April 6, 2010
It’s still early for many on the West Coast (and, depending on when you read this, whichever coast you’re on, wherever you are, it may be early for you, too), especially those who are drinkers and/or criminals. I know a lot of the former, but really none (that I know about, unless you mean those that are criminally talented or something) of the latter, except those I meet in books like The Three-Way Split, by Gil Brewer, which is about a guy trying to live a simple life with some amazingly hot waitress he’s met and some treasure buried at sea he knows about, but due to his deadbeat-and-illegality-loving dad, he ends up roughed up by thugs, who also try to get the treasure. The story echoes your own life I’m sure. How does it turn around and reconnect with morning, and it being early on the West Coast? It’s the quote, below, which is about coffee and rum—a favorite breakfast for many.
He banged two pint mugs on the table, poured in steaming coffee until they were two-thirds full. Then he brought down one of those bottles of rum, black as tar, popped the cork, and filled the mugs to the brim.
He filled the plates and we ate. The rum was like a hot rasp running across the tongue.
— The Three-Way Split, Gil Brewer
April 2, 2010
I’ve enjoyed some Early Times Kentucky bourbon in my time (as has Hoke Moseley, detailed below). But I’ve never received it “handsomely wrapped at no extra cost.” Which is probably why my eyes never went to the wacky angle like the lady’s below–looking directly at her man’s neck? Adam’s apple? She looks a little frightened too, right? There is fear in those eyes. Maybe she knows what Early Times does to her man? Or maybe she forgot to wash her hair this morning and is worried that he’s smelling it without having a drink first, ruining the Early Times’ bouquet? Or maybe (shudder to think) he’s giving her a bit of a spanking in the part of the photo we can’t see, because she was supposed to buy the Early Times yesterday and forgot? Did I take it too far? It is Friday, and something about this is eerie to me. Maybe I need some Early Times, is my problem. Or maybe the 50s weren’t all well-wrapped bourbon and flowers.
March 30, 2010
The last week or two, I reread all the Hoke Moseley books by Charles Willeford. If you don’t them, or Mr. Willeford’s work, and you know how to read, then change your reading patterns. Or get out. That’s how I sound after reading them, but it’s not how they sound, because they’re not as fake tough (and some of the less-detective/etc ones not at all), but what I like to think of as naturalistically insane. Very matter of factly crazy somehow. Hoke Moseley is a Miami detective, who deals with some criminals but also ends up taking care of his teenage daughters and his pregnant partner (well, she’s not always pregnant, as she has a baby in one of them) and various random Floridians. He drinks Early Times mostly (though isn’t opposed to other options) and has false teeth. This isn’t really saying much really about the books, but this might help: I think if I could have one more book written of any series, I might choose to have one more Hoke Moseley book written by Charles Willeford. If that tells you anything (I wonder what other people would pick with this option? What would you choose?) This quote is from Sideswipe, the 3rd of 4 Moseley books.
Frank was in his den, watching a lacrosse game on cable, and Helen was in the living room. She sat at her fruitwood desk, addressing envelopes and enclosing mimeographed letters requesting donations for the Palm Beach Center for Abused Children. She was on the last few envelopes when Hoke joined her in the living room. He poured three ounces of Chivas Regal at the bar, added two ice cubes, and gave himself a splash of soda. Helen looked over her shoulder and smiled. “I’m about finished Hoke. Could you fix me a pink gin please?”
“Tanqueray or Beefeater?”
“It doesn’t make any difference when you add bitters, so I’d just as soon have Gordon’s.”
Because it did make a difference, Hoke poured three ounces of Tanqueray into a crystal glass, added ice cubes, and put in a liberal sprinkling of Angostura bitters. He took a cocktail napkin from the stack and put the napkin and drink on the edge of the desk where Helen could reach it.
“Thank you,” Helen sipped her drink. “This is Tanqueray.”
“There is a difference then.”
—Charles Willeford, Sideswipe
PS: The other Willeford books (not in this series) are also darn fine. Especially The Pick Up (one of the great, and the first book by him I read), and Cockfighter (which was of course made into the fine, fine movie starring the best actor ever, Warren Oates).
March 23, 2010
Okay, I’m just thirsty. So thirsty I don’t have the energy to write the full-on over-the-top legendary journey of cocktails blog post I want to write about the weekend before last, a weekend of amazing cocktails that would leave every other blog post in the dusty dust, that would make you want to stroll in my shoes (or at least borrow my throat and tastebuds for awhile), a blog post that would involve at least 74.5% of the top cocktail creators in Seattle, and me tasting their drinks, a blog that would make you drool like George the Animal Steel before a cage match, a blog that might just have you (if you don’t live in Seattle already) running screaming to your suitcase, packing said suitcase, and getting a ticket here poste haste, a blog that if you already lived in Seattle would make you instantly descend to the floor crying tears of joy in front of your liquor cabinet, shelf, or box, happy that you could follow my footsteps in cocktails, a blog that might just cause the whole internet to go silent as a lonely ice cube due to everyone shaking off the electronic shackles to go on a drinks quest, the blog I want to write but just am too thirsty to write (but write it, someday, I will), so instead I’m just writing this post about how much I’d like to be drinking an Athenian at Cicchetti, a drink made with Metaxa, Martini and Rossi Bianco vermouth, and Scrappy’s grapefruit bitters, the very drink pictured below. Look at it, friends, and dream along with me (and if you’re not on the Scrappy’s bitters wagon, then get on it.)
Tags: Almost Drinkable Photo, bitters, Brandy, Cicchetti, Cocktail Art, Scrappy's Bitters, vermouth, What I Wish I Was Drinking
Posted in: Almost Drinkable Photo, Brandy, Cocktail Art, Dark Spirits, What I Wish I Was Drinking
March 16, 2010
Oh, poor pouty Muffy dear–she’s run out of the most delectable beer. Schlitz. I like Schlitz okay (though it’s harder to find these days, or at least hard for me, thank you very much WA state liquor board), and a nice American lager in the lighter style. And, it’s the “beer that made Milwaukee famous.” But no one likes Schlitz as well as Muffy in the below ad. Look how sad she is–you’d think someone just canceled her deb ball. She does have a cute pout though. And look at those nails! And the dress, with sparkles. Schlitz is much more of a playa beer if it’s pulling Muffy’s lush lower lip down. I think I’m gonna go track down some Schlitz. Right now. And then track down Muffy, and turn that frown upside down with the healing power of cheap beer.
March 12, 2010
Make no mistakes ya mo’rons (I’m just saying “mo’rons” for alliteration by the way–I know you are Einsteins), I’m mad for Maker’s Mark bourbon. It’s an old standby for me, and something I consume on a regular basis, especially when in a dive-y lounge in the back of a Chinese restaurant you’d never eat in, or in a bar frequented by fishermen, or in a Karaoke dive that has a pirate theme. These are places I’m known and happy to be in, but not places where the bartender is gonna whip up some fancy cocktail–but where they will pour you a helluva stiff drink. In these spots, I usually head for the Maker’s and ginger ale (with a lime and some bitters when available), cause it’s a rock steady reliable consumable, or a nice Miller High Life (the Champagne of beers) and a little Maker’s on the rocks. Up until recently, I thought of Maker’s as the perfect mid-range bourbon, a longtime bourbon for the (drunken) people, a very democratic drink. And then I came across the below ad. I guess that I was wrong. Turns out Maker’s was at one time aimed at yachtsmen and fellas who think $50 isn’t much for a haircut. Thank gawd I was born once the bourbon market had found a lower level.
March 9, 2010
After having a spread in Penthouse, I wasn’t sure my happiness could get any higher (well, outside of someone making a Dr. Strange movie with Neilalien directing), but then pal and bartending genius and good-natured fella Andrew Bohrer put me in the best blog post ever, which is on his blog Cask Strength. It’s all about bartending-and-cocktailian-and-drinking-and-drink-writing folk that Andrew has met or sipped with or had to throw out of his bar, people that he has now artistically made into Lego people. It’s amazing and I was lucky enough to be Lego’d in it. Not only did he get me little lego shorts and a nice shirt (and matched my hairstyle) but he said “always showing off his legs and books”–that, I love. There are also many other Lego’d drinky folks, including amazing people like the King, Dale DeGroff, and Paul Clarke from the Cocktail Chronicles. You should check it out right now, not only for the Lego-ing madness, but also for Andrew’s humor and writing style, too. He will have you laughing all the way to the bar.
March 2, 2010
Okay, that’s just a catchy headline in most situations, because in most situations I like my bars safe and booze-y and full of cozy chums. But for some reason, the below panel, from a knockout Stan Lee / George Tuska comic called “Acid Test!” printed in the October 1973 issue of Tales of the Zombie #2, (though originally presented in the July 1953 issue of Menace #5 under the title “Nightmare!”–huge props to the amazing pre- and post-code horror comics site The Horrors of It All, which is where I found this, and where I visit every day to get my chill on) made me think of how some days you go to a bar to forget, or try to forget, the murdering you’ve done. That’s all right, too (even if for most of us it’s symbolic murder, one hopes). Especially when the bartender below is such a dead ringer for bartending pal Andrew B. Or is it bartending pal Andrew F? Now that I look at it, a bit of both. The fact that the bartender turns out to be a certain famous evil-doer has nothing to do with it, naturally.
