I usually shy away from the more modern quotes (cause, well, modern folks just aren’t as poetic. Except you. You’re awfully swell, and speak like a tipsy angel. And many writers today have fine quotes–I just tend towards the older quotes. So sue me) on the site and in the books, but I just read this article on Slate, about how President Obama is turning around Bush’s no-cocktail-party ethos and having drinks again around the White House (which, naturally, tickles me) with a little dip into past presidential drinking, and came across a great, great quote. It’s by the article author, John Dickerson, talking about a cocktail affair with folks from both parties there after a hard day of hill haggling, and I dug it (even if it wasn’t written 100 years ago):
First, drinking in moderation leads to an equitable distribution of the humors, and we want our president to be healthy. Second, among adversaries, drinking promotes relaxation and laughter. I doubt it will lead to an agreement on the size of small-business tax cuts in the recovery package, but a few drinks might shave off a few layers of posturing. All of the guessing at motives will decrease. Without so much chest-thumping, the two parties may even get to genuine points of disagreement faster. As a community organizer, Obama knows the power of getting everyone to recognize themselves in one another. What better way to do that than over a few drinks? (Those who disagree should stop wondering why they are lonely at parties or aren’t invited at all.)
Okay, I can admit it, I’m not the world’s most in-depth sports fan. I don’t have 10 fantasy leagues (or even one), and mostly I like Super Bowl parties because I see it as a day when I can eat as much cheese dip and snacks as I want to and not have anyone say “boo” about it. But darnit, even if you’re not an over-the-top sports fan, you should still be able to consume an above-average punch on the day of the big game. On any day, for that matter. And Football Punch is more than above average (it’s way, way, above, I tell ya), with a mingling of rum, sweet vermouth, and apples with a touch of orange and lemon. Just watch the effect it has on pals Jamie, Rob, Brett, Andy, and Bob in the below instructional video. And be sure to check out my socks. And then thank director and co-writer Dr. Gonzo for me by giving him another glass of punch.
Though I usually stick to the boozing here on Spiked Punch, I also wanted to put up this new vid for Monterey Cremini Quesadillas (from the Party Snacks), cause I sure don’t want you to starve while sloshing back all the Football Punch. These tasty tidbits will make you hum. Or cheer. Or hum cheerfully. Or, at least, be amazed at how I can speed up and slow down time. Really.
I was lucky enough (being a drink-writer has its benefits–and I’m not just talking about taking booze purchases off taxes, or being heralded by slobbering boozers, or being able to have random people, taxi drivers, stewardesses, policepeople, look at you incredulously when you tell them what you do) last Sunday to be a judge at the very first Iron Bartender competition here in Seattle, held at the TigerTail. They sorta had to let me be a judge, cause I proofed the press release, but I’ll take what I can get. That said, it was awfully fun and a little messy, and I got to sip some tasty new mixes, which is always a worthwhile thing to do on a Sunday evening.
Here’s the basic overview (I’m not going to get into every teeny-tiny particular, cause I want to get to the photos). Two hot shot bar-slinging trash-talking contestants (the affable Dallas Taylor and the mighty nice Mike McSorley) battled it out over three 7 minute and two 10 minute “bar rounds.” Well, it only ended up being one 10 minute round, but that’s okey-dokey. We had a bit of a back-up in starting time, so it worked out. In the three shorter periods, the contestants used a “secret ingredient,” which I can now tell you was scrumptious Marteau absinthe, and any complementary products that they could find to create a series of drinks (the first two matching up with TigerTail menu items): aperitif, entrée, bartender’s choice, while in the two(*one in real life) longer rounds the contestants whipped out a series of drinks ordered by the crowd. The winner was crowned by a team of three alco-judges (me, awesome Andrew from Liberty, and delightful Kelly O, Drunk of the Week columnist for the Stranger, who also took the photos I’m posting here–thanks Kelly), who scored contestants on the use of the secret ingredient, the overall excellentness of the drinks, drink-making technique, style, wherewithal, and bar sense (or lack there of) demonstrated throughout the competition as well as anything else we felt like grading them on. Good spirited times. No pun intended.
Here are the incredible judges getting ready to use the gong (and drink up the drinks):
Here are Dallas and Mike in the beginning, before the divisive spirit of battle took hold:
And here Mike’s bringing the heat with a flaming absinthe spray:
While Dallas exhorts the crowds into a drinking frenzy:
Sadly, only one winner could be crowned (both of the bartenders brought it pretty well), and that winner was . . . Mike McSorely:
Okay, I realize I didn’t bring up exactly what they made, or even close-to-what-they-made, but rest assured the drinks were good, and absinthe-y, and utilized things like aloe syrup, celery, and lots of gin and fresh juice. I somehow misplaced my notes (hmm, why is it that drinking and note-taking never works out, but drinking and note passing is so much fun?), but when I find them, I’ll try to remember to give an Iron Bartender drink rundown (I do know the drink pic at the top of this post is one made by Dallas called I think the Dear Girl, which was pretty darn good). The word on the street is that they’ll be more Iron Bartender competitions soon, and I, for one, can’t wait to see the bartending badassery and liquor-y chaos unfold again.
I actually know this quote from the Burton-Taylor movie and not the book (though perhaps it’s in there too? Who’s literary enough to answer that question? Or sober enough, for that matter?), but since I have a couple pals quitting, or attempting to quit, or playing at quitting, smoking right now, it certainly seemed appropriate. And maybe will spur them to finally give up the stinky sticks. And even beyond that, it’s such a darn fine quote:
Now, I will hold your hand when it’s dark and you’re afraid of the boogeyman and I will tote your gin bottles out after midnight so no one can see but I will not light your cigarette. And that, as they say, is that.
Are you ready for some weekend? Well, if you aren’t, you stink. No, no, I’m kidding, maybe you’re someone who actually adores the M-through-F-at-5-pm much more than the F-at-5-pm-through-Sun-night. Maybe (and maybe you’re a corporate suck up, too. No, no, I kid. You’re the tops. At least in my view. Which is, honestly, what matters at this moment). Either way, make your weekend a better place to be with one of these mighty fine mixes.
Garden Party Punch: Why wouldn’t you have a few friends over and fill up the punch bowl with a garden during January? Show that ol’ winter who the boss is. I know that Cheryl Charming at Charming Cocktails will (and she’ll teach you how to make an amazing ice punch bowl at the same time).
The Cocktail with No Name: Why not attempt to utilize tawny port in a drink that’s related to the Manhattan and seems sure to cure what ails you, and cure the chill that’s still evident in most spots? Go over to A Dash of Bitters and learn all about it, and maybe even drop a naming suggestion (they sure seem awfully friendly and might just be receptive).
Pax Sax Sarax: Why you’d think of skipping Burns supper (or, if avoiding like I the haggis, skipping a Burns night cocktail), or skip getting poetic with this scotch-y bitters-y magical affair is beyond me–so why? Instead, fly your broom over to SpiritsandCocktails and bring out the inner witch or warlock or sorcerer or thaumaturge or (gasp) poet while sipping a strengthening concoction (and enjoying every minute of it).
I wish I had a little sound file of me singing “baby it’s cold outside,” because I can’t think it without singing it, and since you’re here now, too, reading this, you should be able to hear what I hear–right? Or is that too meta-something-or-other? And speaking of somethings-or-others, I just learned when looking up “baby it’s cold outside” that in the classic version of the song, “the female voice in the song is called ‘The Mouse’ and the male ‘The Wolf.’” There’s something probably chauvinistic in that, but I like it anyway. Now, where was I? Oh yes, Ed Skoog. He came up with the following recipe for the Drowsy Chaperone, cause he’s so cuddly that when the lights are dim and he’s serving up a warm-but-brandy’d drink in front of the fire he likes the guardian keeping him and his lady love from getting to, shall we say, “amorous town,” he likes that guardian to dodder off into sleepy land. It has nothing to do with the musical comedy of the same name. But all to do with sidling up to that special someone with a toasty liquid treat in a snifter when the wind’s whipping along outside your door.
If you haven’t yet checked out the delicious photography and dishes (and drinks) at the blog Consumed(I, This), then let me point your little heads in that direction. But don’t start checking it out if you’re hungry, because the photos are so well shot that you’ll probably try to eat the screen. Or drink the screen, as the case may be, though there are more dishes than drinks. Up until recently, Consumed(I, This) was just photos, but I’m guessing that enough folks were begging the friendly photo-taker-and-blog-writer Michael Hoffman for recipes that he decided to put the recipes alongside or under the scrumptious pics. Luckily, it’s not all food though. Michael is also a cocktail and homemade liqueur devotee, and the following sweet shots show the liqueurs he has brewing up currently: Bartlett Pear with Lemon Zest, Grapefruit-Coriander, Walnut-Clove, and Ginger. Pals, start salivating now.
Wait, hold up, before introducing this quote, let me say happy freaking New Year booze-y pals. Here’s to a fantastically tipsy 2009. And, while it’s not 01/01/01/09 (the first second of the first day and all), it’s still the year’s start, and this quote is a sillily lovely way to start said year. It’s another bubbling gem from The Complete Imbiber #1, from an essay by Paul Holt (who, I feel bad to admit, I don’t know much about–any help?) called “The Wine and the Waistcoat.” In it, he talks about drinking and dressing, but it’s a fairly long quote, so I’m just gonna back out of its way:
“In this connection I feel I must deal with the problem of pink champagne. It is well known that many a romance has been wrecked for the lack of this romantic tipple.
I would say, here, that if it must be drunk in such a good cause, the costume is absolutely de rigueur. A sincere dressing-gown with red morocco slippers is as important as the guardsman’s bowler and brolly. (This last attire goes excellently with a large whiskey in the morning, particularly if you can manage to hide the brief-case that so cruelly accompanies it these days.) . . .
Perhaps, after all, it is best to stick to Pernod, if the sartorial consequences of imbibing interest you as much as they do me. This if only for the reason that however you start off drinking the stuff, you’re bound to end up more or less naked.”
I usually shy away from the more modern quotes (cause, well, modern folks just aren’t as poetic. Except you. You’re awfully swell, and speak like a tipsy angel. And many writers today have fine quotes–I just tend towards the older quotes. So sue me) on the site and in the books, but I just read this article on Slate, about how President Obama is turning around Bush’s no-cocktail-party ethos and having drinks again around the White House (which, naturally, tickles me) with a little dip into past presidential drinking, and came across a great, great quote. It’s by the article author, John Dickerson, talking about a cocktail affair with folks from both parties there after a hard day of hill haggling, and I dug it (even if it wasn’t written 100 years ago):
