Okay, right up at the front of the stage, before the curtains go up, let me tell those readers who don’t know, what MxMo is (or at least give out what I know, which isn’t a whole barrelful of knowledge, since I’ve never had the pleasure of taking part before). Basically, it’s a bunch of bar-booze-drunken bloggers making up or bringing out a drink under a particular theme, on a Monday. So, mixology Monday I suppose. A different blog hosts every one (one a month, I believe), and they round up links to the posts about the theme on the day on their site, and send readers out and about and around the interweb to see those other posts about the theme. From what I’ve read when going boozing on the web on Mondays, the themes tend to be a particular spirit, liquor, or ingredient. However, when the really wacky bar blogger hosts, the theme may just be more, let’s say esoteric. Which is the case this month, as drink-slinger Andrew Bohrer who blogs at Cask Strength is hosting the MxMo, and he chose Tom Waits.

Which actually makes fantastically fantastic sense, as Andrew talks about in his top MxMo post (right here), in story fashion, which Waits himself would enjoy, I think. See, at heart, going around the rumbling voice and the at times otherworldly instrumentation and the harlots and hard heads, Waits is a storyteller, a boozy troubadour, a chronicler of the forgotten nights and the railroad yards, of trombone funerals and waking up wearing bruises and regret in a hotel next to the railroad tracks, of lost and long- elapsed love, and of gospel music sung under a blistering sun when all you want is a glass of whiskey and s single ice cube and the time to drink the world down.

Of course, as the above going on and on probably demonstrates, and since I’ve mentioned him in cocktail recipe intros in pretty much every book I’ve written, I’m a Tom Waits fan. I have most CDs, and listen to him on a regular basis, and have sat up singing Tom Waits with pals and bourbon and brandy until 4 am multiple times, have sat in a parked car half drunk singing Tom Waits while the thunder hit the hood like a million fists, and have put Tom Waits songs on jukeboxes with a glass of gin in one hand in more bars, lounges, dives, and hole-in-the-walls then I can remember. But as I haven’t gotten to my drink yet, I’m gonna put a leash on my Waitsean ramblings and start pouring.

Oh, wait, give me another sec, to give a drink backstory. Though I enjoy all the Waits CDs I have (including those Andrew mentions, Closing Time, Small Change, and the rollicking live Nighthawks at the Diner), the one I go back to the most is Rain Dogs. From the opening “We sail tonight for Singapore” to the New Orleans horns playing the funeral out at the record’s end, Rain Dogs matches more moods and moodiness and must-have-a-drink-while-listening-to tracks to me than any other. And while I don’t have a “favorite” song on Rain Dogs (this makes a type of sense, since they go together like egg drinks and mornings), “Tango Till They’re Sore” is the song (don’t take this morbidly, by the way) I want played at my funeral. I just want folks there to have good music, to drink well, and to toast me relentlessly, and this song, which starts “Well ya play that Tarantela and the hounds they start to roar” does just that. Not to mention that the chorus goes:

Let me fall out the window
With confetti in my hair
Deal out jacks or better
On a blanket by the stairs
I’ll tell you all my secrets
But I lie about my past
So send me off to bed forever more.

Rain Dogs also has a dandy song called “Jockey Full of Bourbon” (which has the classic line, a line I can sympathize with, “I’m full of bourbon, I can’t stand up”), so I wanted my drink to have a bourbon base, and bourbon is also mentioned multiple times within the record. The only other spirit dropped in the album is brandy (in “Union Square”), so I decided to double up on base spirits a bit, and then I wanted to bring in some bitters, in honor of the line in “9th & Hennepin” that says “till you’re full of rag water, bitters, and blue ruin.” So, that got me to three, a magic number, but because Tom Waits is also an original, I wanted to bring another ingredient into the drink that isn’t mentioned in one of his songs (four can be a magic number too y’all), but that has at least a tangential connection, and so I went with St. Elizabeth’s Allspice Dram. For one, it tastes great. For two, St. Elizabeth’s could be an insane asylum. For three, it’s based on an older ingredient called “Pimento Dram” which I could see Waits-style sailors drinking on a leaking dingy. When mixed in the following way, these ingredients in honor of Tom Waits and Andrew Bohrer make The Hounds They Start to Roar:

2 ounces bourbon (I used Blanton’s)

¾ ounce St. Elizabeth’s Allspice Dram

½ ounce brandy (I used Grand Duke d’Alba cause I’m walking Spanish down the hall)

2 dashes Peychaud’s Bitters

1. Fill a cocktail shaker, mixing glass, dented top hat, or ladies leather boot halfway full with cracked ice. Add the whole bunch of ingredients. Stir well.

2. Strain into a cocktail glass or goblet. Garnish with a sad song.

PS: Feel this needs a garnish? I suggest an ice pick, a dented fender from a ‘54 Ford, or a tattooed tear.

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.

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.

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.

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 not 100% sure what the below picture is, cause I stole it off the Vessel web site (I’m also not a very good thief, as I just admitted it, and hopefully Basil Childers who took the lovely photo doesn’t get too angry). Vessel, if you don’t know (and if you’re not living in Seattle, you’re forgiven, but if you are living in Seattle and don’t know, then I can only ask loudly: What The Heck Is Wrong With You? Notice the cap’d letters for emphasis, but not all caps, because I do still have lots of affection for you, so don’t want to be too screamy), is one of Seattle’s top cocktail spots (really, one of the nation’s), where the bartenders tend to be charming and in vests and always know how to pour a very well-prepared drink. Anyway, as a little Friday treat I’m heading over there (it’s at 1312 Fifth Avenue in downtown Seattle, just blocks away from the monolith where I spend my workdays) right after work at 4 pm, to have myself a drink before heading home. And I think I want the drink to be the below, whatever it might be, with its large ice ball (hah, that’s fun to say) and obviously brown booze base. If you can’t make it there at 4 pm with me, then I suggest you at least have yourself a nice Friday cocktail somewhere. Because you know what? You deserve it.