What the heck–it’s the 16th of June already? And I’m only just having my first “buck” drink? And it’s not even an Orange Buck, but the sultry-cousin-who-sits-in-a-loose-dress-on-the-porch-driving-the-neighbors-mad-with-desire-while-at-the-same-time-barely-perspiring-and-looking-all-kinds-of-languid New Orleans Buck? And I’m using the Nicaraguan-made Flor de Cana Grand Reserve 7-year-old dark rum (which, I have to admit, so you don’t think I’m some kind of un-admitting flunky, was sent to me in the mail not too long ago from someone in New York–who I’m thanking right now, cause really, it’s tasty rum)? All of this probably leads many old Kansans (pals KT and Markie Mark, for two) to saying one thing: “that’s bucked up.”
But really, my old Orange Buck brethren, forgive me. The New Orleans Buck is darn refreshing, and is a very close relative of the O.B., and part of that legendary Gin Buck family that traces back, oh, to at least the 1920s. And if you’re new to this whole “buck” thing, let me promise you: you’ll be happy to dive in here, because this is a happening and cheery summer drink, one that fits backyard kick-backs remarkable well. You can slim the rum down a snitch if you must (I like the umph, but wife Nat thinks a little less booze bring the refreshment factor up a notch. Take your pick pals, and let me know what you think), to say, 2 ounces. But don’t you dare mess with the ratio of ginger ale to orange juice. That has to stay at 1:1. Or the universe will implode. Which is a messy situation anytime, but especially sticky in summer.
Ice cubes
3 ounces dark rum (or a little less, as mentioned)
2 ounces freshly squeezed orange juice
2 ounces chilled ginger ale
Lime wedge for garnish
Lime slice for garnish
1. Fill a highball glass three-quarters full with ice cubes. Add the rum.
2. Carefully add the orange juice and the ginger ale at the same time. Stir briefly.
3. Squeeze the lime wedge over the glass, then let it join the mix. Garnish with the lime slice.
A Variation: For an Orange Buck, substitute gin for rum, and for a Nordic Buck, sub in vodka. For a classic Gin Buck, make it with gin and no orange juice.
PS: Hopefully this isn’t too mercenary a mention, but this here drink is featured in a book called Dark Spirits, which doesn’t hit the shelves until fall of ’09, but which you could, if you wanted, pre-order right now, so as to insure you’re the first on the block with it in your pretty little hands.
See, even cats fall asleep when reading my books–it’s not just you (hopefully you after a passel of drinks). Really, though, this is perhaps my favorite book-in-action photo, until you send me yours, of course. It’s from my from-the-way-back-but-still-in-touch-with pal Kristine Moore, and the cat model is her very own Luke. She was picking out recipes from Good Spirits to whip together for some fabulous party, and Luke was helping, and then all that booze talk was making him sleepy, and so he conked out with the closest pillow at hand. Pretty darn cute and then some.
Okay, I’m gonna come out and say it (cause it’s a Friday before a long holiday weekend, and I don’t have time for any dilly-dallying, and you don’t have time for me to go on along a long, literary, meandering, essay about it): Charles Dickens kicks ass. Hah, search and spam engines, chew on that. Dickens, even, kicks a mule’s ass. And if you’re from Kansas that’ll make some sort of sense. Or not. Dickens is not only one of the (probably the, but again, I’m not taking up too much of your time today) greatest novelists ever, but also enjoyed his pubs and pub-denizens, had a fine home stock of booze, and was known to take a sip or two regularly. Like all good-minded people.
Anywho, the following quotes are from the lesser-known (but genius) book Martin Chuzzlewit. I thought they might be a good prelude to your long weekend, help get you going with the right frame of drinking mind, and might, might I say, induce you to read a little, too, while kicking up your holiday heels. But avoid the dullness. Cause you aren’t ever dull. Not you.
As to them, the man who can dream such iced Champagne, such claret, port, or sherry, had better go to bed and stop there.
He could hang about a bar-room discussing the affairs of the nation, for twelve hours together; and in that time could hold forth with more intolerable dullness, chew more tobacco, some more tobacco, drink more rum-toddy, mint-julep, gin-sling, and cock-tail than any private gentleman of his acquaintance. This made him an orator and man of the people.
Well, here it is, Le’ Finale’ of the Italy 2009 (well, maybe Spring Italy 2009–a boy can aspire, right?) blog posts: This Time It’s Countryside, afterwhich the blog can drift back into its more boozy-specific nature. Though I love, love, love (and want to be back in right now!) the Florence and the Bologna, my favorite part of Italy is what’s often referred to as the Upper Tiber Valley. This is an area just off of (and sometimes crossing in to–there’s a lot of border crossing) southeastern Tuscany, and right over into northern/northwestern Umbria. Not overwhelmed with touristy folks, but full of any amenities you’d want, this area is absolutely exquisite, with hills dotted with olive trees and grape groves, little villages, curious houses tucked in here and there, friendly faces most everywhere, and delicious food and wine (at usually amazing prices).
We (that’s wife Nat and I in this particular sentence) have stayed in this area five times now, always near the sweetest little village, San Leo Bastia, and always renting a place from Amici Villas. The Amici folks are super helpful and manage an assortment of places in the area. Every place we’ve stayed at has been nice, clean, and handy for touring around the area, and, if you don’t mind me getting monetary: amazingly reasonable. For example, this last time Casa Vitiano was just over $200 per person–for the week. 3 bedrooms, 3 baths, 2 kitchens, gianormous yard, bikes, garden . . . fantastic deal. Here’s a pic:
and that’s just the side view. Here’s the front door:
San Leo Bastia is smallish, but has the world’s best café, Lo Spaccio, which you can read a bit more about in my Viparo lament, as well as the world’s second best café, under which is a tasty restaurant, Taverna di San Leo Bastia. From San Leo, too, you can get to a host of other villages, towns, and cities for day trips (towns like Assisi, Citta di Castello, Perugia, and more). Even better than those famous places though, San Leo is only about 7 or 8 miles away from Nestor’s Pizzeria. The best pizza in the world. There, I said it–you wanna argue? Leg wrestle? I will kick your bootie in Nestor’s honor. Every time we head to the Upper Tiber Valley, the first thing we do when arriving is visit Nestor’s. This time, we (and now I’ve switched into the larger “we” which includes: Stereolad, Schticker girl, Andyo, and Deenayo) stopped at Nestor’s twice. The first time, I had the Parigiano pizza, which is asparagus and an egg over red sauce and cheese (and yes, egg on pizza is better even than reading the Essential Dr. Strange, Volume II), and the second time I had the impossible-to-believe-but-it-is-even-better Ruboscuore, which has red sauce topped with béchamel, boletus mushrooms, walnuts, and more cheese. Damn, I wish I had a picture to do it justice. But instead, here’s a picture of Stereolad absolutely blissing out over his multi-meat number:
Nat actually went off-map the second time at Nestor’s, and had a calzone, which had greens, béchamel, and more, and was so darn good:
Nestor’s is owned by the nicest family as well (I got a hug from poppa), and they brought us free limoncello on our first stop, and then a whole plate of cakes and glasses of vin santo on the second stop. I don’t have a web site to point you to, but if you’re ever within 1,000 miles of Nestor’s, you should email me and I will tell you how to get there. Cause it’s the best pizza in the world!
And, since you’ll be close, you might as well stick around the area (I’d suggest at least a week) so you can have dinner at the above-mentioned Taverna di San Leo Bastia the next night. The owner, Sergio, is incredibly nice (you notice a pattern here with the locals? All swell folks) and also cooks the food, which is tasty. They have pizza too, a slight notch only down from Nestor’s (but still better than any available in Seattle), but my favorite dish there is the Gnocci con Tartufo, which I’ve had on two separate trips. The gnocci is just chewy enough, and the creamy truffle sauce is rich and plate-licking good. If I ate meat though, I’d go on and on about the carni antipasto, which was artistic in its presentation and from all reports meat-a-licious. This picture in no way does it justice, but you’ll get the idea:
As mentioned, there are many spots to step into for an afternoon, or even an hour, that are nearby, and one we tend to visit (and did this time) is Anghiari, a village perched on a sharp hillside’s edge. Anghiari has been around for, oh, some 1000s of years, so it has vistas a poppin’ and ancient walls and towers to wander round about within and without, as well as a convenient internet café right on the square. All good stuff.
However, what I want to chew on here is the restaurant we wandered into, Perbacco. And a lucky wander it was, as the owner was a delight, and the food and wine even better (can I get a hey-ya for that winning combination?). I was starving (either cause we’d walked around a lot that day, or cause I’m always starving or at least ready to tie on a serious feedbag when in Italy), and ordered up a full-course feast that included: Frittata al Formaggio e Pinzimonio Tiepido (a perfectly balanced frittata over blanched veggies and topped with cheese), Patate Salata al Rosmarino (which is as you’d expect), and Tagiatelle con Verdure e Pecorino Toscano, which was simply (and simply excellent) homemade pasta with veggies and cheese:
Nat also frittata’d, but she began with a delicious Risotto Giallo Asparagi e Brie (that’s right, risotto with asparagus and brie. She knows how to bring it):
Now, I realize (so just quit your fussin’) that I’m starting to go on perhaps too much, or at least so much that you might end up quitting your job and running to Italy right now. Which wouldn’t be a bad thing. But do I want that kind of responsibility? That weight on my shoulders? Maybe. I can’t completely decide yet. So, I’m going to wrap this post and the trip up with just a couple more quick hits. First, the Umbertide market. Umbertide is yet another lovely little town (where one day I might live–you can come visit), which hosts the market on Wednesdays (the market, or a market, is in a different town on different days), and it’s another regular stop for us. I got some nice socks this time, and Nat got a scarf, and we picked up some cheese and veggies, but Stereolad and Andyo got up close and personal with a porchetta truck:
There were four porchetta trucks at the market, and they were all serving this pork-y delicacy that even to a veg-like-me smells outstanding. The trucks show up around the markets, as well as at sporting events and such, and are beloved by meat eaters (especially our pal the Husky Boy). The basics involve a whole pig, seasonings, cooking, and happy carnivores. I’m not sure the pig is happy, though:
****PIG HEAD PICTURE ALERT****
To take your mind off that, gaze at the stylish people you see at the markets:
and everywhere in Italy, for that matter:
While we (as evidenced above) spent some salivatingly good times at restaurants in the countryside, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that we also had some spectacular meals at home (after stopping at the convenient Euro-Spar in Trestina and other spots for provisionss), and while I don’t have any pics of such, let me take a moment to applaud Stereolad & Schticker Girl, Andyo & Deenayo, and Nat for making me three scrumptious meals at the Casa Vitiano. Dang, it’s never a bad idea to travel with out-of-sight chefs (especially when they’re alright with you sitting around swilling wine and limoncello and Vipero while they cook). It certainly was heavenly, even if I did trick Andyo into taking a trip to hell–Hell Bier, that is:
Well, pals and palinos, that is almost that–wait, wait, I need to make one more, non-culinary or drinkinary, note. And that’s a long-distance shout out and tennis ball throw and behind-the-ear scratch to Lapo, our (for two fun afternoons, at least) adopted Italian puppy, who made being away from Rory and Sookie at least a little more bearable:
If this post, and Italy post I and II (and aside I) didn’t get you day-dreaming about going, or actually buying a ticket to go, then you must be some-sort of zombie. And I don’t think zombies can read. Which means plan that trip up, and plan on hitting all the great spots mentioned. Remember one thing though: having a guide is never a bad idea–and you know how to reach me. My suitcase can be packed in about a half hour. Cause I am ready to go back (as long as Nat goes with).
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:
Buon giorno pals (or buona serra, depending on what time of day your blog reading takes place). As anyone who read this blog post knows, I was recently in Italy for a couple weeks with wife Nat and some pals, and while there I had some, well, absolutely positively fantastico eats and drinks. And, lucky for you, I took pictures (and Nat took some, too), so you can experience the experience a little (and maybe plan a trip of your own). I’m going to do two things to relay trip gastronomic and alcoholic information in a more friendly fashion. First, I’m gonna break it up into three posts (or maybe more, but at least three): Bologna, Florence, and the countryside (which for the purposes of me in Italy is the Upper Tiber Valley area that covers a bit of southeast Tuscany and northwest Umbria). Second, I’m going to attempt to be a little less wordy, though I know, know, know (like a chant, that is) it goes against my personal wordy grain. But hey, what the heck.
So, to start, Bologna. Also known as Bologna la grassa, or Bologna the fat, due to its traditional place as a food center in Italy (if not the food center). We showed up and instantly loved it, with its arcades (nice to walk under when it’s raining), and red-hued architecture, and churches, and markets, and, especially with its food and drinks. We had our favorite meal of this trip while there, at a restaurant called De Cesari, at Via de’ Carbonesi, 8. Family owned and around for over 100 years, it’s a lovely little spot. All the produce comes from the family farm, and they even make their own wine. On the drink side we started with prosecco, then had the house lambrusco, which was full-bodied and lightly frizzante.On the food side, it was Sformatino con Formaggio al Tartufo (for A.J.–though we shared) and Crostata di Zucca (for Natalie). The sformatino was a light, cheesylicious pair of soufflé-esque creations topped with truffles (the sformatino was a little more dense, in the best way, than a regular soufflé, and so intense in taste):
and the crostata was a savory pumpkin pie that was out-of-this-world. Creamy but lush and full of flavor:
For our main courses, I had the Ravioli di Zucca, which was homemade ravioli stuffed with pumpkin. Fairly unadorned (just a brush of olive oil and freshly grated pecorino), this is, to me, pasta at its best–because the taste of the pasta is good enough to be allowed to strut its stuff, and then the stuffing busts through:
Nat had the Tortelloni di Ricotta al Burro Fuso e Parmigiano, which was also scrumptious, like bundles of cheesy joy wrapped in perfectly made and cooked pasta. But, as good was the pasta was, we definitely couldn’t stop there (we’re long-haul eaters), and so ordered up the cheese place, which boasted six different goat cheeses of varying strength and flavors, served alongside a fig compote that was figgy sweet with that thickness all jams strive for–a combination splendid enough to drive eaters mad with joy:
And then, to add to our little culinary heaven, we had the chocolate tort. Now, if we would have ended it all then, and called it a night, this would still be one of my favorite meals on the trip (and perhaps of all time).
But we asked friendly waiter Gaetano for limoncello and amaro, to aid the digestion (a healthy practice I tend to practice), and when he reported that they were out of limoncello, he offered us some of the house digestif. You know (if you know me at all) that the phrase “house digestif” drives me mad, mad, mad with happiness I tell you. It came out in a bottle that had a block of ice frozen around it, and in the ice were fruits, flowers, herbs, and such. Amazing! But the digestif itself was even better, a blueberry-infused grappa, with strong berry overtones and that grappa kick and personality underneath (and served with, catch this, chocolate covered orange peels, mini biscotti, and raisins). If you go to Bologna and don’t visit De Cesari, well, you have only yourself to blame. Get on a plane. Go there now.
And then for your next meal, stop by the charming Osteria La Mura, at Vicolo del Falcone, 13/A (which is right across from the hotel we stayed at and heartily recommend, San Mamolo), owned by Peppino, who is welcoming, affable, witty, and happy to pour you a Strega when you wander in at 1 am:
The nicest guy in Bologna, I believe. We had lunch at La Mura (the day after the late-night Strega), and it was as tasty as Peppino is friendly. We started with Caprese salads, and the fresh bufala mozzarella was rich and creamy and cuddled up with pals tomato, basil, olive oil, and pepper:
Then, we dove into plates of Gnocchetti Sardi al Cavofiore, which is a bit hard to describe but luscious to eat: like a gratin of mini gnocchi, finely chopped cauliflower, herbs, and cheese, with a touch of crisp on the top edges:
And if that wasn’t a grand enough way to start the day (remember, the night before, 1 am, Strega, equals sleeping late), Peppino brought us out his trio of house digestifs: plum, orange, and basil. In beautiful little bottles, and bursting with fresh fruit and herb flavors (again with a touch of ka-pow due to the grappa undertones, which also add a bit more flavor, too), these helped give us the jump start we needed:
Just thinking about those meals makes me want to grab a taxi, race to the airport, scrounge a ticket to Bologna, and pray I can get in to each restaurant without a reservation. We had other good meals, snacks, and drinks, in Bologna, as well, but since this post is longer than Sookie’s tail already, I’m going to rest on the above laurels. Oh, with two more quick shout outs. We stopped multiple times at Pasticceria D’azeglio, on Via Massimo Dazeglio, which was right around the corner from our hotel (there are two versions, and I suggest the smaller one), for bubbly spritzes (prosecco and Aperol and an orange slice) in the afternoons (accompanied by a mini-buffet of snacks the bartenders would always whip out). I with no reservations recommend this afternoon practice no matter where you are:
And, finally, a sort-of fist-shaking-while-laughing nod to the cozy and hippish Rosa Rosae, Via Clavature, 18/b, where we ordered spritzes but got espressos, which we then drank out of honor (I mean, they made them for us). And now Nat has the espresso monkey firmly attached to her back:
I just flew in from Italy (and boy are my arms tired–ba dump bump), and promise to post about Italian drinks and food and such soon when I get my sealegs back (not sure that last bit makes sense, but it is sure fun to say), but to tide you over and get this bloggy punch freshened again, I thought I’d show you my latest How2Heroes video (directed of course by the genius, Brad K, from Artificial Khaos). It demonstrates how to make the Bishop, which is featured in Wine Cocktails, a drink containing red wine, rum, lemon, and a kiss of sweetness. It’s a delicious refresher of a mix I must say, so hit that play button and then get shaking.
Though the actual opening day of new Bellevue hotspot (well, soon to be. And I mean “hotspot” in the good way, and not the overly ironic condescending way that I might use it usually) Chantanee is today, I was lucky enough to be able to slip in last weekend, to check out the bar set up by bar manager, WSBG officer, pal, and Cask Strength blog writer Andrew (that’s Andrew Bohrer, by the way, and not Andrew Friedman, Liberty Bar owner, WSBG officer, pal, and Alchohology blog writer, though admittedly it does get confusing having them both here in Seattle. It’s a nice confusingness, since they’re nice fellas, but I’ve started thinking they need nicknames to differentiate them more easily, like big Andrew and little Andrew, but that seems a bit, derogatory, somehow, and so I think I’m going to start calling them “Bohrer!” and “Friedman!” loudly, in a Sgt Schultz kind of accent). And, I must say, I was darn impressed by the set up, and overwhelmed by the in-depth and tasty amount of booze and accoutrements. I think they have like 10 choices or more each of rye, bourbon, and gin, enough liqueurs to have a hot-tub party in, and lots of bitters, tinctures, and more. Fun stuff indeed. I suggest, even if you have a Bellevue aversion (I’m speaking to those Seattleites who don’t travel well, or are afraid of water, or what-have-you), that you get off the couch and make your merry way out to test the drinks your-own-self, and soon, because not only is the bottle line up worth bowing too, the drink menu is also swell, with a balance of classic and new cocktails (though the full drink menu may not be in effect quite yet). I took a couple quick pics (and was lucky enough to be having the preview with the always fun DrinkBoy Robert Hess as well as the affable Amanda, one of the Naga bartenders), so you can get the feel of the place, and be tempted–and jealous.
Here’s a view of the whole bar, with all those bottles whispering “drink me, drink me,” and of Mr. Hess taking a picture of the bar. As I take a picture of him. Whoa, that’s sorta deep:
Here’s the drink Andrew whipped up for me, a Cat’s Pajamas (notice the ice ball, which was a very cool touch. Also, notice the way I used “cool” both to denote style and temperature):
And here’s Andrew (a bit blurry, but hey, I was drinking and snapping all at once), enjoying the bar manager’s prerogative (which in this case was a Manhattan accented by homemade brandy’d cherries):
