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!

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.

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!”

I (along with wife Nat) got the nicest batch of ginger snaps recently from pal Jill M (her husband, pal Ed, has a book just out called Mister Skylight that you should buy, by the way). The snaps were a bit more cookie-y than many ginger snaps (so, not crisp like some traditional ginger biscuits, and nowhere near ginger nuts, or, for that matter ginger balls. And yes, I just said ginger balls. But now my traffic skyrockets), but with goodly ginger flavor and a little bit of chewiness. I liked them lots, and ate lots of them. But then I started thinking: there is a baker’s dozen of them, maybe I should make a drink using them as a garnish? This is the way my mind works. And, I was also thinking (I have up to three trains of thought at once: right now, they consist of writing this post, thinking about a post on the comics blog Progressive Ruin that combines Adam West Batman with Dark Night Batman, and musing about how the leaning tower of Pisa doesn’t fall over) that with the holiday season you might want to know about a drink that uses ginger snaps as a garnish. Cause the snaps tend to show up this time of year.

So, I wanted a ginger-y drink, but one also with some other funtastic flavors. Which led to me playing around with this VeeV Acai (it’s a super fruit!) Spirit I’d had sent to me recently and Domaine de Canton ginger liqueur. The Veev is pretty sprightly with some tropical hints, the DdeC is very gingery and touch sweet, and at first the playing around wasn’t coming out quite right–until I added ol’ reliable, sweet vermouth. Its bit of holy herbal-ness completely rounded out the edges of the other two, and all-of-sudden I was in ginger-island-holiday-paradise. I suggest you stock up on all of the ingredients so you can get to this paradise, too (and because you may just need a drink before the month’s out. The holidays aren’t all sunshine).

Ice cubes

1-1/2 ounces VeeV Acai spirit

1 ounce Domaine de Canton ginger liqueur

1/2 ounce sweet vermouth

Ginger snap or cookie, for garnish

1. Fill a cocktail shaker halfway full with ice cubes. Add everything except the cookie. Shake well.

2. Strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with that cookie (I had to notch it just a bit for proper rim balancing. But after that, I did a lot of dunking with it).

Though this is Halloween week, making it the ideal time of year for a ghoulishly good (gawd, it’s fun to get yr Halloween speak on) mix like the Warlock, it really brings a magical charm to any evening. Well, any evening that you’re feeling like a yummily mystical mixture of brandy, Strega, limoncello, orange juice, and Peychaud’s bitters (which should really be any evening, now that I think about it). Click on through to the below video and learn the exact tricks to making it, but be warned!!! It can change you into a conjuring zombie. But now you know.

Well, as much as I’ve loved the Chow tips (which have been loved by Leslito and Scharrer as well, at least, cause they have good taste in tips), and loved doing the tipping with Chow folks, I have to announce this is the last one, which might be an occasion for tears (like when you watch the last episode of Garth Marenghi’s Dark Place and realize there aren’t any more episodes for reasons only the devil knows, and he ain’t telling). But, on the flip side, it’s also an occasion for joyous laughter, merriment, and drunken revelry, cause (as I mentioned below), this particular tip is the most capitally cowabungaing Chow tip laid out in lovely fashion on the liquory Spiked Punch yet: a tip for creating your own captivating limoncello. Ah, limoncello, the Italian sun god of liqueurs. I like it when I’ve eaten a lot, and when I haven’t eaten enough, when it’s mixed up in a Princess with soda and raspberries (in wife Natalie’s recipe, which you can find in Good Spirits if you need to) and when it’s served solo. I like it, period, people. And you will to, so watch this tip and get your own started today (really, do it. The store-bought stuff’s never as good. And the recipe’s from Luscious Liqueurs, if you need to read things in the old-timey traditional manner).

PS: Want to catch up on all Chow tips. Here they are: #1, #2, #3, #4.

As captain of industry Ed Skoog said in a recent blog post for the Seattle PI (which used to be a paper, but which now is a website, or something like that, as the song says), “summertime is poetry time.” Well, maybe that’s a paraphrase, but it was close, and when I was drinking with him last week he at least mumbled that exact phrase. Which is why I wanted to put up this poem called “The Menu” for you, dear Spiked Punch reader, to make your summertime complete. And, cause I like the rhyme of “the days” and “mayonnaise.” Thomas Bailey Aldrich, the author, is dead. But he had a rollicking time of it before March 19, 1907, from what little I know, and from reading this poem, which is pretty darn celebratory of the drinking-and-eating-with-pals-makes-life-better theory, a theory I have signed on for myself. With that said, have a pal or two over, make some treats of the liquid and edible variety, and read this out loud. It’s a hoot. Hoot, hoot. Or maybe I’ll just record myself reading it? Unless you send me pictures of writers or pets drinking. That’s a threat.

The Menu

I beg you come to-night and dine.

A welcome waits you, and sound wine–

The Roederer chilly to a charm,

As Juno’s breath the claret warm,

The sherry of an ancient brand.

No Persian pomp, you understand–

A soup, a fish, two meats, and then

A salad fit for aldermen

(When aldermen, alas, the days!

Were really worth their mayonnaise);

A dish of grapes whose clusters won

Their bronze in Carolinian sun;

Next, cheese–for you the Neufchatel,

A bit of Cheshire likes me well;

Cafe au lait or coffee black,

With Kirsch or Kummel or Cognac

(The German band in Irving Place

By this time purple in the face);

Cigars and pipes.  These being through,

Friends shall drop in, a very few–

Shakespeare and Milton, and no more.

When these are guests I bolt the door,

With Not at Home to any one

Excepting Alfred Tennyson.

–Thomas Bailey Aldrich, The Menu

It’s a holiday weekend, and you wanna get to it (hopefully yours starts on Friday, like mine), and I wanna get to it, but before then, I wanna drop a quick bit of holiday party science on you. You’re gonna eat too much this weekend (I’m also going for as many “nna” words a possible), but don’t wanna feel like the Blob (the fatty super villain, not the bubbly asteroid spin off). Which is why you should have the fixin’s for a Stomach Reviver on hand, cause it’ll cure your aching tummy, and let you have more fun-na. It goes like this:

Ice cubes

1-1/2 ounce brandy

1 ounce Kümmel

1/2 ounce Fernet Branca

2 dashes Peychaud’s bitters

1. Fill a cocktail shaker half way with ice cubes. Add everything. Shake, strain into a cocktail glass or straight down the ol’ feed hole.

It’s the double bitters (FB and Peychaud’s) I believe, that alleviates that over-full feeling. At least it did for me the other night, after I’d consumed like six pieces of pizza, some salad, a few bread sticks, and probably some ice cream. Who can remember everything? Anyway, I was out of Kümmel (that caraway-and-sometimes-fennel-flavored treat), and so used homemade fennel liqueur, and it went down like a good date gone south. Wait, that sounded bad. I meant that it was really a touch sweet (but not too much) on the front end, and then a touch bitter at the end. I like that. You should too. If you don’t have Kümmel, play around with subbing in another sweetish spiced liqueur, and let me know how it treated you, and what you’re gonna call it (besides wonderful relief, that is).

PS: Check out that rad antique’y shaker I picked up not long ago. It pours like a little teapot. That got tall.

When a trusted confidant and drinking pal (in this case, it was Stereolad, alias Senor Crappy) sends an email that says things like the following about a new bar just visited:

“Although it’s a legit establishment, there’s no signage and you have to ring the doorbell to be admitted. But the awesomeness is what’s inside.”

and

“Ben {the bartender} came over and asked us a couple more questions (”Is rye OK instead of bourbon?” “Sweet or dry?”), disappeared briefly and presented us with a Remember The Maine (rye, Heering, sweet vermouth, and absinthe). Lovely. He came back for a follow-up and told us that he’ll do egg white cocktails for any takers.”

I get a little twitchy, partially with excitedness to visit said place, and partially with wondering if it can be true, and partially with thirst. And partially just cause I’m twitchy. It’s like a super power. But a lame one. I digress. The rest of said email was asking if we’d want to stop by the new bar, and so we (in this case wife Nat and I) took him up on it last Sunday and slipped into the Knee High Stocking Company.

By slipped in, I mean somehow managed to find the door, as it’s in a fairly out-of-the-way spot, and only has a very small sign (about knee-high, now that I think about it) next to a door bell with another sign that says “ring.” See, there’s no way in without ringing the bell, and it’s all very hush-hush, and speakeasy-esque, and painted blue (that’s about it for hints). Once we rang said door, above-mentioned bartender (Ben, that is) opened it, peeked out at us, asked how many we had, and then showed up to a table right near the bar. But I’m starting to wander, so let me skip the other atmospherics and say that the space was small, comfortable, dimly lit, and, well, cool in an unassuming and unpretentious kind of way. Which is just the way I like.

I started up with a Widow’s Kiss after mulling the nicely-balanced menu. It’s a combination of Calvados, Green Chartreuse, Benedictine, and Angostura, stirred up and served with a cherry. Ben filled me in when delivering it that it was from George J. Kappeler, circa 1895 (and not Gabe Kaplan from Welcome Back Kotter, though the joke was, of course, made by me. I’m thinking it was from the book Modern American Drinks, which I sadly don’t have. Yet).

It was delish. Had some backbone, but the Chartreuse and Benedictine and bitters came out with each sip, each bringing a little herbal joy to my afternoon. The other big kick was starting to realize that Ben was a bartender I could trust. He not only brought out a good drink, but a good bit of history. When he said something along the lines of, “I’m working on mastering the old classics, and then slowly working on mixing my own ideas” then I knew he was someone I’d be happy to have pour me many drinks.

Which led to my next choice (oh, wait, first, let me say that Stereolad had, I think it was, a Flor De Jalisco for his first sipper, after telling Ben only that he wanted something refreshing, not bitter-y, and a touch fruity, and that tequila was dandy. It was awesome, too, and hit the notes Stereolad wanted. That picture at the beginning of this post is it, in front of Stereolad’s manly mitts. I believe Ben said it was a Death+Company drink, which is always welcome at my table). Or, led to me asking Ben what he might like to make using the Bitter Truth bitters I saw behind the bar (for those who don’t know, Bitter Truth is a couple of German bitters-heads who make an assortment of tasty stuff, much of which I  haven’t even tasted). He whipped up an Opera, tracing back Harry’s Bar, from way back in the 1920s (it’s in Paris), which had gin, Dubonnet Rouge, old compadre Maraschino, and Bitter Truth orange bitters. And a twist. Good golly, that’s enough to make a man like me dance in happiness as if in a touring company doing Breakin’ II: Electric Boogaloo. And I didn’t even mention the twist. Cause I’ve written more than you’ll find on most Christmas letters already. And I still need to mention three more things. First, Mark’s second drink was worthy of song, but I’ve forgotten what exactly it was, so instead of going on and on, I’m just going to show you this picture of our drink off (notice my unshaven-ness due to it being Sunday–I’m a bad man):

Second,and this isn’t about booze at all, but about mac-and-cheese, which was also had, and which was gooey and a smoosh spicy, and had a crisp about the top side: a winning combination by any stretch. Third, Nat was on call for a baby that might never show (darn those babies and their desire to forgo the outside world. Wait, that was sorta like us on Sunday at the Knee High. And yes I’m already truncating the name. I’m that guy), so she wasn’t drinking boozy booze, but Ben was swell enough to make her a ginger ale from scratch, and it was delish, too. Here’s an artsy shot Nat took of the g/a:

The verdict? I wanna go back right now. The Knee High Stocking Company has a speakeasy-woven-ing-with-your-neighborhood-bar vibe that doesn’t show its head all that often, but which is to be revered. Dandy drinks, chops-licking food, out-of-site conversation with good pal and hot wife: that’s the prescription for a perfect Sunday late-afternoon-early-evening, and I feel lucky I got to be there for it.

PS: Ben works Wednesdays, Saturdays, and Sundays at the Knee High Stocking Company. I suggest you make his acquaintance (if you’re in Seattle–if not, find him when you visit). I’m not going to tell you how to get there exactly, cause it’s something you should work a little for. And because I don’t want it to get so crowded they won’t let me in the 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.