute and top with Champagne. Usually, all I garnish with is a lemon peel spiral but I know a maraschino cherry is often added too: the glow-in-the-dark color just makes me nervous (like I'm not already putting dangerous things in my body?) Now that wasn't hard was it?

First thing you'll notice is that the gin mixture takes up a whomping amount of room in the flute, so you really are just "topping" it with Champagne. Thus the wallop it packs. And since carbonation tends to speed alcohol into the bloodstream (learned this in my bartender licensing class where I also learned that if someone is slurring their speech, they might have had enough--gee, ya think?), the bubbly will juice it right in there. You'll be seeing twice the field of horses by post time after a couple of these. Just don't wait to place your bets until then.

And for those of you in my area (Wisconsin, Illinois, etc.), Arlington Race Track opened May 1 and every Thursday is Senior Day when admission is only 3 bucks for anyone 55 or over--woot! It's a pleasure to be considered a senior at 55 if it comes with bennies.

I'll leave you with one more comment about this drink from Robert Hess whose drinkboy.com website I highly recommend: "Some people claim this drink should use Cognac instead of gin. Those people would be wrong."

Off to the races.

Alice Through The Martini Glass

Surely some cerebral archaeologist would be able to find the mental artifact that explains my fascination with the culture of cocktails.

Born in 1953, I really came at the tail end of the greatest cocktail generation--did World Wars have something to do with that greatness?--yet I'm drawn to not only the drinks of that era but the surrounding accoutrement and tchachkes that went with them. Certainly, my parents and their neighbors did indulge; they were part of the great suburban middle-class where Manhattans and bridge parties were at least weekly events. (My father found himself in possession of a bottle of Slivovitz--nasty stuff--which led to a fond, if bizarre, childhood memory: Mrs. Wright standing on her lawn waving the empty bottle--she was the only one who liked it--and yelling something which mercifully has left my memory bank.) But I can't see that as the missing link because bridge baffles me despite ardent parental attempts to teach me. One no trump? I ask you, what language is that? If I try to read Omar Sharif's bridge column (he was so gorgeous in Lawrence of Arabia), I have a headache after the first line.

But the Manhattans, those I understood. And in part, I think I also understood them as a symbol of relaxation and a genteel sociability. Part of my "Renaissance Man" illusion is a niggling belief that I really should have been born into the gentry so I could dabble in the arts and gentlemanly (womanly) callings without having to earn the buck that is all I ever manage to earn. Failing that, I guess a Martini before the tuna casserole or a Cuba Libre on the plastic-webbed chaise in the back yard struck me as the closest I was going to get. And--this being the '50s--everyone still dressed up a bit even for the neighborhood bridge game: women in shirtwaists and heels; men in white shirts and ties--always ties. Compare that to the way you see people dress today even when they're going to weddings: shorts, flipflops, whatever. What about any of that says "I was destined for better things."

Then there's writing and writers and we all know about them. Maybe I just had a sordid literary upbringing but it seems like every writer I really got turned on by was a drinker. Remember the scene in Julia when Jane Fonda, playing Lillian Hellman, is sitting on the beach with her typewriter in front of her and a shot glass in her hand? Whoa, what's not to aspire to? And Dorothy Parker. She got to be the only woman who was part of the Algonquin Round Table and you just know it was because she could hold her liquor: "I love to have a martini; two at the very most. . ." Etc. Etc. Even writers that most girls growing up in my era never heard of, I loved, gravitated to like a fruit fly to a saucer of scotch (just had to get one bad drinking metaphor in there), like Craig Rice. First female writer to get her photo on the cover of Time. Wrote the funniest, most alcohol-laden mysteries in the '40s. Go look her up. Unfortunately, died fairly young and I don't want to go into the cause, thank you very much.


All this might be trying too hard, however. It's all of a piece: mysteries, martinis, melamine dishes. My favorite things just aren't very '90s or, even worse, '00s. And if I thought I could rock a shirtwaist while typing on the beach. . .watch out world.

Bronx Cheer--No Raspberries

Oranges started it all.
In our new quest for health--having given up on wealth entirely and not being sure wise is terribly realistic at this point--we've been buying lots of fruits and vegetables. The veggies don't seem to be a problem; they get eaten or rot so quickly we don't have time to mourn their passing. But fruit, well, fruit takes longer to go so it sits staring at you for days while it shrivels away, especially oranges, which don't so much decay as become dry hulks with wrinkled skin. I can look in the mirror if I want to see that.

My husband's suggestion was to get a juicer. Mine seemed simpler, cheaper and more elegant: make Bronx Cocktails. My first introduction to Bronxes (hmmm, correct plural?) was making them pretty much like a Martini but with a squeeze of orange juice. Better cocktail minds than mine, however, put it closer to a Manhattan with orange juice. Still, as The Naked Chef would say, the drink is "easy peasy."

So before the oranges suffered another day, I had a Bronx. Ted Haigh, in Vintage Spirits & Forgotten Cocktails, turns the drink into The Income Tax by adding angostura bitters so if you're feeling particularly dumpish (as in "down in the. . .") because we're near April 15, go for it. I stuck closer to Gary Regan's version in The Joy of Mixology and used orange bitters--Regan's orange bitters, in fact, to give the gentleman his proper due. Thus, on to the recipe:

2 oz. gin (I used Beefeater for this)
1/4 oz. each sweet and dry Vermouth
Juice of 1/4 orange
Couple of dashes of orange bitters

Shake all the above with ice--nice big chunky cubes, so they don't water out too much--strain into a cocktail glass and garnish with an orange twist.

Big important caveat ahead: Use fresh and only fresh orange juice, not reconstituted, bottled or anything which doesn't come with a nubbly peel surrounding it.

There you go, aging oranges rescued; tax time blues abated; and don't you feel healthier already?

Gin & It

Or, perhaps, Gin & IT
Why start writing about cocktails at all? Everyone seems to have an opinion and most express them all too willingly.

Well, I do like to drink--probably more than my doctor would approve. Whenever she asks how much I drink a day, I say "oh, maybe two." Right. I drink mostly Martinis and some occasional Sidecars and French 75's. And in summer, Gin & Tonics and Margaritas (the real ones) so we aren't talking wimpy glasses of wine here. But I also believe in drinking these "the old-fashioned way" (not to be confused with drinking Old Fashioneds--which if I do, it's Whiskey, by the way, not Brandy). Remember "The Thin Man"? Now, Nick and Nora, they knew how to do it right--lots of small cocktails and a healthy respect for ice bags.

But really, I like the culture and literacy of cocktails. I've grown so bored with abstention and abstemiousness. Being a prig is the latest of virtues (ah, see my comments on frugality at grandedameit.blogspot.com. Definitely related) and I'm old enough now to have worn out my virtue gene to a small extent. Robbing banks, weeks of non-stop debauchery, serious binges--all out of the question. Just too tiring.

But a couple of classically made cocktails in the evening before the spinach/tofu dinner (oh, my, maybe I really am becoming a prig), well, that's a sweet moment of the day, a moment that marks the transition from "damn, I didn't get a third of what I needed to do today finished" to "wow, beautiful Spring evening, innit?"

If I'm not too much in my cups, I suspect there are others of you out there who would just like to chat about the glories of gin, the vim of vermouth, or the twaddle of tee-totalling. Enough--alliteration, like virtue, gets boring very fast.