I am going to get out of the way on this one, because the important talking is all done in the below video, which is a sweet (but not sugary) review of Dark Spirits. The review comes from Jen at the Library of Eden (and, in case you’re getting all wiggy about it, let me assure you–I know no one from the Library of Eden, so this is an unbias’d awesome freaking review.) Check it out:

Washington State, historically, hasn’t been known for its relaxed liquor laws or an immense selection in its liquor stores (just the opposite, and mainly because all the liquor stores are state owned, thereby killing competition and any free market system. Freakin’ commies). But lately, this arid situation has started to change, with more intriguing brands and spirits and such appearing on shelves, and more local products being distilled, stilled, made, imported, and distributed. Recently, I was able to share a sweet evening with the fine folks at Pür Spirits (those fine folks being Kiki, Harvey, and Olli), who fall into the “importing” category of that last sentence, and who are helping to put Washington on the cocktail enthusiast’s travel itinerary.

Pür Spirits consists of a line of liqueurs and base spirits (more or less) imported from Germany. As they say on the site (which I’m copying in so I don’t get it wrong):

Each variety of Pür Spirits is produced according to traditional principles by a 3rd generation artisan distiller in a remote village in southern Germany. Our time-honored recipes have been passed down and refined over decades, if not centuries.

 

Now, that’s what I tend to like (tradition, family, refinement, and lots of booze). The line up as it is today (though I was lucky enough to taste some other possible additions, including a dandy winter liqueur that was orangey and herbally) includes two Pür Likörs: Blossom (an elderflower liqueur that is rich with floral and spring-in-the-forest overtones), Williams (a pear liqueur that has a fine pear flavor and goes light—thankfully—on the sweet), and three Pür Geists: Framboise (which is called a raspberry-flavored vodka, but which is better than other bottles claiming that title), Sloe (which is a sloe-berry flavored vodka, in name, but a sloe-berry gin in reality, because it has a much more interesting taste than a  normal flavored vodka), and Bierbrand, a distillation of beer aged in a chestnut cask. If that last one doesn’t intrigue you, you should stick to drinking water. Here’s the whole family:

Currently, the Pür Spirits line is only available in Washington State (expansion plans are in the planning stages, but since they only hit the market last November, we get to have bragging rights for a bit). Which means you should come out here right away and try them all, then buy some and take them back to wherever you’re from. Many of the top local drinking holes are serving them up and mixing them up in strange and beautiful ways, too. Oh, and beyond lighting up the palate (meaning: they taste delish), the bottle design is graceful and artistic, making them dandy presents. Just check out the Bierbrand close up:

Pretty, isn’t it? So, come to WA and find your way to Pür-ity (did I really only make two “Pür” puns? That’s weak. Forgive me).

PS: Wait, you say you already live here? Then aren’t you lucky–you just need to find your way to a liquor store or bar. Right now!

I don’t know much, but I know I love the song “Starry Eyes” by Mötley Crüe. Do I love the book by Donald Hamilton called Assassins Have Starry Eyes? Not as much, definitely. But I did like it, though I don’t know the Hamilton oeuvre that well (and yes, I did just bust out the “oeuvre.” I rule like that, literarily.) I don’t even know Matt Helm, who’s called out so boldly on the coverm but who isn’t in the book at all. I do know that the book was once called Assignment Murder, but the Crüe never had a song called that (though, in hindsight, maybe they should have). And that it’s a funny jumble of a book, with some mystery, some intrigue, some hard-to-believeness, and some anti-government plot or rigmarole that Donald (if I can call him Donald) seems down on somewhat. I also know that the following quote is a nice kick in the face to those who would drink a pre-made or a poorly made Martini, and that is why I’m quoting it, and why Mötley Crüe would dig the book, because they don’t stand (in leather and thigh high boots) for any bad Martinis.

“Another of the same for me,” he said, pushing a tall glass in her direction. “And a Martini for my son-in-law; and none of that tired old bar mix, sister. Have him make it up fresh: Noilly Prat vermouth and Gordon’s gin, one to five–is that about right Greg?”

“One to five is fine,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said. “And none of those damn olives sister. Just a twist of lemon. Got it?”

–Donald Hamilton, Assassins Have Starry Eyes

I don’t usually think of my brown liquors (such as those in Dark Spirits—and yes, that was a blatant book shout out) in kissy-face terms. I mean, they’re often easy going down, and flavorful, and delicate in their whiskey-scotch-brandy-darkrum-etc way, but I still rarely utilize “smooching,” or “tongue-wrestling,” or “suck-face,” or “making out” when describing them, or even more rarified terms like “lip locking.” Which is dumb of me. Cause I’ve always thought kissing drunk people (only tipsy wife Nat for many years, of course) was dandy. And if they’ve been bourbon-ing or dark-spirit-ing, even better (as long as no smoking is involved, cause kissing a smoker is like kissing an ashtray’s ass). That (all that, rambling around) may be why I dig the Inver House Scotch ad below. Sexy, isn’t it? Besides the facts that her neck was probably broken to get that angle, and that Inver House isn’t as adored as it once was (at least it doesn’t seem to be among drinkers I know). Think of this ad next time you’re kissing, and then tell that favorite him/her, “You’re soft as Scotch.” I’ll bet you get even more kisses. Or slapped. One of the two.

Some (foolish ones) think a marathon is just a race ran a certain number of miles from point A to point B. When, actually, many things (life, even, if you know the full story) are marathons, going from one point to another. Heck, maybe that’s just the way it feels today though. Whichever case you’re in to, it’s nice to have a good drink to sip after the marathon is over, or before the marathon happens, or to sip instead of running at all (my choice). I think the Class of the Race is ideal for these situations, with its classy blend of bubbly, bourbon, Bénédictine, Peychaud’s, and a touch of simply syrup. Learn to make it (and watch a real marathon ending with it) in the below video, filmed by Dr. Gonzo (genius—have you emailed him about getting your quarterly free Khaos Apocrypher by the way?) and featuring a troop of serious runners. Or drinkers.

Some days (January days, often, as it seems January is not only a cold month temperature-wise, but also a cold month life-wise, being the month of re-orgs, and silly resolutions, and uncomfortable whatnots. And if not all those actually happen, there tends to be the threat of all those, anyways) you need a bit of boozy medicine. If you’re in need, then you’ll especially like this quote from an old pulp called Murder in Havana. Which is about, funny enough, a bunch of murders in Havana, that our main character “Andy” tipsily stumbles in to (it’s not my pal Andy Sweet–who was one of the writers of Battleship, Battleship, Battleship–though it could have been, cause both are go-get-um guys). Anywho, Andy thinks that sometimes you just have to take your medicine (booze, that is). Here, see for yourself:

His bag was already on the customs bench and he opened it for a uniformed inspector who made but a cursory examination until he found the leather-covered flask. He unscrewed it, sniffed rum, grinned. ‘Medicine,’ he said. ‘Medicine.’ Andy grinned back at him and opened the briefcase.

–Murder in Havana, George Harmon Coxe

It’s winter (at least within the latitudes I reside within), and I’m dreaming a bit of summer, of sitting outside with a cold, tall, delish beverage, far away from today’s actual chilliness. And when I dream of summer, I always like to wonder: what would androids in the future drink, if they had a head full of LSD and had been swimming? You, I’m guessing, wonder the same thing. Luckily, there’s a little pamphlet that was put out in 1976 called Summer Comfort that tells us: they drink Southern Comfort. If you don’t believe me, take a gander at the cover of said pamphlet below. Have you ever seen a better representation of drugged-up soaking wet androids? I didn’t think so.

PS: Because androids and their robot brethren and sisterthren bleed out milk, I’m guessing the actual drink from the pamphlet they’re most fond of is the “New! Cow Shot.” Which is 1-1/2 ounces Southern Comfort, 1/2 ounce crème de cacao, and 3 ounces cold milk over ice. It’s “superb, no bull!”

Okay, full disclosure straight up: the bar manager at the new (as opposed to the older version from a few years ago) Mistral Kitchen in Seattle is a pal of mine. A good pal, even. His name’s Andrew Bohrer, and I’ve blogged about him before, cause he makes damn good drinks, and isn’t all snooty about it (and his blog Cask Strength is full of booze and cursing, which is nice). Heck, I’ve heard him praise PBR as casually as Pappy’s 15-Year bourbon. Here he is, getting busy with pouring:

This all means that when wife Nat and I went to Mistral recently (during the “soft opening” phase) we were probably going to be pretty forgiving, if needed. But to get around the whole “of course you’ll say nice things, you know them” I’m going to keep commentary at a minimum, and go the photogenic route (which is great for me, cause I’m, well, hot and so inclined to like the photogenic route). The quick summary, though, before the photos (did you think I’d back out of editorializing completely?): the savory food was still being worked out, but solid ingredient choices, if pretty straightforward preparations (this on the veggie side); the dessert-y food was interesting and delicious and architectural and a step above the savory right now; the cocktail food was, well, great. Now, onward. We had some roasted veggies, but they weren’t as good as the wood-roasted mushrooms:

And we had a vinaigrette’d green salad (good, but pretty spare), which wasn’t as good as the cheese plate:

With the meal, Nat had an Aviation cocktail (we both went classically at first, picking off the old-school short bar menu), which was dreamy and cloudy like a cloudy dream:

I had the Mint Julep, which was made just right, with the right crackity-cracked ice, the right metal julep cup, and the right healthy amount of bourbon. Pretty, even:

For dessert, we had the Ultra Brownie, and it was ultra creamy chocolate goodness, but topped, I felt, by the Walnut Honey Cake (the desserts, made by chef Neil Robertson, both kicked sugary ass though), which came with rich figs and homemade (natch) chestnut ice cream:

With desserts, Nat had a fresh cocktail that Andrew had recently been working on (as an aside: isn’t it always swell to be able to be one of the first to taste a new drink? I think it’s swell), which mixed 1 ounce gin, 1/2 ounce kirsch, 1 ounce blanc (not dry) vermouth, and 1/2 ounce orgeat. It was really jumping (or frolicking) with the balance of dry to sweet right on. And, he called it the Tauntaun. Geeks, rejoice:

For my last drink, I had a Fernet Old Fashioned, which Andrew had been telling me about, and about who originally created it, but now I can’t find the email. Maybe he’ll be so kind as to leave the info and the instructions in the comments. Though he is busy. But not that busy (so get to it, Andrew). Anywho, before starting an online booze war, let me say that I dig Fernet, and this drink was the tops. I love the phat orange rind, and the ice ball, and the bitter-after-dinner experience that is summed up in this glass:

That’s the Mistral Kitchen kids, well worth a visit, especially if you belly up to the bar and let the cocktails roll. Just be sure to order a drink with an orange peel:

Everyone is asking it: was Champagne created by the devil (providing your belief system has a devil in it–if not, just fake it for now) to entrap people into getting loopy and lustful as the old year ends? I mean, we do consume a lot of Champagne and bubbly (and Champagne and bubbly cocktails, one hopes, to get away from the mundane-ity) this time of year, and it is sort-a like the death of the year, and the devil is on people’s minds when they think of death. And drunken revelry has mistakenly been touted as evil before (when, in actuality, it is really full of goodness a full 87.463% of the time). What do I think about the whole “Champagne was created by the devil” rigmarole that’s being tossed around so much on TV news shows and talk radio? Well, let’s see what the ads say, because advertising is the most trustworthy business there is (after used-car selling, prostitution, and the NBA). First, check out this ad, from way back in 1908 (I think):

You see the devil is, actually, involved, using the bubbly to entice a lovely young maiden and a dancing, prancing (romancing), satyr. Or is it a faun? Or just a drunk kid? I get those confused. Wait, what’s that you say? The woman is pouring the bubbly for the devilish character? That makes it less probable that he created it. But wait, though, wait (again), what about this ad from a little later in history:

Here, mean ol’ scratch is pouring it out with an evil grin. No doubt about it. Well, maybe a little doubt. I mean, he is pouring it a long way–why would he want to potentially spill what he created? It almost seems like he’s showing off his bar skills, maybe looking for a new gig behind the stick, and not trying to drunky up the masses at all. Maybe, just maybe, the devil didn’t create Champagne in the least bit (and maybe, just maybe, I’m just devil’d up from reading too many pre-code devilish horror comics during The Horrors of It All’s Devilcember). Wait, though, wait (again): this last ad below definitely points to the possibilities of the devil at least being associated with Champagne. Because if this isn’t a minion of the devil pushing the Champagne in the ad, I don’t know my religious cosmology:

Okay, wait, though, wait (one last time): I think I get it, finally. The devil is only responsible for Champagne or bubbly in a can. I think I can believe that. Now, go stock up for New Year’s Eve, devilish ones, and don’t forget to save a glass of bubbliciousness for me (as long as it’s poured from a bottle).

I’m not saying I won’t post again before any more holidays hit in the second to the last week of 2009 (I’ll definitely post again before 2010, so c’mon back y’all), but just in case I don’t, and in the spirit (and spirits) of the season, I wanted to wish every reader of this blog (all four of you, or five when certain people are out on parole) a happy and boozy holiday of your choice and holiday season. Now, it might seem like my sentiments would be enough, but because I’m always willing to go the extra mile (or mile of bottles), I brought in hunky (still) Sean Connery and a bottle of Beam to help with the wishes. Go on, fill up a glass and look into his eyes . . . that’ll make your holiday extra happy, I promise (unless you pass out from the dreaminess. Well, that might make your holiday happier, too).