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:

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).

Hopefully you read the below post about saving up cranberry sauce. If not, well, you’re crying now. And since we’re communicating via the interweb, I can’t hand you a tissue. But I can show you a lovely picture of my lovely Gizmo, which I made with Bluecoat gin (I love the Aviation which was pictured below, but at the last minute I switched, because the Bluecoat seemed to tie in well not only flavorly, but also thematically, which is important, right?), my sister’s homemade cranberry sauce, and simple syrup, following up the mastermind Jeremy Holt’s recipe as detailed below. And yes, I’ve linked to the below post three times. Now, one more note: this doesn’t have to be just for Thanksgiving. Give the cranberry sauce love room to breathe at other times, too–but just remember, save some for your Gizmo.

It’s Thanksgiving week, which means I’m too busy stretching my stomach to post much (and to anyone who says, “you don’t post much on any week” I say “go soak your head”), but I did want to remind you to save a little cranberry sauce from the big feast so you can be sure to have your Gizmo on Friday. Or Thursday night. Cause you wouldn’t want to miss out.

Wait, what, you don’t know the Gizmo? Well, it’s a dandy way to utilize those leftovers, a cocktail created for this very purpose by bar-and-kitchen-and-drug boy genius Jeremy Holt, aka, the HuksyBoy. Here’s the lowdown:

Ice cubes

2-1/2 ounces gin (Aviation is nice)

1 ounce homemade cranberry sauce

1/2 ounce simple syrup (optional)

1. Fill a cocktail shaker halfway full with ice cubes. Add the gin and cranberry sauce, and syrup if using (if you’re not into the sweets, omit the syrup). Shake exceptionally well.

2. Strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with a turkey leg. Or, for vegetarians, a hunk of stuffing on a toothpick.

A Note: Not sure about making homemade cranberry sauce? Try this (also courtesy HB): Add 1 bag cranberries, the juice and zest of 1 orange, and 1 cup sugar to a saucepan. Heat until required sauce texture is reached.

Now, you know why you need to save a little sauce. And why you should buy that Jeremy a drink next time you see him.

Hah, today’s weather report underlines a point I sometimes forget: Mother Nature is the boss. Last week I got all pining for the end of summer (with my reverie to the Champagne of Beers) and talking about how last Friday was the last day of summer, and how we should enjoy it, and sing Hüsker Dü’s Celebrated Summer (gawd, how I loved singing that at the end of every summer in my teenage years. Here’s a freakin’ quick toast to Grant, Bob, and Greg), etc, etc, and now this Friday is even nicer, and more summer-y (at least here in W-A). Well, she showed me. To get over this in-your-face from Mother Nature, I’m going to have to drink a tall Mike Collins. A lesser consumed cousin of the Tom Collins, the Mike Collins is ideal for a day like today, with one foot in summer and at least three toes in fall, because it’s refreshing but still has that underlying umph from a delish dollop of the Irish. Why not pour yourself one, and see if I know what I’m talking about? If you want to have a little guitar ice cube like in the fantabulousy photo, a photo by the best-cocktail-photographer-in-the-world Melissa Punch, than I say: rock out! Oh, both the photo and this recipe are from the almost available Dark Spirits by the way (more on that soon–consider this a teaser.)

Mike Collins

Ice cubes

2 ounces Irish whiskey

1/2 ounce freshly squeezed lemon juice

1/4 ounce simple syrup

Chilled club soda

Lemon slice for garnish

1. Fill a cocktail shaker halfway full with ice cubes. Add the whiskey, juice, and simple syrup. Shake well, in celebration of all Mikes.

2. Fill a Collins glass three-quarters full with ice cubes. Strain the mix over the ice. Fill almost to the top with chilly club soda. Garnish with the lemon slice (stirring briefly if you want Mike mixed more).

Not too too long ago (I mean, I am a bit tardy on this, but not, say, a year behind, or even three months, and if we didn’t have the interweb and the telephone and whatnots, and communication came via Pony Express, I’d be totally on time), pal Becca from the tasty Key Notes with Becca was talking up her newly planted basil in a post, and thinking about all the dishes she might make with it, and generally giving a big “yay!” at the thought of fresh basil. A sentiment I second. But (and you knew that “but” was heading your way), none of her ideas had anything to do with a basil drink. Which is a shame, cause she’s a boozehound. No, no, I kid. She’s not hitting the bottle at the break of day, but neither is opposed to a nice cocktail and, knowing this, I said we should try to come up with basil drinks. Which leads to Tareva’s Tipple.

A friendly mystical kind of a mix (when you remember that basil has had a few theoretical–as far as I know–mystic connotations in the past), Tareva’s Tipple is good for a summer’s evening when you’re sitting on the deck reading a few issues of your favorite comic (and yeah, you have one, even if you don’t admit it) with the pups frolicking around you. It probably shouldn’t be too hot, cause there’s some muddling during the making and you don’t want to sweat. And you probably shouldn’t be planning on driving to the drive-in after having three of these, because there’s a double-delicious-whammy of sorts, due to the combo of gin and grappa (balanced out in the grand scheme of things by the basil and a bit of simple syrup). I used Aviation gin cause its floral notes play well with the basil, and Soft Tail Reserve grappa because it’s got that get-up-and-get-at-it underlying umph as well as some plays-well-with-others flavorings. The end result might not actually be a potion, but might leave you spellbound (if I can wax magically for a moment). Fresh basil’s the key, naturally, and best if just plucked before using.

6 or 7 fresh basil leaves, plus one for garnish

1/2 ounce simple syrup

Ice cubes

2 ounces gin

3/4 ounce grappa

1. Add all the basil leaves minus that last one and the simple syrup to a cocktail shaker. Using a muddler, muddle well.

2. Fill the shaker halfway full with ice cubes, and then add the gin and grappa. Shake well.

3. Strain into a cocktail glass, and garnish with the remaining basil leaf. Enjoy.

A Note: Wife Nat thought I used a bit too much grappa, when I was using 1 full ounce, so I scaled it back. But you can scale it up if you’re feeling frisky.

PS: If anyone can tell me right now without using the Googler who “Tareva” was, in decent detail, then I will buy you a drink that can cost up to $15. So, a fancy-pants drink.

PPS: If anyone can tell me after using the Googler who “Tareva” was, I still might buy you a drink, but not if you’ve consulted this guy, who would obviously know. And yeah, that’s a serious hint.

Hey, hey, happy Friday (if you’re actually reading this on Friday, as opposed to reading it some other day. If the latter is the case, pretend it’s Friday, or dream it’s Friday . . . you know, whatever makes you happiest). While I’m happy it’s Friday, too, and have the phonograph needle poised over the proper Loverboy song, I can’t but be a little wistful for last Friday, when prince o’ bartenders Andrew Bohrer was tending bar at Vessel (as opposed to Naga. See, he stepped in to help out because the other dandy Vessel bartenders were at Tales of the Cocktail, which we’re not gonna talk about since I didn’t get to go. And yeah, I’m bitter). Because of the occasion, and because Vessel’s just a few steps from the salt mine I spend my workdays at, co-miner and pal Andrea and I skipped over to said Vessel after work last Friday, leading to the wistfulness above. Wow, that’s was a long explanation. Anyway, Andrew made us some Captain Handsomes first, but the real hit was his special Sazerac:

Instead of just coating the inside first with absinthe, he went absinthe and Champagne (ou la la), and then had brought in some homemade bourbon simple syrup to use. Holy boozey, friends and neighbors, that was one swell drink. Maybe if I/we beg him, he’ll give us his exact recipe with bourbon syrup recipe tucked into it in the comments. We’ll see. He is a busy man. Check out how focused he is while I moon for the camera:

That’s a busy man. Hanging with Mr. Andrew and pal Andrea is definitely one swell way to while away a late Friday afternoon, and the perfect prescription for forgetting about the busy bee work week, as well as the right-on recipe for rolling into the weekend (and if you can mash more metaphors into a sentence, then more power to you). Just look how happy Andrea is sipping her medicine:

Now, go off and enjoy your evenings, mornings, and afternoons guys and gals (but as Sergeant Phil Esterhaus says, “Hey, let’s be careful out there.”)

I’m sure you’ve had a night like this: you get home, you know you should make dinner (to save money, and to use up what’s going bad in your fridge at this very moment, right now) but you’re having a hard time getting the energy going to get started, and so instead you make a deal with yourself (and maybe your wife or husband too): I/we will go out to dinner, but then I’ll/we’ll fold the unbelievably-large mountain of laundry when I/we get home from said dinner out. That happened to me (and Nat) last night, and the restaurant we ended up going to, to balance out that part of the “deal” was La Casa Azul. We’d never been before, but our pals, tattooed-Nicole and photographer-Josh, had recently A: told us about it, and B: told us it was darn tasty. Well, they’re believable folks, so we figured we’d give it a whirl, even though it’s in a strip mall kind-of a spot. It ended up being just what they said: darn tasty. And cute and cozy too, with both a Frieda Kahlo style and décor focus (and food, in a way) and super nice waiter and chef/waiter (these two guys do it all). If you live in Seattle, take my advice, and make the trip up or over to 14419 Greenwood Ave North. If you don’t live in Seattle, then move here for gawd’s sake. Sadly, our camera ran low on batteries, so I don’t have food pics, but this blog’s about booze anyway. And, luckily, I got some snaps of the lush sangrias before said batteries blew:

The sangria was a touch sweeter than my venerable family recipe (which you can find in about half of my books), but had a great clean and bright taste backed by some fruity but firm red wine, and a full array of fresh garnishes. Nat loved it, and I drank two, so I must have thought it fine as well. We also ate like hogs (or hog-like humans, ala the Island of Dr. Moreau, the book and not either of the movie versions), which is understandable, because the food was done so right, from the spicy salsa to the onion-and-pepper packed queso fundido (which they were nice enough to make for us veggies without chorizo) to the Tlayudes which I had (which was like a giant super thin tortilla–more a tortilla-Italian-style-pizza-combo–topped with black beans, cheese, cabbage, veggies), and the Plato Vegetarianos which Nat had (which was sautéed slabs of squash and nopales, sautéed mushrooms and spinach, and lots of smashed seasoned potatoes with an avocado-tomatillo sauce). Dang, now I’m hungry. Thanks Nicole and Josh for pointing us in the right direction (North, for us).

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.

What the heck–it’s the 16^th 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.