Heck, I was going to say this: “some days, about 1 pm, I just get a feeling that I’d like some sort of sparkling wine cocktail.” But honestly, between us bubbly pals (and we are, I hope), what I really mean is this: “every day, about 1 pm, I just get a feeling that I’d like some sort of sparkling wine cocktail.” Today, it’s the Pensiero, which is from the upcoming Champagne Cocktails: 50 Cork-Popping Concoctions and Scintillating Sparklers. The Pensiero is a drink that involves thinking only to the point of the word (Pensiero) meaning “thought” (that’s almost a meta-booze-ical sentence). And to the point of tracking down a little Brachetto d’Acqui. If you don’t know, Brachetto d’Acqui is another in the lovely line of Italian effervescents, one made from the Brachetto grape (originally grown in the Acqui district). It’s lightly fizzy and features a taste redolent of berries, cherries, spices, and flowers–and it’s a bit sweet, making it an after-lunch or dinner partner of choice for many. If it’s 1 pm wherever you are, or fast approaching, then I suggest you track down a bottle and starting thinking about the Pensiero (whoa, that’s deep).

Ice cubes

1 ounces freshly squeezed orange juice

3/4 ounces Punt e Mes

1/2 ounce Campari

1/2 ounce Simple Syrup

Chilled Brachetto d’Acqui

Lemon twist, for garnish

1. Fill a cocktail shaker halfway full with ice cubes. Add the orange juice, Punt e Mes, Campari, and simple syrup. Shake thoughtfully.

2. Strain the mixture into a flute glass. Top with Brachetto d’Acqui. Garnish with the lemon twist.

After my below post about the Champagne of malt liquors, Champale, pal Philip (who writes a blog about the cutest girl in the world) was kind enough to send me a few choice Champale items he found, items which are now bound to be sitting atop yr holiday gift wish list. Because I know you love Champale. Admit it. You love it in the best way possible, which is by wearing this lovely Champale badge (I know I’ll be wearing one):

I especially like the smell lines coming off. And where better to wear your Champale-badged attire, then in your home bar, under your Champale light (I almost feel like I’m announcing a showcase showdown here):

Though really, that light is too modern for me. Give me the class of the oldies, the aged Champale, or at least this aged Champale light:

Now that’s classy. You know what’s best of all? You can buy both lights, and then have a whole Champale room, and, for that matter, buy a whole bunch of Champale badges and make a complete Champale outfit, and then send a picture of you in it, standing under your lights, to me, and I will post it here. Promise.

Betsy Karetnick is my favorite radio hostess (and host, for that matter). She currently hosts the “Morning Living” and “Everyday Food” shows for Martha Stewart Sirius Radio, and every time I’m in New York City I try and stop in to make a few drinks with her on the air and talk to callers about parties, cocktails, and anything else entertaining under the sun. She’s one of those hosts who really listens to callers, as well as having her own great ideas, and though she actually started as a finance journalist and a host of PBS’ “That Money Show,” shes’s now  a full-on food and entertaining force. Best of all, it’s her birthday this Thursday, the 17th, and I’m going to be in New York, so I’m stopping by the studio to make her some birthday Bellinis during the “Everyday Food” show at 12:15 EST, using the delicious Perfect Puree white peach puree. If you have Sirius Radio, be sure to listen in (at noon), and hey, even call in if you feel like saying howdy. If you don’t have Sirius Radio, you can always sign up for a free trial and see what you think (and call in and say howdy). If you absolutely can’t get near a radio, then at least make a Bellini on Friday. Here’s the recipe (adapted a bit) from Good Spirits.

2 ounce Perfect Puree white peach puree

4 or 5 ounces Prosecco

White peach slice for garnish

1. Add two ounces of the peach puree to a Champagne flute. Slowly, while stirring, add the Prosecco. You must add the Prosecco slowly, integrating it into the somewhat removed peach puree throughout or a peach puree sludge might gather at the bottom of the glass.

2. Garnish with the white peach slice and a toast to birthdays and Betsy.

Produced since 1939 (originally in New Jersey), Champale is a malt liquor. I’ve got not a stitch of a problem with that (and heck, the way today’s going, I’d take two bottles right now and drain them at a gulp and like it. Then burp a lot). But the whole “poor person’s Champagne” seems like a poor advertising scheme (really, can you talk down to your audience more?), especially when you have a talking bottle and a talking coupe-style Champagne glass (which was, as an aside, supposedly the style of glass created by taking impressions of Marie Antoinette’s breasts. Though, sadly, this may not be really true, it’s true to me). That pathetic fallacy-ing just freaks me out a touch, cause I see where this is going: the Champale is either going to tip the glass of Champagne over, or the Champagne is going to get all snotty and start speaking French. Nobody wins in this set-up.

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.

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).

It’s rare that I like a movie or T.V. series or podcast or alien mind scan more than the book it’s based on (cause books are better. So there). But, in the case of The Irish R.M., I think the BBC series is, in fact, better than the collection of vignettes by E. OE Somerville and Martin Ross. Though the collection is nice enough, and gives us the below quote, and introduces us to memorable drunk Slipper (who is almost always “slightly advanced in liquor”), as well as the main character (a somewhat stuffy-but-sweet English fella who goes to rural Ireland to be a registered magistrate, and then gets taken in and involved in all kinds of hijinks with the crafty locals—in a way, it’s like the big city folks from Salina, KS, who would come visit us country folks in Lindsborg, KS, when I was growing up. We’d always be drunk and scheming and riding after foxes while they laughed bemusedly) and various others, it doesn’t have the same jolly resonance as the series starring jolly Englishman Peter Bowles. I strongly suggest it if you want to learn about shebeens (and really, who doesn’t?), and I also strongly suggest the following quote:

It was a day when frost and sunshine combined went to one’s head like iced Champagne; the distant sea looked like the Mediterranean, and for four sunny hours the Knox relatives and I followed nine couple of hounds in a tranquil footpace along the hills, our progress mildly enlivened by one or two scrambles in the shape of jumps.

–The Irish R.M., E. OE Somerville and Martin Ross

PS: Also worthy, this descriptive phrase: “a woman who had th’ appairance of having knocked at a back door.”

1. Fill a cocktail shaker halfway full with ice cubes. Add the rum, lime juice, ginger liqueur, and simple syrup. Shake well.

2. Strain the mix into a flute. Top with the rosé sparkling wine. Garnish with that lime slice.

Well, the lovely, third installment of Italy ’09 (a newly trademarked phrase), the Upper Tiber Valley starring Nestor’s pizza, is still to come, but will have to wait another week, cause I’m heading to Boston, to celebrate the first anniversary of that delicious food- and drink-video site, How2Heroes.com. Can you believe it, just one year old and they’ve already put out some of the most rootin-est tootin-est tastiest videos around, from chefs, bartenders, writers, and genial drunkards. And, you, of course (or folks like you, since anyone can and should post videos). Anywho, for their first birthday they’re having a big ol’ party, where they’ll be serving up delights and giving away signed copies of Wine Cocktails (and yes, they’ll be signed by me. Or a proxy). And, I’ll be serving a wine cocktail too (the Bishop), as well as a sparkly drink I made just for the occasion, called the How2Heroes Celebratorio Anniversario Sparkler, or the How2Heroes Sparkler, for short. Hopefully I’ll be seeing you at the party, but if not, you should have one of these bubbly beauts on Weds to help celebrate. And the below video will show you how to make it. Doesn’t that deserve a Yay! all around? I think so.

See, friends, due to these Italian blog posts running a little long, I can only muster one a week. No, that’s weak. It’s really cause I’m lazy. Or, just trying to get the photos together makes me so sad I’m not still in Italy that I can hardly type. Or, at least, not type hardily. You get the picture, my bubbling glasses of prosecco. Or Moretti, as, truth be told, I consumed a fair amount of Italian beer (as did my co-travelers), because, well I love it, and because after touristing all day, sometimes there’s nothing better. And if that wasn’t good enough, in Florence, a cold one tastes even better than that.

Ah, Florence, how I love thee. Or, in Italian, “come amo il thee.” Either way, Florence is one of my favorite cities. The art, the architecture, the cuisina, the effervescence, pals Caterina, Emanuele, and Emiliano, and just walking the twisty lanes–all equaling total Italian city awesomeness. This trip, wife Nat and I even upped the awesomeness ante by checking our bags and finding our beds at the luscious Hotel Lungarno (it was my 40th b-day trip after all, so I had to splurge a little with my euros). Artistic just on its own, while still being friendly and comfortable (biggest bathtubs of any hotel I’ve stayed in–Ed Skoog and I could have both fit at once I think), the Lungarno is well worth the price, and the views from Nat and I’s balcony were phenomenal. But don’t take my few bumbling words for it, check out this photo taken from said balcony on a day when the clouds and sun were both struggling for control of the sky (the sun won this time, eventually):

The Lungarno also had a sweetly stylish bar/common area, where we hung out one night before dinner with pals Stereolad, Schticker girl, Andyo, and Deenayo (all of who were nice enough to meet us in Florence, then hang with us in Italy for a bit) and had that perfect Italian invention, the pre-dinner aperitif. I had a Negroni (which is natural in Florence), but forgot to take a pic. Stereolad and Andyo had some aperitifs which came with inspired fresh fruit salad garnishes:

We all had dinner one night a little outside the center historic area, traveling closer to where aforementioned Florentine friends Caterina, Emanuele, and Emiliano (check out his cute mug in the picture–oodles of liveliness and got over our talking funny quick), live, to Le Carceri, a ristorante and pizzeria that’s next to an old prison (not in use anymore–no matter that some think I should maybe spend a night behind bars for good measure). I had a creamy-cheese-and-mushroom-tastic Sformato di Fungi Porcini con Fonduta di Formaggi for starters, and basic-but-beautiful Penne Quatro Formaggio (that’s right yo–mac-and-cheese for the Kansan). But, interestingly, my favorite pics of the night came from pal Stereolad’s giant hunk of meat, so vegetarians, consider this your:

**Big Meat Pictures Comin’–Skip Next Two Photos If You Can’t Take It!!**

alert. His dish was out of hand, and smelled pretty lush (the caramelized onion smell is hard to not be entranced by) and from all reports tasted even better. The name matches the smell (hah!) and also rules: Stinco di Maile Al Forno: roast shank of pork with red onions. Whoa:

And Sterolad, with a little help from Andyo (and maybe even a bite taken by Deenayo) went all TCB on it:

To wash that down, it takes a bunch of bubbles, even on into the next day. Which meant that after walking all over the Giardino di Boboli, or Boboli Gardens (a gianormous garden full of sculptures, fountains, hills, trees, and cats behind the Pitti Palace) we parked it at one of the outdoor tables in Piazza Spirito and threw down some of the nasty, Nastro Azzurro, which is another beer that became a group favorite. Notice, also, in the below picture that thick wood tray–Andyo and Deenayo’s plate o’ salumi came out riding on that:

As this is already getting too long, let me sing for just a few more seconds about one of my essential Florence food-and-drink spots (so much so that I went in it three times this trip, and twice one day), Procacci, on Via Tornabuoni 64/r. A small breath of beauty away from the crowds, streets, and often crowded streets, Procacci is an oasis of grace with a dedication to truffles.

It’s deservedly beloved for its panini tartufati (a mouth-watering truffle-and-buttery-spread sandwich) and other small sandwiches. But by small, I mean in stature, not in taste. In taste, these little morsels are giants. Giants! When paired with a glass of prosecco or a spritz (and I’m calling for at least three panini in this equation–or maybe seven) and followed by an apple tart, they are without a doubt one of the world’s best afternoon snacks. While the truffle version is my top sandwich, Stereolad picked up a goose sausage number that made him smile so wide I took a pic (of the sandwich):

Ah, Florence, how lovely and how, well, yummy. I plan on going back at least 20 times, and I suggest you do the same. For that matter, maybe we should just go at the same time, so you don’t get lost. Before we say our last buona serra to Tuscany’s capital, here’s another pic from the balcony, a nighttime view of the Arno and a bit of the Ponte Vecchio, too:

Dreamy stuff.