Drink of the Moment: Harvey Wallbanger

This is a drink for when you want to just cut out, and get blasted in a hurry. Perfect for trying to forget the Steelers winning the Super Bowl. It tastes good, goes down easy, and is easy to mix.

The drink first cropped up in California in the 1950s, and spread across the nation when it became the featured cocktail of TWA. I guess it works well for curing a fear of flying too. In the words of Modern Drunkard Magazine, this cocktail says that...

You, or someone a lot like you, will inspire Alcoholics Anonymous to abandon the twelve-step program in favor of indiscriminate Tasing.

Sounds about right.

To make this drink, you will need Vodka, Orange Juice, and Galliano. Take 1.5 ounces of Vodka and 3 ounces orange juice, pour both into a Highball glass on the rocks. Stir the mixture, then float half an ounce of Galliano. Then garnish with a cherry or an orange slice. Take a sip, and picture yourself trying to convince everyone that there's something on the wing.

The drink is surprisingly potent. The story behind the name is that supposedly at the party where this drink was invented, a guest named Harvey had a few, then spent the next day banging his head against the wall cursing the drink. I could see that happening easily. The main variation that I know of is called the Hillary Wallbanger, and it substitutes the Vodka in favor of white wine. It's a lot weaker, but if you don't want to kill yourself, it's a good option. See you at the bar.

Drink of the Moment: The Vesper

"Just a moment. Three measures of Gordon's, one of vodka, half a measure of Kina Lillet. Shake it very well until it's ice-cold, then add a large, thin slice of lemon peel. Got it?"

If there's an author this side of Earnest Hemingway who really knew his liquor, it was Ian Flemming, the creator of secret agent James Bond. In honor of the release of Quantum of Solace, I bring you the drink Flemming created through 007, The Vesper.

The Vesper was introduced in Flemming's 1953 novel, Casino Royal. During a high stakes game of Baccarat. Bond invents the drink when asked if he'd like a drink from the bar. When Felix Lighter, one of the other players comments on the drink, Bond says this.

"I never have more than one drink before dinner. But I do like that one to be large and very strong and very cold and very well-made. I hate small portions of anything, particularly when they taste bad. This drink's my own invention. I'm going to patent it when I can think of a good name."

He ends up naming it in honor of Vesper Lynd, the double agent for the Soviets that he's bedding at this time.

As you can read above, the drink involves Gin, Vodka, and Kina Lillet. However, if you want to make an accurate Vesper, you must keep in mind that this recipe was devised in 1953, when men were men, and alcohol was strong. Gordon's Gin has been cut down in proof, and most vodkas currently sold are 80 proof. Kina Lillet isn't made anymore. They replaced it with Lillet Blanc, which has no quinine in it, so it lacks any real bite to it.

To get around these issues, there are several quick fixes. Many modern gins maintain the 94 proof of 50's Gordon's. 100 proof vodka is easy to find. A dash of quinine powder turns a Lillet Blanc back into Kina Lillet. The quinine powder might be difficult to find, so if you can't get your hands on it, substitute in 2 dashes of Angostura Bitters.

You wind up with 3 oz 94 proof gin, 1 oz 100 proof vodka, 1/2 oz of Lillet Blanc, and a dash of Quinine Powder (or two dashed bitters). Shake until cold, then strain into a Cocktail glass, or a deep champagne goblet if you want to be true to Bond. Garnish with a long thin lemon peel. Take a sip, and picture yourself heads up with Le Chiffre.

Drink of the Moment: Kamikaze

Ah, the Kamikaze, the signature drink of Corvallis' Crowbar. Great drink. Rumor has it that the drink was first poured on a US military base in occupied Japan. I doubt it, but it's a good story.

To make the Kamikaze, you'll need Vodka, Triple Sec, and lime juice. Mix them in equal parts in a shaker with ice. Shake it well, and strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with a slice of lime. Sit back, and imagine yourself in Tokyo, with the crazy lights, and hotel rooms reminiscent of Kramer's dresser.

Like any other cocktail, the Kamikaze has a lot of variations. If you add a half ounce of Maui Blue, you'll get a Nuclear Kamikaze. If you add an ounce of cranberry juice, you get a disturbingly named, Kamikaze on the Rag. Swap the vodka for gin, and you get a London Kamikaze.

Drink of the Moment: Tequila Sunrise

The Tequila Sunrise is another classic western drink. The drink is named for the color spectrum that comes out when the drink settles. It's also become synonymous with an early morning hangover. First made in Arizona, it was popularized in 1973 by the Eagles song, "Tequila Sunrise", again in 1988 after a Mel Gibson movie sharing the name, and again in 1998 after Cypress Hill wrote a song with the same name. The drink has about a 10 year cycle, and I'm bringing it back!

To make the tequila sunrise, you need orange juice, grenadine, and tequila. Take a highball glass, and fill it with ice. Add 3 parts tequila and 6 parts orange juice. Stir the drink, then add 1 part grenadine. Let the grenadine settle to the bottom of the glass, and do not stir. Garnish with a cherry or an orange wedge, I prefer the orange, but to each their own. Take a sip and picture yourself waking up bleary eyed... on second thought, picture yourself enjoying a beautiful sunrise after a night out with some good friends.

There are many variations to the Tequila Sunrise. The Caribbean Sunrise replaces the Tequila with rum, the Siberian Sunrise replaces it with vodka, the Kentucky Sunrise with bourbon, and the Malibu Sunrise uses Coconut rum. If you add 1/2 an ounce of lime juice to the drink, you get an Arizona Sunrise. Throw in a couple ounces of Peach Schnapps, and you'll get the Fuzzy Sunrise, a favorite of the ladies. Replace the Orange Juice with 7up to create a Bloody Hurricane. There is a drink called the Tequila Sunset, that uses blackberry brandy in the place of grenadine.

Drink of the Moment: B-52

Here's another shooter for ya'll. The B-52 is a drink that'll go down smooth, taste decent, and leave you feeling warm.

The B-52, like the Martini, has a somewhat murky past. We know it was first made in the 1970s. Some will point to California, others to Canada, and still others to New York... again. The B-52 kind of feels like a Canadian drink to me, and certainly not a New York drink.

The B-52 is a layered drink, and like all layered drinks, it is not "poured" or "mixed", it is "built". To build a B-52, you'll need Grand Marnier, Kahlua, and Irish Cream.

Begin with a shot glass. Pour 1 part Kahlua into it. Then take a spoon, and carefully pour 1 part Irish Cream onto the back of the spoon, so that it gently layers on top of the Kahlua. Next take 1 part Grand Marnier and layer it on top of the Irish Cream. If you've done it correctly, then it should have three pronounced layers. Down the shot, and picture yourself riding the bomb to ground zero.

There's a special variation of the B-52 that a lot of people are interested in making, but very few people I've seen have actually done it correctly. This is the Flaming B-52. The first thing I must stress is that you need to be sure to have a flameproof shot glass. Be certain of it, or this could get messy. The preparation is the same except that you sub in a over proof rum, like Bacardi 151, instead of the Grand Marnier. Fill it to the top, so that you don't expose any more heat than is needed to the glass. Lite the rum, and sip it through a fireproof straw. You can try to down it as a shot, but that needs skill, and if you screw up, you could very easily scorch your esophagus. It's not worth it.

The drink stays in layers because of the differences in the specific gravities of the liquors. If you know the specific gravity of a different liquor, then you can easily create an infinite variety of variations simply by subbing the new ingredient in the right slot. If you pour them out of order though, the layering will be ruined. The taste however, will not.

Drink of the Moment: The Martini

Ah, the Martini. The quintessential "cool" cocktail, staple lunch item of businessmen throughout America, and icon of the heroes of the Jet Age.

The Martini's history is somewhat murky. Some attribute it as a streamlining of the more complex "Martinez", first made in Martinez, California in the late 19th century. The New York Times claims that the Martini originated in 1912, in the Big Apple's Knickerbocker Hotel. Personally, I think New York's getting greedy.

The Martini really began to clinch it's mystique when it became know as the drink of choice of such personalities as Ernest Hemingway, Dean Martin, FDR, Dr. Robert Oppenheimer, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Truman Capote, Winston Churchill, and of course, Ian Flemming's James Bond.

There are two primary types of martini, the Gin Martini and the Vodka Martini. Both can be used in the same ratios, but the preparation differs slightly between the two. The ratios vary wildly depending on whom you ask, but I'm more a classic martini drinker.

To make the Martini you'll need 3 parts either gin or vodka, and 1 part dry vermouth.

If you're making a gin martini, pour the two ingredients into a shaker with ice and stir. Strain it into a cocktail glass and garnish. You'll want to have both ingredients chilled before hand. If you shake the drink, you'll kill the vermouth, and bring the gin too far to the front.

If you're making a vodka martini, place the two ingredients into a shaker filled with ice, shake vigorously, then strain into a cocktail glass and garnish. Keep the vodka cool, but not chill, so that the temperature differential will lower the bite of the alcohol. The key is to shake it hard to maximize the chilling at that point. If the vodka's too cold at first, then it'll overpower the vermouth, but if the drink doesn't get cold enough by the time it's drunk, it'll taste a little too thick.

The garnish is traditionally a martini olive on a toothpick. Some prefer a lemon twist, some a Marciano cherry. Myself, I go for three olives. Go with your gut, but don't be afraid to try new things. Once you've finished garnishing, take a sip, and imagine yourself in a tuxedo.

The amount of each ingredient used will vary. The modern martini is 5:1 gin to vermouth. The european martini is 6:1. The Old Martini is 2:1. Some recommend coating the ice cubes with vermouth to impart flavor, without actually adding vermouth to the drink. Some of the extra dry martinis might go as high as 10:1 or 15:1. Winston Churchill's martini was famed for being made from 3 parts gin, and a glance at a bottle of vermouth from across the room.

There are a ton of variations on the martini. I'll cover just the bare bones here. A perfect martini uses 1/2 part dry vermouth and 1/2 part sweet vermouth. A dirty martini adds some olive juice to mask the alcohol. A naked martini is made with no ice, but the ingredients and glass chilled.

Drink of the Moment: The Chocolate Cake Shot

And now for something a little different.

This is a little complicated and subtle, so this is not a drink to be bought on the fifth or sixth round. Try it early in the night,and don't be stingy, the ladies love these. This drink is a ritual shooter, akin to a Ritual Tequila.

You'll need vanilla vodka, a hazelnut liqueor like Frangelico, sugar, and a lemon wedge.

First things first, take a shot glass and line the rim with sugar. Then take the lemon wedge and coat it in sugar. Next, take one part vanilla vodka and one part hazelnut liqueor and stir them together and pour into the shot glass. Now the drink is prepared.

Unlike the other cocktails I've written about here, this drink needs to be drunk an a particular fashion. First down the shot. It will taste like ass. Next bite into the lemon wedge and suck on it. That aftertaste of ass will suddenly be transformed into the taste of chocolate cake, and if you really buy into it, it almost feels like you're biting into a big piece of chocolate cake.

There really aren't any ways to change it up. Some people proscribe orange vodka instead of vanilla... they are idiots, vanilla's the way to go.

The Long Weekend.

July 4th is a great day, not just for the historical significance, but because it's the day where outdoor activities, food, drinks, and explosives, all cross paths. It's amazing what a fun combination those can be.

I rode out towards Poulsbo with my best friend, Jeff, and my best friend's brother, Dave. We stopped at an Indian Fireworks booth, and picked up $100 worth of fireworks. 5 packs of sparklers, 2 packs of roman candles, and a mortar with 10 shells. Once those were secured, we stopped by the casino, and played craps. I brought in $40 and left with $55, Jeff came in with $200 and left with $365. The gambling gods were kind to us.

Back at Jeff's place, we played some GTA IV, and killed some time before the girls showed up. The girls promptly decided to try and make things awkward by going and picking up my younger sister. Not going to spoil my fun. I promptly made myself a drink, comprised of 2 oz Malibu Rum, 2 ounces Grenadine, 2 ounces Blue Curacao, filled with club soda. I stirred it, flamed an orange peel, an threw an orange twist in as garnish. Tasted like grape Kool-aid. The orange I bought from Safeway was too dry, so the citrus oil didn't come through like I wanted.

Drink in hand, we marched down to the beach, and proceeded to lob fireworks into the sky. We burned through pretty much our whole stock, save three mortar shells we were going to fire when the girls got back. There were a lot of people there, and therefore a lot of fireworks, but I still kind of miss the massive displays the army would put on for posts. Then again, it certainly beat the pants off the show put on when I was at Fort Benning for the 4th in 2006.

The girls showed up, and decided they wanted to sit in the hot tub rather than set off the fireworks immediately. Killjoys.

Eventually we coerced them down to the beach, and set off the remaining mortar shells, plus a few special bursts. Remember those sparklers we bought? It's amazing what you can do with those.

We capped of the night with a game of beer pong, and went home. I got to sleep at 0330...

And was promptly woken up at 0630 by my dad, with whom I was going to the Heritage Car Races at the lovely Pacific Raceways. Fun, but I would have loved to have slept some more. We picked up a couple of my Dad's friends before we left town, and I have been sworn to secrecy as to their identities. They both have jobs with the city that require them to champion environmentalism, but they were closet car fanatics, and very enthusiastic and knowledgeable. We'll call them #1 and #2.

The ride to the raceway was dominated by two discussions. One was about how the dismal grey sky was just the marine layer, and surely would burn off to reveal a clear sunny day by noon at the latest. The other, and far more interesting, was about cars, ranging from the time #1's first car stopped at a red light, only to watch one of the wheels continue on the route, the time I saw an Enzo parked outside the Staples in Bellvue, to the 959 that Bill Gates got so many speeding tickets in that his license got pulled.

Once we got to Pacific Raceways, we enthusiastically rushed around staring at the cars parked in the club section. Dad lamented selling his 914 as he stared at an infantry blue 2.0 for sale for a little over $10K. #1 kept staring at an old 6 cylinder Jag, even though he knew the reputation for older British cars to be beautiful looking and beautiful sounding pieces of shit. #2 simply mused about what could have been had he not given up racing. I wondered who let all the 300Zs park there. Some of the notable cars in that section included a Lamborghini Diablo, a De Tomaso Pantera, and a Porsche 550 Spyder. But if I had to take a car from that lot, I'd probably go with the Ferrari 575M, most comfortable ride out there, but it'll still turn heads.

We stepped into the vending area, to take a look at what they had to offer. I immediately made a beeline for a specific tent, leaving the old guys in the dust, when they caught up, they saw why. Celebrating the 60th Anniversary of Porsche, they had a tent set up. The first car in the display was a rare 917. Not a replica, this was the actual #20 gulf car. While not as important historically as the "Pink Pig" or 'Psychedelic Porsche" that took 1st and 2nd at the 1970 Le Mans, respectively. Or the 917/30 Sunoco that killed the Can-Am series and remains among the most powerful normal fuel race cars in existence. This one was famous in it's own right, being the car that was supposedly driven by Steve McQueen in the film Le Mans.

Alongside the 917 were a couple of early 911s, a 356A, a 550 Spyder, and the newest Porsche Supercar, the Carrera GT. Between the six cars in that tent, there was probably close to five million dollars worth of machinery. But that wasn't all. "Isn't that Al Unser?!", #1 exclaims. Wow. The man with the most Indy 500 wins in history is here. I'm scared. We meekly moved up to him, and presented our programs to be signed, he happily complied. He seems like a nice guy, honest too. "If I had one of these," He told my Dad, gesturing to the Carrera GT he was sitting next to, "I'd be in jail all the time."

We wandered around the paddocks and looked at some of the cars that would participate in the races. We saw some amazing cars, a Ferrari 512, a Porsche 908 and a 910, a bunch of 911s, a 935/78, a few Alfas, and a Ford Escort. Another interesting car that caught our attention was an old fashioned Bentley Speed Six. This car was one step away from being a stage coach. As we examined it, #1 jokingly suggested that it might be coal powered, I raised him one by suggesting that the massive cowling was there to provide room for the midget who shovels the coal in.

Right before lunch, the PA announced a special Porsche only race in honor of Porsche's 60th anniversary. My Dad and I scanned the list of cars in the racing program, and started to talk about which car we thought would win. We both agreed that the 935/78 would most likely take it away, but the 910 might make a fight of it. Then we were treated to a gift that made the whole day worthwhile. As the cars rumbled around in their seeded positions on their pace lap, they came around the corner and came into view. The 935/78 was in first, as expected, the 910 was in 3rd. In between the two rode the 917K that had been sitting in the display tent. That wasn't on the program. Just majestic. And as the race went on, the cars spaced out, and you could really get a feel for the different sounds of the different cars, pure auditory overload. It was great. The 935/78 did win, but I loved watching that 917.

I ate a light lunch of BBQ pork and rice, and drank a lemonade. We moved from the outfield to the infield to watch the races get going. We started out watching the first few uneventful races from just downrange from the downward hill, with a good view of the switchback turn.

We moved to get a great view of the backstretch to watch the Historic Small Bores, and Large Bores. The small bore race was interesting. For the first three laps it was dominated by a Lotus Seven, followed by several Porsche 356s. The Lotus Seven inexplicably had an inside out umbrella stuck to the back of the chassis, it probably should have been black flagged, but it was leading. It lost the umbrella on the 4th lap. It also lost the lead. Porsche 356s took 1st through 3rd, and the Seven came in 4th.

The Historic Large bores was really a two car race. Two late 60's Corvettes, one the A model, one the B model. The Blue and White B Model built up a dominating lead. The American Flag adorned A model kept within a reasonable distance. When they hit the back of the pack and began to lap cars, the A model used the traffic well to close the gap, and nearly make a pass on the last lap right in front of us. The B model clearly had the better driver, and fended off the takeover attempt for the win.

We moved up the the Grandstand to watch the Medium bores. The light rain that had persisted for the last hour let up, and the track began to dry. Up front there was a BMW M3, a White Porsche 911, a blue 911, and a red 1969 Ford Escort. Behind them was a bunch of tiny 2 door BMWs and Alfa Romeros that I can only describe as a swarm, and one very loud, very green 911. What made this race interesting was the changing conditions of the track. The White 911 had opted to go with racing slicks, assuming the track would dry quickly. The Escort and the M3 had opted for Rain Tires, assuming the rain would return. The rain didn't return, but the track dried slowly. The M3 built up a sizable lead, and the Escort forced its way up from 4th to 2nd. The 911 fell back all the way to 5th. However, the track dried. After lap three, the track had dried enough that the 911 could get its wheels on the ground, and put its power to use. As it gained ground, the underpowered Escort fell back in the standings, finishing 4th. On the last lap, the 911 had finally clawed it's way back into second place, and as soon as it hit the final straight away, the driver floored it. Eating up the course, and rapidly closing the gap on the M3. In a photo finish, the M3 staved off the 911's last charge. Great race.

As we moved back to the back stretch to watch the group 7 race, the rain started up again. Group 7 was the showstoppers group. F1, F2, FV, F5000, and some Can-Ams. Unfortunately, a lot of the cars scratched due to the rain. Including the 935/78, the Ferrari 512, and the McRae GM1. The 935 and the GM1 were the real losses, as they were expected to challenge for first. Instead, a Tyrell F1 car laid waste to the field, lapping all but two of the competitors. The real race was for 2nd place, where a Porsche 910 duked it out with two F5000 cars, who should have wiped the floor with it. But due to the weather conditions, the nimble 910 held on for 2nd place.

Once that race concluded, the skies really opened up, leaving rivers of water flowing across the asphalt, and thoroughly soaking us as we made our way back to the car.

I slept the whole way back, with a smile on my face.

Drink of the Moment: Red, White, and Blue

Happy 4th of July people! Today we Americans celebrate our independence from the British. The British can celebrate too, as this is the anniversary of their not being responsible for us anymore.

What better way to celebrate than with a drink. So I present to you, the Red, White, and Blue Martini!

Take 1.5 ounces of Vodka, 1/2 an ounce of Blue Curacao, and 1/2 an ounce of cranberry juice. Stir with ice, and strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with a cherry dropped into the bottom of the glass.

The drink is going to be sweet, and highly alcoholic. Take a sip, and picture yourself enjoying the fireworks on a nice summer's night. Better yet, take a sip, and actually enjoy the fireworks on this nice summer's night.

Drink of the Moment: White Russian

Here's a drink that I often enjoy.

The White Russian originated, like myself, in Oakland, California. The name refers to the "White Movement" an anti-Bolshevik group that operated in Russia during World War I, and the interbellum years. Beyond the name, and the use of vodka, the drink actually has very little to do with Russia, but it's nice to think otherwise.

When made properly, the White Russian is a smooth drink, with a hint of coffee flavor. A sort of alcoholic's mocha. Starbucks should sell these, then maybe I'd actually consider going into one of those pits of despair.

To make the White Russian, you need Vodka, a Coffee Liqueur, such as Kahlua, and a dairy product, either milk, cream, or half and half. Take a old fashioned glass and drop some ice into it. This drink is always served on the rocks, the ice diffuses and chills the creamer. Served straight up, this drink is barely palatable. Next add 1.5 ounces of vodka and 2/3 ounce of Kahlua, and stir. Float 1 ounce of creamer over the top, and slowly stir the creamer into the drink. Take a sip, and picture yourself braving the cold Moscow winter. Be glad you're inside enjoying the drink.

Here are a few variations on the drink. First, if you stop at the Vodka and Kahlua stage, you have what is called a Black Russian. If you substitute the creamer for Coke, you get what is called a Smith and Wesson. Replace the vodka with SoCo, and you've got a Rebel Russian. Finally, switch the vodka for scotch, and you get a drink aptly named, Aggravation.

Food for Thought: Beer Muffins

Contrary to popular belief, beer has uses other than inebriation. One of those is cooking. The simplest recipe that utilizes beer is the classic beer muffin. To make beer muffins, you will need...

Bisquick
Sugar
Beer

That's it. Start by getting a mixing bowl. Measure out 2 cups of Bisquick and add to the bowl. measure out 2 tablespoons of sugar and mix it in with the Bisquick. Take one standard bottle of beer and stir it into the mixing bowl. Stir the mixture until it attains a creamy texture. At which point, pour the mix into a muffin tin. Heat the oven to 350 degrees, and shove it in. Let it cook for 15-20 minutes, until it attains a light brown color. Take them out, let them cool, and then consume.

They're good with honey or butter. I'm not sure if the type of beer matters in the taste. I've only used cheap beer left from parties. I might try a high end dark beer for the next batch I make.

Intro to Liquor: Bourbon

In a previous post, I ran into a bartender that didn't know how to differentiate Bourbon from other Whiskeys. This is a terrible situation. However, it is one that is easily remedied. Here's the down low on Bourbon Whiskey.

Bourbon Whiskey has been classified as a "Distinctive Product of the United States". As such, there are requirements placed on the production of Bourbon, by Congressional Mandate.

These requirements are:

• It must be made from a grain mixture of at least 51% corn.
• It must be no stronger than 160 proof (80% ABV).
• Nothing other than water may be added to the mixture.
• It must be aged in new, charred American Oak barrels.
• Bourbon aged for less than 4 years in must have the duration of aging displayed on the label.
• Whiskey that meets the above requirements, and has been aged for at least 2 years, may be labeled Straight Bourbon.

Most Bourbon qualifies as Straight Bourbon even though they might choose not to display it on the label. Most Bourbon brands usually up their mix to closer to 70% corn, to make a flavor more distinct from other types of whiskey.

First distilled in the Allegheny Mountains in 1785, in a large county named for a prominent French family called the Bourbons, all whiskey originating from this region had the name of the county stenciled on the casks. The majority of the liquors were corn based whiskeys.

All modern Bourbon is made through the Sour Mash process, originating from the Woodford Reserve Distillery. Sour Mash uses some of the fermented mash from the last run to create a proper Ph balance, and limit growth of bacteria.

The majority of Bourbon is now made in Kentucky, with a few brands operating in other states. Some of the more famous brands include Woodford Reserve, Jim Beam, Wild Turkey, Four Roses, and Makers Mark.

Bourbon is either served Neat or on the Rocks. Usually in an old fashioned glass. When used as part of a mixed drink, it can create drinks such as the Mint Julep, the Down Low, the Scrap Wrench, or the Three Wisemen.

Drink of the Moment: Mint Julep

In an earlier post, a reader expressed his love of bourbon, and I promised to deliver unto him a cocktail which uses bourbon as its base. So here it is, the mint julep, the preferred drink of the proper southern gentleman.

There are many ways to prepare a mint julep. I'll teach you two, the one you can ask for in a bar, and the traditional method you can make when you're feeling decadent.

The more standard method of constructing a mint julep requires bourbon, mint leaves, crushed ice, sugar, and soda water.

First, take 4 to 6 mint leaves and 1 or 2 tablespoons of granulated white sugar. Drop them in the bottom of either a Collins or highball glass, and muddle them. Then fill the glass with crushed ice, and add 3 ounces of bourbon. Stir the mix, then fill with soda water. Add a mint sprig, stir it some more, and the drink is ready to serve. Sip the drink, and picture yourself watching the horses at Churchill Downs.

The more traditional method uses the same ingredients, minus the soda water. You need to get a mint julep glass, basically a silver goblet. Muddle 4-6 leaves of mint and 2 tablespoons of sugar, and muddle it in the bottom of the glass. Fill the glass with crushed ice, and add 3 ounces of bourbon and stir. Garnish with 4 sprigs of mint, and add a short straw. The idea behind the short straw and extra mint is to force the drinker to shove his nose into the mint, and inhale the scent of the mint combining with the scent of the bourbon. Enjoy the drink, and picture yourself on the porch of a Virginia plantation home on a hot summer's afternoon.

The mint julep has been embraced as the official drink of the Kentucky Derby. The Kentucky Derby also sells the most expensive mint julep in the world. Served in a 24k gold plated mint julep glass, it used Woolford Reserve bourbon, mint imported from Ireland, ice from the Bavarian Alps, and sugar from Australia. Costing a cool $1,000 dollars, the proceeds go to taking care of retired thoroughbred racing horses.

There are seemingly many variations of the Mint Julep, but in reality, they're all members of the same drink family, known as Smashes. A mint julep is a fancy name for a bourbon smash, a mojito is a rum smash, and a Kremlin colonel is a vodka smash. I guess if you used absinthe, it'd be a "Hulk Smash!", Patent Pending. All that changes is the alcohol.

A similar family of drinks are the Stingers. The variation there is that the mint and sugar is replaced with an ounce of creme de menthe. A stinger is usually served in a cocktail glass, neat, rather than in an ice filled Collins glass. It's creamier, and a little less sweet.

Intro to Liquor: Cachaça

I've mentioned several Brasilian drinks on this blog before. They all have in common the fact that they are made using cachaça, the premier liquor of Brasil.

Cachaça is the product of the distillation of fermented sugarcane juice, between 76 and 96 proof, with up to six grams per liter of sugar added. The distillation from a sugarcane base puts it very close to rum. The primary difference being that rum is distilled either from fresh sugarcane juice or molasses. Cachaça is traditionally distilled in a copper pot still, this produces three runs.

The smaller cachaça distilleries, the equivalent of American microbrew beer, use only the middle run, as the first and third contain contaminants that change the flavor. The distiller then ages the cachaça. There is no standard for the wood used, so different distilleries use different woods, allowing for a wide range of flavors in the cachaça market. Larger, industrial distilleries use a column still, which produces a continuous run, which alters the taste due to the contaminants. These industrial distilleries also usually don't age their drink, and simply market it straight at the lower class consumer. Brasilians drink 396 million gallons of cachaça each year.

Cachaça has a long history in Brasil, dating back to the 16th century. It was originally derived from sugar mills, where the sugarcane juice was left after the sugarmaking process. It would ferment, and become a low quality alcohol called cagaça. This fluid was given to the slaves to drink. Eventually, someone got the bright idea to distill the cagaça, and yielded modern cachaça.

There are two types of cachaça, white and gold. Gold cachaça is usually aged, and used as a single drink, while white cachaça is used more for mixed drinks. Cachaça tastes similar to rum, but with more depth of flavor. However, it also has a rather unique odor, that some do not care for.

If the odor, caused by the rapid evaporation of the liquor, bothers you, a quick fix is to drink it from a tall thin glass, which limits the evaporation. This is called martelinho, or the "little hammer".

My prefered brand of Cachaça that can be obtained readily in the US, is Leblon Cachaça . Named after the upscale part of Rio, Leblon uses XO Cognac flasks to age their cachaça, producing a smoother flavor than most brands. It also comes with a massive recipe book, that'll keep you occupied for a while.

Cachaça is becoming a popular drink here in the states. Jump on the leading edge of style, and enjoy the Brasilian drink of choice.

Moving On...

My God it's been a long weekend.


Things started on Thursday. Having finished my finals the previous day, that most glorious day that I've had circled on my calendar arrived. The release of Metal Gear Solid 4! Hot damn. This was the first game I actually pre ordered, ever. Nothing short of the Second Coming of Christ would keep me from getting this game. I actually woke up at 7 AM on a day where I was not required to, in order to get this game.


Except perhaps... The sun. After my earlier post, it seems the sun had seen it's shadow, and doomed us poor souls to an eternity of bleak Oregon weather. That is, until the day Metal Gear Solid 4 came out. As a person of Brasilian descent, who has spent a good chunk of his life living in the tropics, I am addicted to sunlight. I can tan beautifully, and it takes months for said tan to wear off. I literally cried when, after over a year in the Pacific Northwest, I was as white as a ghost. I went through withdrawal.

So now you can see my conundrum. Sunlight? Or the awesome power of Metal Gear? These are the decisions that try men's very souls. Fortunately, in a move that had me almost certainly looking like a complete moron, I could have my cake, and eat it too. The most wonderful thing about the seventh generation of consoles is the advent of practical wireless controllers. I turned the TV around, and sat outside my apartment, in the sun, playing the game through the window for several hours. The game is amazing, expect me to drown you with it as soon as I find the time.

As the day went on, I was invited to my friend Alexa's going away party. She was moving on to bigger and better things, like flight school. Lucky bitch. Because of some unrelated purchases, I was in the neighborhood, and stopped by a 9 PM sharp. Apparently I was the only one who showed up on time. Even Kristen, who lives in the house, wasn't ready by the appointed time. How very German of me. I brought along a bottle of Level Vodka. We had some shots, and tried my best to avoid accidentally crushing Kristen's hideous free range cat, Momo. Alexa baked some bread, and made a nice dip out of balsamic vinegar and olive oil. It was damn good. She also laid out the remainder of her alcohol, and begged the party goers to consume it for her. She had a shaker, and I went to town on it. I constructed this monster.

2 parts parrot bay coconut rum.

2 parts Grenadine

2 parts bacardi 151 rum.

1 part cran-blueberry juice

Add liquor and shake hard, strain into a frosted pint glass, add juice, fill with club soda, and stir.

That beast was essentially six shots of 90 proof liquor, and it tasted like absolutely nothing. Slight hint of grenadine, but other than that, it was like drinking down thick water. I was terrified, because every sip I took, I wanted to just chug it down because my tongue tells me it's not strong enough. However, my brain, which watched me construct it, knows how strong it is. And after I develop a pretty heavy buzz off of 2/3s of the glass, I know how strong it is.

I met up with Ed, Amy, and Andy, and we talked about Andy's motorcycles, our mutual alcoholism, and the fact that Ed looks uncannily like a 10" shorter me. The conversation continued in interesting directions, until I got looped into a few beer pong games. I would like to think I acquitted myself quite well in those games, despite a terrible foul. I even dragged out a victory with Kristen as my partner, a feat thought impossible. During one rather entertaining game, Jordan had to skip out to puke mid game, and got replaced. An act I later used to sub myself into a game to help Lacey's terrible team.

After my idiot foul got us bumped of the table, I saw CJ had shown up, with Michelle and Bryan in tow. Apparently Michelle no longer wishes for my agonizing death via cancer. Yay! I'm moving up in the world. We shared shots of Level Vodka, which was quite smooth, and I began to set the stage for CJ to come help me move my junk from my apartment to storage. Seeing as he's the only person in our mutual circle who owns a truck, he was doomed to spend the entire weekend moving stuff for literally everyone he's ever met.

At about 1 AM, my friend Tony crashed the party, not knowing I was there, sporting an awkwardly faked Australian accent, and a little blond girl on his arm. Well, I'm not about to try and cock block my friend based on something as little as faking being Australian. So I let them drink in bliss. All of a sudden, Tony grabs me, and mentioned to the girl that I used to live in the south. She asks me where, and I told her New Orleans, Alabama, and Georgia. She saw fit to correct me, "You lived in N'awlins, 'Bama, and that other state."

Dammit woman, not everyone who's lived in the south speaks with the accent of a fucking idiot. She mentioned she lived in Shreveport. Whatever. Then she saw my dog tags. "Oh, you're in the Marines? You know Camp Pendleton? That's me."

At that point I was getting angry. "Don't confuse me with a Jarhead, girl."

She proceeded to go on a rant about how the Marines are her family. I asked her bluntly, "Are you in?"

To which she replied an unqualified no. "Then don't lecture me on service."

She got all indignant about how she couldn't believe I was showing so much disrespect to her family. "What your great grandfather did has no bearing on how I treat you. There is no royalty in America, you earn your respect. You aren't given it."

At that point, she was a awfully flustered, and asked my if I lived here. When I said no, she told me that she thought I should leave. She was trying to kick me out of my friends party, that she crashed? Incredible. I refused, and she grabbed Tony, and dragged him out of the party. Good Riddance.

Immediately afterwords, a guy who was standing nearby, Mark, looked at me. I realised that I was pretty drunk, and I might have been a real jerk. So I asked for a third party perspective from Mark and his wife, Lacey. She was a bitch, and they were surprised I didn't drunk toss her ass out at the word go. Vindication. To be honest, judging from her accent, and lack of any knowledge of military principle, I'd say she's probably some puffed up bitch who was trying to back me down without any actual truth to her stories. Either that, or General Pendleton is rolling in his grave right now. She certainly sounded more like she was from Salem than Shreveport.

The party wound down after that, and the rest of the night was saying goodbyes, and making sure the really drunk people got home safely. Aaron gave me a ride home, and I passed out on my couch.

Friday became game day. I spent pretty much the whole day devouring MGS 4's amazing story.

On Saturday, I prepped my apartment for the move back to Washington.

On Sunday, CJ rolled by, an I traded him two bottles of Irish Cream, a Bottle of Sake, and a bottle of Merlot for his help moving my stuff. As we hauled my futon to the storage facility, we discussed stuff such as Dave Mustain's amazing hair, bands that are essentially a cult of personality around one person, and woodland firefighting.

Monday morning, I rode back up to Washington, and am now frantically attempting to avoid letting the Guard ruin yet another summer. Wish me luck.

The Last Weekend.

In more ways than one.

On Friday I met my friends at American Dream Pizza for our usual pre salsa meal. American Dream's latest claim to fame was Obama's struggle to keep their pizza in his mouth. :) The pizza's good, and it's the only place I've found that's willing to put salmon on a pizza. However, the part of the place I like best is the Crowbar.

I found the Crowbar on my 22nd birthday, having no clue about it's connection to American Dream. It has a back alley entrance, and a wrought iron overhang sign that screams old school dive. It looked as good a place as any to finish off my birthday. We staggered in, and it was... surprisingly post modern. However, the bartenders are actually good, and they serve ten different varieties of the Kamikaze. Plus, you can have good pizza, and good booze at the same time. Yum.

However, I digress. We had pizza, and I had a kamikaze. We talked and ate, and laughed at the connotations of the combinations of Tristan and Willow's names once they get married, the names of other people, the fact that my mom wanted to name me Raphael, and as always, time passed. We soon found that it was nine o'clock, and meandered our way to Platinum.

Latin X kicked off, and I drank far too much. Unlike the Crowbar, the bartenders at Platinum are... less than proficient. However, I used that to my advantage. They run a deal that before 11, well drinks cost $1. I managed to convince them that a caipirinha is a well drink. Essentially 3 shots of rum for one dollar! Hot damn. I had 4 of them, and wound up buying rounds for the whole table. I threw in a couple of Vodka and Tonics, and I was unusually drunk, on less than $15.

The hilarious moment occurred when I was talking with Tristan about our experiences in the military, mine in the Army, his in the Marines. As he regaled me with tales of a Marine SGT who was too dumb to live, Chris walked up, and slapped me on the shoulder, and caused me to spill my drink. Oh, well. I switched the drink to my other hand to avoid further traffic from disrupting my alcoholism. Twenty seconds later, Bill walks by, and hits my other shoulder, causing me to spill more of my recently relocated drink. Tristan cracked up. I chugged my drink down, to prevent any further problems.

I drank, and danced, and talked. I tried to find Simona's camera to take some pictures. Someone beat me to the punch, and the camera disappeared for about 2 hours, and Simona got all overprotective of it when it was found. C'mon, I'm trustworthy...

I decided to have a Mint Julep for my final drink. I talked to the bartender, and as usual, he had no clue how to make it. As I walked him through it, this exchange occurred...

"Add Bourbon."

"Which kind?"

"What kind do ya'll stock?"

"We have Irish, Tennessee, Kentucky..."

"NO. Just use that bottle of Jim Beam."

Irish Bourbon? I died a little inside when I heard that. I also cried a little when he strained the mint out of my drink. What the Hell. No tip for you.

As usual, time passed, and before I knew what was happening, the lights got turned on, and Simona kicked us all out. Talking with Nate on the way home, he and Dave invited me over to La Conga for late night Mexican food. At 2:35 in the morning, La Conga was packed. I'd love to see their hourly business estimates. While we were devouring our burritos, we were joined by Roger and Alana, and a couple of Roger's friends. After the food was gone, we went to Nate's house, and danced a little bit more. Dave, being our resident Hawaiian, showed us some Maori dances, and Nate and Alana showed off their rumba skills. I danced a little casino with Alana. Fun was had, and I didn't wind up home until 4:30.

I spent a good chunk of Saturday sleeping. I woke up at 1, and dragged myself over to the TV to watch the Belmont Stakes. This was supposed to be Big Brown's triple crown victory lap. As I was watching the warm ups, I was bouncing around on a football message board I frequent when bored. In an off topic thread about the Belmont, I called Da'tara winning. Take that!

Saturday night, well, Sunday morning technically, Mike IM'd me, demanding food. He swung by, and we hung out at his place, as he ordered pizza. Pizza Pipeline said that it would be about an hour for delivery. We figured it was a Scotty-esque overstatement to keep us from getting our expectations up. 55 minutes later, our pizza arrived. Wow. Mike had gotten his hands on a leaked copy of Beast With a Billion Backs, so we watched that. I wound up passing out on the couch.

I woke up at about ten o'clock, and none of Mike's roommates really cared about the giant curled up in their living room. That just goes to show what kind of house it is.

After shaking off my grogginess, I fired up their 360, and played some Halo 3. That's my one regret about going with a PS3. MGS4 completely outweighs it, but I do miss Halo. I love the mythology of the game, and the soundtrack is glorious. I might buy that soundtrack. When Mike woke up, we played some Metal Slug 3. Old school, nintendo hard games, designed to suck the quarters out of you pockets. I went through 39 continues. At 50 cents a pop, you're looking at damn near $20 gone, to beat 5 levels.

After ordering another pizza, we hunkered down to watch the NBA Finals game 2. That game went from a massive blowout, to inexplicably becoming a game at the end. That just goes to show, you really only need to watch the 4th quarter of an NBA game.

I wound up getting home at 10:30, and went pretty much straight to sleep. A good end.

A Flash Full of Wing Wong.

I woke up on Saturday morning with what seems to be the beginning of a sinus infection. Well, shit. However, my friend Mike had a "surprise" birthday party, and it was my job to get burgers to the barbecue, and I'd be damned if I would let there be a barbecue without burgers. That's just unamerican. Salt water gargles do miracles for cleaning up the throat.

So off I go to Fred Meyers, to purchase 34 burgers and 32 buns. Stupid packaging disparity. I rolled up to the house, and dropped off the food with Sarah, and we got the party preparations set. There was pizza, chips, hot dogs, hamburgers, dirt cups, beer, and lots of other good stuff.

When Mike arrived, the festivities started in earnest. Thanks to the decent weather, we set up shop outside. I played a game of outdoor beer pong. It's a whole different animal outdoors, accounting for windage wreaked havoc on everyone's shots. Fortunately, I'm used to dealing with windage, so I played pretty well. We got the grill fired up, and soon the scent of formerly frozen beef patties crackling over a charcoal flame wafted throughout the yard. I put together a nice cheeseburger, with colby jack, lettuce, horseradish sauce, mustard and ketchup. Delicious.

Nick had brought over his full Rock Band setup, drums, bass, guitar, and mike. Everyone had snapped up the instruments, and as soon as I walked in, I got pegged with the vocals. I made it through the songs I knew pretty well, In Bloom, The Hand That Feeds, Creep, all went well. The songs I didn't know... Not so much.

Andy unveiled his new toy. A 3 foot long blow gun. We had a field day with that one. We shot pretty much everything we could spare, and even popped each other with the blunt tipped slugs. It was fun, in a sadistic sort of way.

Forrest Gump came on TNT. I love that movie, and believe that it is possibly the best movie of our generation. There's so much innuendo that I never picked up the first time I saw it.

After some of the party drew to a close, we headed over to watch the acapella show. The ladies of UO opened, and were pretty damn good. The Divines, the OSU womens group, went on next. As much as it pains me to say it, I think the Ducks did a better job. Outspoken, the OSU mens group came up, and did an excellent job. acapella shows, by their nature, are a little campy, but Outspoken embraced it. Their rendition of Life is a Highway was superb, marred only by the feed cord accidentally being pulled from the mike, making it sound like someone had been shot.

After the show ended, Mike came up with a crazy idea. It was 11PM, and we were going to a hot spring. Serena rolled in with her mom's minivan, we piled the eight of us in, and we were off before we really understood what happened. Half of us didn't have bathing suits, and shamed the other half into ditching theirs. It was pretty dark out, starlight only, so we really didn't see anything. But hey, skinny dipping in a sulfur hot spring is always fun. We passed around a bottle of cheap red wine, and played the stupid games that inevitably happen when you mix nudity, alcohol, and steam. Truth or Dare, yippee. Fortunately, things didn't get too inappropriate or uncomfortable. We played two rounds, and I picked truth once, and dare once. For truth, I got asked if I ever wished I was shorter. I certainly wish I had a more standardized body type when it comes to buying clothes. And for a dare, I was challenged to hop into the spring above us, which was much hotter, and occupied by a couple that was getting a little *ahem* friendly. Good for them, I just hope that the sulfur killed off anything that got released.

As we were trying to get back to the bench from the spring, Serena turned around with Mike's camera, and FLASH. Well, there goes my modesty. Thank God for my Brazilian side. On the ride back, we discretely checked which pictures were appropriate, and which weren't, and deleted the one's that didn't spare someones dignity. The others were kept for posterity, and no, they will not be posted here.

Mike drove us home, and the rest of us slept in the most uncomfortable positions possible, we made it back in town just before five AM, and began the frantic race against time to get everyone back to their homes, and more importantly, beds, before the sun rose, and screwed up any chance at sleep. It was so worth it.

Happy Memorial Day Weekend!

Four day weekends are always a good thing. But, sometimes they get a little long. I don't have classes on Friday, so life is good.

Thursday kicked off with inviting some friends up to Strega, the new bar that opened up on the sixth floor of the new condo complex down at the end of second street. It's a great place, good ambiance, good drinks, and comfortable seating. They actually stock Cachaça, and they can make a decent caipirinha. I was shocked. I had a caipirinha while waiting for CJ to arrive.

I wound up waiting for about a half hour, because CJ somehow got lost. Not sure how he puled that one off, it's on top of the only building taller that three stories other than Reser and Gill. It's kind of like not being able to pick me out of a crowd of midgets. However he made it eventually, and brought his girlfriend, and our mutual friend Brian.

We got another round of drinks, and I had a Gin and Tonic, while CJ ordered something with Strega's special liqueur, which tastes like a liquefied alcoholic breadstick. We talked for a couple of hours about work, the future, spectacular bike accidents, spectacular rafting accidents, injuries, and other things. Maybe I'll write about some of those later on.

Another round of drinks came in, and I had a Vodka Martini. It was the Vodka Martini from Hell! First off, Strega has huge cocktail glasses, double size. Second, it's alcohol and more alcohol, pretty much just four straight shots of Vodka and Vermouth. To top it off, the bartender didn't add enough ice to the mix, so it wasn't cold enough. It was just brutal. I struggled to put it down, and gnawed on the olive like it was going to save my life. It was rough, and things went downhill from there.

Someone got the bright idea to swing the conversation to politics right before we left. We proceeded to spend the next hour and a half standing in front of the entrance arguing. I hate arguing politics with my friends, because we're inevitably drunk at the time, any argument involving drunk college students inevitably breaks down to someone just yelling slogans. This particular argument ended with CJ's girlfriend telling me to get cancer and die. And she's normally such a cheerful little girl. That kinda killed the mood, so we went our separate ways.

Friday I woke up with a brutal hangover, which I usually don't suffer from. I chalked that up to the Hellfire Martini. I studied a little, read a little, and drank a ton of water.

After cleaning up, I met some friends over at the Fox and Firkin for some pre salsa dinner. Rob was flirting with the hot, pierced waitress., Nikki. I talked Milspeak with Tristan, the former Marine, while Chris taunted me about having Tara consume her sandwich faster that I devoured mine. Hey Chris, after doing the one minute challenge at Ft. Benning, I take my time with food when I can. Deal with it. I had a Cordon Bleu sandwich that tasted great, and a pint of Black Butte Porter. Erin taunted me about the fact that I look somewhere in the vicinity of ten years old in my facebook picture, and Nancy said she didn't believe I was old enough to drink. Jeez, when it rains it pours. Nancy ordered this inhuman brownie, that was covered in whipped cream and walnuts, and two scoops of Neapolitan ice cream. She distributed spoons, and the 12 of us there devoured it.

At Latin X, things kicked off as usual. I grabbed a Vodka and Tonic from the bar, and settled down. I saw a tall nice looking girl, and asked her to dance. "I don't know how to dance, I'm warning you!" Normally any girl who finds herself at Latin X without learning salsa says that, but they know enough about rhythm and dance in general for me to work with them. With this girl, I should have listened to her. I would describe it as dancing with a cannonball. When I led her in a direction, she flung herself that way. No control at all. I locked her up in a closed dance for the safety of everyone around us.

The next embarrassing incident happened during a meringue song. I looked up at the tables, and called a girl to come down and dance with me. She came down, and right before she got to me, her friend, whom my friend Sam had asked to dance, shot him down, and dragged me onto the dance floor. Awkward, awkward, awkward... Sam proceeded to ask the girl I had asked to dance, so they danced, and we danced, and things kind of evened out, but it just felt awkward. I made it up to the girl I originally asked on the next floor, but I just felt a little out of control the rest of the night.

I wound up going home earlier than usual, at 1. I just wasn't into it as much as usual. I hit the rack, and slept the sleep of the exhausted.

I spent most of Saturday just feeling drained. I don't know why, but I didn't like it. I laid around the house, watched TV, made a blog post, but generally did nothing important.

On Sunday, Joe called me up, and we went over to McMenamin's for some drinks. The pool tables were locked down, so we went to Tailgaters. There weren't very many people there, and it was karaoke night, but the pool tables were free, so we played three games. I took the first two, but I couldn't sink the 8 ball in the third.

As we were playing our second game, some guy came on, and just murdered "Dirty Laundry", by Don Henley. It was awful. Not in the so bad it's good type, but the so bad it's terrible type. Somewhere in Texas, Henley is rolling in his grave, and very confused, seeing as he's not dead yet.

I got a couple of hours to kill before I go to a party to watch the hockey game. The Flyers are gone, so I don't really care about who wins, but I promised Joe I'd make an appearance, we'll see what happens.

Drink of the Moment: Gin and Tonic

Ah, the Gin and Tonic. The magical drink that glows, cures malaria, and makes women beautiful.

The Gin and Tonic was originally made in India by the British East India Trading Company in the 18th century, to treat their soldiers. That's right, this drink was originally a medicine. This is probably one of the earlier instances of abusing meds.

The tonic is what was medicinal. It contains quinine, which prevents malaria. The tonic water used at the time had much higher concentrations, and as such, was unspeakably bitter. So people would conceal the taste by mixing it with gin.

In the preparation of the Gin and Tonic, you need two things. For the really slow readers, those two things are Gin and Tonic Water.

Take a highball glass, and fill it with ice. Then add 2 ounces of gin, fill the rest with tonic water, and stir briskly. a wedge of lime is the traditional garnish, but you can throw just about anything in there. Sit back, sip your drink, and hum God Save the Queen.

With a highball glass, you'll get a 1 to 2 concentration of gin to tonic water. One of the beautiful things about this drink is the ease with which the proportions can be adjusted. I've had Gin and Tonics that ranged from a glass if gin with a hint of tonic water, to a splash of gin to cut the tonic. If you like a more concentrated drink, but don't want a highball sized concentrated drink, you can also adjust the glass you're drinking from. An Old Fashioned Glass works nicely for that.

Another curious feature of tonic water is that it glows under a black light. If you're the type of person who likes your drink at a certain concentration, this is actually a pretty good way to check the concentration. The brighter it glows, the less gin is in it. If your friends are jokers, and they buy you a glass of gin, and try to disguise it as a gin and tonic, you have a way to keep yourself from being caught off guard.

A common variant of the Gin and Tonic is the Vodka and Tonic. I often order this at nightclubs, because low end vodka is much more palatable than low end gin.

Salsa, Hockey, and the birth of an alcoholic.

Well, it's been a fairly eventful week for me.

Monday was Cinco de Mayo, as you know. I had a fun night of mexican food and Dos Equis out at the bars. However, I spilled some of my Jose Cuervo onto my modem, and knocked it out of commission for several days.

On Wednesday, I got a replacement modem, and went out with some friends to the Salsa Dance at Oddfellows hall. I wore my Boondock Saints T shirt. It was a hit. Almost too big of a hit. I felt like a manikin, simply the vessel upon which the shirt was mounted. It peaked when Tara dragged me out onto the dance floor, exclaiming "I must dance with that shirt!" Jeez. I'm up here, stop staring at my chest ladies! :)

Then on Friday, we had the usual Latin X night festivities. We started out at McMenamin's. It's usually not that crowded around 7:30, So when we showed up, we found ourselves in the irritating position of having every table being occupied by one or two people, so we couldn't get a table. Faced with the choice between eating outside or not getting seated for an hour, we got the tables outside. Thankfully, the weather was good. In the end, it was a good think. We were expecting 8-10 people, we wound up with 15. Sweet, yet potentially problematic. but being able to expand to other outdoor tables fixed the problem.

Once we went down to Platinum, it was the same old story. There was alcohol, dancing, music, and fun. Tori said she was going to whip me at pool. But she failed to show up. Guess I win by default.

I just have one question. Why do women insist on wearing shoes that tear up their feet? Is that extra inch really worth the blisters and mangled toes? And if you're going to, why can't you put some moleskin on beforehand?

Saturday night, one of my friends from bravo company turned 21. So I escorted his drunken parade throughout the bars. We spent the bulk of our time at Clods. I had a Vodka and Tonic. Being a bit of a jerk, I ordered him a cement mixer. Being a much bigger jerk than me, Chuck got Joe a British Liposuction. The British Liposuction is the worst drink I've ever encountered. It consists of a shot that's one part gin, one part Worcestershire sauce, and one part lard. Yes, lard. Joe took that shot, then puked it back into his shot glass, and booked it to the bathroom. I didn't see him for about 20 minutes after that. Afterwards, he came back, looking a few pounds lighter, and downed my cement mixer, and enjoyed it. That's how bad the shot Chuck got him was.

After we got sick of drunken frat boys and country music, Joe wanted to go to Tailgaters, where we would have to deal with drunken frat boys and rap music. I convinced him to go to McMenamin's on Monroe so we could play pool. Unfortunately, there was a line for the pool table, so we headed out. Some random guy bought joe a shot before we left. No clue who he was.

So we were off to Tailgaters. You could hear the bass from outside. Rap Music... Check. Our party had dwindled down to three people, Joe, myself, and one of Joe's friends, a former Army supply tech. The parade of CAC cards to the doorman. Yippee. We put down for the next pool table, and ordered some drinks. When I went over to the bar, this guy looks over at me. "Wow, you're really tall!". Yeah, he was truly a marvel of observation. I got some change to pay for the pool table and headed back to the table. "Look how tall that guy is!" Captain Obvious strikes again! Three fights broke out while we were there, all promptly crushed by the bouncers. Pretty rough considering there was fewer than 30 people there. Drunken frat boys... check. Whatever.

I brought the quarters over, and we played a game of cutthroat. I was playing pretty well, and got the other two down to 1 ball each, while I still had 4 active. Suddenly, Joe, who had hit a scratch on nearly every ball, knocked down 3 balls on one shot. Unfortunately, they were the 12, the 14, and the 15. All I was left with was the 11. I promptly eliminated Joe, but Joe's buddy knocked me off.

The Supply Tech decided to bolt afterwards, but Joe wanted to stay until closing, and I had promised Neil I'd get him home in one piece. so Joe and I played another game of pool, and I soundly crushed him. I've gotten a little better with practice. With 45 minutes left to kill, I decided to go watch the few girls who were left dancing. One of them waved at me, so I called her over. Feeling in a generous mood, I tried to set Joe up with her. I wanted to get her to go dance with Joe, but instead she simply offered to buy him an expensive drink if I'd buy her a cheap drink and dance with her. But I didn't want to leave Joe high and dry on his birthday. It's kind of awkward getting a girl who's hitting on you to go hit on your friend. But Captain Obvious came to scuttle that problem. He started hitting on her, not letting either of us get a word in edgewise. Finally, she looked a little squeamish, and I gave him a glare. He looks back at the girl. "What, are you dating him?" And proceeded to start to interrogate her about our relationship. After about 15 seconds of that, I got sick of him. I got his attention for a sec, "Shut the fuck up, go away, and let me talk to her!" I didn't push it any farther, because I knew the bouncers were on edge, and would have bum rushed me the moment I stood up. Fortunately, Captain Obvious seemed to get the message, and bailed out. Unfortunately, the girl's friend saw her in between a 6'5" guy, and a 6'8" guy yelling at him. She promptly swooped in and took her to the other side of the room, exclaiming, "She has a boyfriend!" That could have ended better. This is why I hate lingering at bars around closing time, the dominance games are so damn annoying, especially when you don't really want to play.

Joe decided to head home. On the way out, I ran into the girl again. She apologized for her friend, and explained that her friend thought I was getting too aggressive, but she knew what had happened. She asked where I was heading. "Home, I've got better booze there." She was nice, but I was too far into chaperon mode to try anything with her.

All I had to do was get Joe's drunk ass 6 blocks, to his dorm. No problem, right? Wrong. Things only got more annoying. We got to the corner of Monroe and 14th street, and ran into this anorexic looking asian girl eating a pita. Clearly plastered. "I'm horny, let's have sex!" She said. Joe, being equally trashed, promptly took her up on her offer, and kissed her. She coughed a half chewed wad of tuna pita into Joe's mouth. As this hilarious spectacle is unfolding, I notice her friend. I don't know if he was her boyfriend, or another poor soul bringing home the drunk, but he made a beeline towards Joe. I grabbed him, gently, but with enough presence that he hesitated. Introduced myself, and pretty much asserted control of the situation. just because I don't like dominance games doesn't mean I can't be the Alpha Male when the situation calls for it. Once the situation was defused, we exchanged drunks, and I proceeded to continue taking Joe back to the dorm.

Joe proceeded to the emotional stage of drunkenness. He started talking about his friend back home who got shot during a drug deal that went south. I quickly told him to change the subject. That brought up some memories that I didn't want to deal with right then. Joe promptly chose about the next most depressing topic. One of the Air Force ROTC cadets had committed suicide that week. I know I give the Air Force a lot of flak, but that still sucks. Fortunately, I got him to his dorm before the conversation could go anywhere else. I trudged home, and fell asleep.

The next morning, brought me playoff hockey action. My Flyers took on their in state rivals, the Pittsburgh Penguins. My friend CJ, a Sharks fan, who's far more enthusiastic about hockey than I am, came over. He was still in a funk after the Shark's quadruple overtime loss to the Dallas Stars. I was trying to jump start his love of hockey again. We had some drinks (When I told that girl I had better alcohol at home than at the bar, I wasn't lying). I made CJ a white russian, and myself a caipirinha.

The Flyers went down in a blaze of terrible penalties, and we lost our best defenseman to a puck to the face one minute and seven seconds into the game. Wait until the series comes back to Philly. Things'll be different.