Holiday Hooch, Gin & Tonic: Botanical

Happy New Year, drinkskateers!

I'm having Park withdrawals but don't dare venture into the place - assuming there would even be a parking space to be had in all of Anaheim - due to the bedlam of holiday crowds choking off every last molecule of oxygen and square inch of standing room. 

Anyway, let's toast to another year of classy inebriation by sampling two seasonal offerings and a variation of the Gin & Tonic.

Holiday Whiskey Punch: Maker's Mark Bourbon, Angostura Bitters, Agave Nectar, and Pineapple, Orange, and fresh Lemon Juices topped with Ginger Ale and Pomegranate and garnished with Lemon Zest.

This one resembles a Pimm's Punch but lacks the cloy aspects; it does not threaten to be too sweet, it threatens to be so drinkable and apparently lacking in booze that you find yourself eventually unable to find your feet. Is it unpleasant? No. But honestly, if James is working, you're much better off getting a Curveball instead. 

Random note: I'm tickled to find former deathrockers and club kids are among the Carthay's Cast. I was wearing my old Dickies jacket on my last visit and two of them complimented me on my Siouxsie patch. 

And now for the Poinsettia, which I sampled on a later trip with drinking companion Melanie. They tell me it's pronounced poin-set-tuh.

The beverage of dubious spelling contains: Cointeau, Cranberry Juice, and Champagne garnished with a Twist of Orange Zest.

It's sweet. I've been overusing the word "cloy" but it is particularly apropos. It is viscous, not too unpleasant, and festive, hence its placement in the menu's holiday insert, but it's not something I'd feel any need to revisit. 

Lastly we sampled the Gin & Tonic: Botanical. Hendrick's Gin, Premium Tonic, Star Anise, Cardamom, and Mint.

The tonic is served in a separate vial so that one can add as much or as little as one prefers. I like that. Or rather, I liked that once I got over the deflated elation caused by momentarily thinking that I'd been served a bonus vial of Hendrick's. 

I managed to jot down the ingredients and I managed to get Melanie to model the drink for me...

And then I failed to write any tasting notes.

There were distractions: Melanie was trying to explain Japanese to me, or rather the aspects distinguishing kanji, hiragana and katakana. I would transcribe the characters she wrote distinguishing the three but, well, I can't. 

I do know that I liked it, as I made no negative notes about it. I do know that I enjoyed the taste and flavor combination. It's rare that I enjoy anything that evokes the flavor of anise, which I try to pretend is a homonym of anus.

It will be worth sampling again, either before or after trying the other subtle and elegant variations of the gin and tonic.

Cheers.

Underground Drinking, Lobster Bisque

Look at this picture. No, really, click to embiggen it and look at it. That is one of the best things you will ever put in your mouth and it is only five miles north of the Carthay Circle.

Today we take a side-trip to my favorite speakeasy, a restaurant and lounge that, since 1970, has been one of Orange County's "best kept secrets." It's called The Cellar, and it is, indeed, down a flight of stairs and underground. The interior was fashioned by the same guy who designed the Pirates of the Caribbean attraction. You've really got to see it.

The image you see above is of their velvety lobster bisque, and I am incapable of visiting this establishment without having it. I won't. On two occasions I have forced non-seafood eating persons to try it - they both conceded to its delectable nature.

If one wants to have a formal sit-down with tablecloths and everything one can do so. As for myself, I prefer to just stroll in and take a seat at the bar, which features, I might add, the best cocktail craftsmen around. A bold statement, you say? Try the sazerac.

My recent dining and drinking companion was Kat, a bony girl who should be deployed as a ringer in an eating contest. The picture of the bisque was taken with her high-resolution pants wizard. The picture of her was taken with my crappy flip-phone. The plate before her was previously covered with Chateaubriand and whipped potatoes and leeks (we were splurging a bit that night, and could have otherwise ordered more modest sliders or something).

Anyway, drop in sometime and you could look as happy as she does. 305 N. Harbor Blvd. Fullerton, CA 92832. 714-525-5682. See you down the stairs.

My Hobby

Listening to the Carthay Circle soundtrack at work in order to fool my subconscious into thinking I'm actually enjoying a cocktail and having a fine time.

1901, North American Whiskey

This entry combines old tasting notes I never got around to transcribing (until now) and my observations upon visiting 1901, Carthay Circle's exclusive club accessible by Club 33 members and their guests.

...

I had a very productive morning working on the scavenger hunt for Potter Day. I rewarded myself with a visit to the Lounge. And lounge I did, as there were no seats in the bar area. I settled for a plush, comfy chair in the lobby and a waitress promptly came out to help me once I signaled my intention to drink by looking at the menu. How tragically glamorous my life can be at times.

Today we sample the North American Whiskey Flight.

From right to left:

Woodford Reserve Bourbon

Bulleit Rye

George Dickel Barrel Select Tennessee Whiskey

Flights are served with a glass of water which is meant to be splashed, gingerly, into the whiskey in order to "open it up." I'm going to be sampling these before and after adding water to try and discern any possible difference.

Be forewarned, going in, that I'm an absolute philistine when it comes to tasting and describing things. Maybe my taste buds have synesthesia, I don't know, but if I'm out wine tasting with others and dare to venture a description I'm generally told "no, that's wrong."

The first whiskey. Darkest in color. Hot.

Water added: the bouquet becomes spicier, the taste more smokey.

Okay, let's see if my unsophisticated palate can distinguish differences between these. Onto the Bulleit Rye.

Bit drier, not as hot, a sliver more mellow.

Water added: the alcohol's aroma becomes more pronounced. It conjures antiseptic olfactory memories. Like I said, unsophisticated palate.

Flavor becomes more caramel at the front with more water. Heat at the finish.

Others would be able to describe supple aspects and flavor invocations that resemble the nuances of wine consumption. I reach for these things but instead just find myself enjoying the subtle burn that washes over my tongue and down my throat, and then the slight flush that creeps up into my face a moment later.

A full morning's walk plus a hearty lunch coupled with the dimly lit lounge and the softening aspects of the whiskey are making me far too relaxed in my comfy chair. I'm liable to doze off if I don't keep my wits about me.

Oh, I also bought myself a fancy - no, excellent - new commemorative Walt Disney writing pen because my Club 33 pen ran out of ink in the middle of clue composition.

Third whiskey: alcohol on the nose but little heat.

Spicy, dry.

Water opens up the earthy quality on the nose. No, something almost forest-esque or pine-like. Your mileage will certainly vary. 

This one seems most multidimensional of all three. Over time it opens up and is at once the mellowest but also has some bite.

...

I had the opportunity to visit 1901 recently. 1901 is essentially DCA's equivalent of Club 33 in terms of its exclusivity.

The menu is identical to that of the publicly accessible Carthay Lounge. The staff is the same as well, who in fact are often seen passing back and forth from one bar to the other. The ambiance is different, however. Whereas the Lounge evokes the sensation of being in a vintage hotel lobby 1901 is like being in a very posh person's den. It's very comfortable.

There are a few novel artifacts to gawk at.

Here are some caricatures of the Nine Old Men.

And here is the Dutch prop book for Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.

There are also two receptionists at the door. I wonder if this means that guests must set up their visitation ahead of time and cannot simply stroll in any time they like. I don't know and it didn't occur to me to ask. I'll have to bring it up next time.

After a few cocktails we formed a boarding party and occupied the Lily Belle for a few circuits around the berm. Not a bad night.

Curveball, Jazz, Brandy Love

The Carthay Circle Lounge has its own muzak loop of jazz variations on classic (and contemporary) animated feature theme songs. I was very excited to find out recently that they've begun selling "The Circle Sessions" by Bill Cantos on CD. In fact, I'm listening to it right now, as I type this up. I'm listening to it on my faux-antique Emerson radio / CD player rather than from my iTunes library because where's the fetish value there? I've also got a small glass of bourbon next to my keyboard, so the only thing missing, aside from posh furnishings, is the smell of moroccan meatballs wafting in from the kitchen. 

Here's the track listing:

1. A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes

2. Be Out Guest

3. Ev'rybody Wants to Be a Cat

4. Winnie the Pooh

5. A Whole New World

6. Alice in Wonderland

7. He's a Tramp

8. Can You Feel the Love Tonight

9. If I Didn't Have You

10. Married Life

11. Some Day My Prince Will Come

12. You've Got a Friend in Me

This is all fine and dandy, but I'm disappointed to find that they omitted Le Festin, the theme from Ratatouille. It's not as though they didn't have room on the disc, which is less than 40 minutes long.

Anyway, here are my notes from my recent visit:

Today James suggested I try a "Curveball," rather than the Brown Derby I thought I'd start off with. The Curveball is his own invention; a cross between a Brown Derby and a Manhattan. It has Bulleit bourbon, honey, is shaken and served over ice with a mint leaf and cherry garnish. The honey really brings out the sweetness in the bourbon. 

(Sorry for the crappy image quality, I only had my flip-phone's camera. That's right, I have a flip-phone. I don't have a pants wizard or smartphone or whatever. Yes, I know even your mother has a smart phone now. I'm comfortable being a luddite.)

I don't normally go for sweet drinks but this is just cloy enough to be enjoyable. I particularly like the way the nose of mint enhances the flavor, makes it all a whiff more sophisticated.

I'll be ordering this again. If you stop into the Lounge and James is behind the bar tell him you'd like to try one.

I have disconnectedly photographed and discussed the Brandy Alexander elsewhere but I have so much affection for this drink that I'm compelled to post about it again (whiskey may have something to do with that).

At the first sip I think immediately of chocolate. Yes, it's almost chocolatey. This is aided by the nutmeg nose. This not only harkens the taste of dark chocolate but is as comforting as a glass of chocolate milk, and has a similar viscosity.

Note for today: how fortunate it is to have a refuge like this on days when I get stood up or blown off.

No Gingers Allowed

This is Eryhn. She was complaining that a string of ladies appear on my blog as drinking companions at Carthay and she has not yet been one of them.

We tried to fix that yesterday but couldn't get a seat. It was Gay Days weekend. It was crowded.

We settled instead for the upstairs lounge above the wine-country themed restaurant, in which persons with no familiarity with or business being in the service industry ignore you for hours before getting your drinks wrong or watering them down.

We'll report back to you when we've been able to get back into Carthay.

Oh Well

September 25th. Met up with Ryan and Brianne. Tried nothing new. Drank a lot nonetheless.

Better luck next time.

B52 Coffee

Today's highlighted beverage would require modification for me to enjoy it again. This is not easy for me. I associate requesting modifiers - when not done for dietary restrictions - as being the province of philistines.

But first let me reintroduce you to my drinking companion for this particular adventure in my Tardis-like liver, Melanie. Someone as petite as Melanie has no business being able to put back as much hooch as she does.

Our day began at the Uva Bar. Oh, by the way, Melanie, if you're reading this, it turns out 'uva' basically means 'grape.' There was a time when Catal and the Uva Bar tried to maintain some fidelity to mediterranean theming, which has fallen somewhat to the wayside to accommodate our lack of taste or epicurean curiosity.

Being too late for a mimosa, our host H suggested the Peach Bellini. Simply put, it is sparkling white wine and peach puree. It is not too sweet and very enjoyable.

Anyway, onto our surrogate home, the Carthay Lounge with its relaxing atmosphere and whimsical soundtrack of jazz variations on Disney show-tunes both classic and contemporary. After a couple cocktails, leaning back and hearing a clarinet interpretation of "Some Day My Prince Will Come" can distill just the right mixture of comfort and nostalgia.

The B52 Coffee: Grand Marnier, Kahlua, Baileys Irish Cream, and hot Coffee topped with fresh House-made Whipped Cream.

This stimulating beverage contains multiple ingredients I enjoy immensely. I just can't stand the garnish. The beverage is topped and immersed with what appear to be flecks or slivers of orange rind. They don't just sit atop the creamy cap of the drink, they find their way into the straw with every sip. I find myself sticking my dirty fingers in my mouth to pry them out and piling them on my napkin.

I would otherwise very much enjoy this festive, very holiday-like beverage. The only problem is the collection of rind-like slivers made me give up on the last two fingers of the drink, where the good stuff usually is.

The majority of the day was devoted to doing reconnaissance for the upcoming Potter Day scavenger hunt. 

A productive day was rewarded by a visit to what the faculty of Yensid's School of Sorcery and Necromancy calls The Lounge of Requirement, enjoying the faculty's beverage of choice, the white sangria. 

Melanie got a peek at the special black book where I write down all my plans and the cipher to all my clues. Now she knows all the secrets of what folks are in store for in November.

Walt Is Great, His Drink Is Rubbish

First I met up with Autumn, who was already inside DCA, and upon meeting we congratulated each other on electing nonconventional lifestyles that afforded us the ability to impulsively visit the Park at 11am on a Tuesday.

After grownup activities like riding the ferris wheel we found ourselves at the Carthay Lounge, enjoying beverages we had never, technically speaking, enjoyed before.

To move one more drink through the roster, as my manifest masthead says I shall, I selected the... 

"Scotch Mist: Known to be Walt's Drink of Choice - Black & White Scotch Whiskey with a Lemon Peel served over Crushed Ice."

Autumn reached for a drink she has enjoyed at Carthay in the past, the Gin & Tonic with Dill, but needed to modify it due to being currently on the Keto diet. I began asking her about what that means but after a few fleeting seconds of failing to transcribe her description I placed my pen on top of my notebook and slid it across the table towards her.

She wrote:

"Keto is a low-carb diet that aims for a 65% fat, 35% protein and 5% carb nutrition ratio. I try to keep my carbs under 20g a day."

So her Gin & Tonic had Soda instead of Tonic.

Modeling and her own self-styled perspicacity taught Autumn an acute awareness of consumable components, something I've never had or vaguely comprehended. This is helpful to her, given her current diet, so that she can ask for precise ingredients on all things that she orders to eat or drink. The only obstacle she encounters is a lack of comprehension, on behalf of the servers she asks, as to what on earth she is talking about. I've sat in this very seat of ignorance, being that when I was still in the service industry I needed no knowledge of either carbs, grams or anything of the sort; being a penniless bicyclist, I burned everything that I shoved in my face.

Nevertheless, her fussiness paid off in this instance to both our admiration: they knew better than to put a lemon peel in her gin & soda.

I had little admiration, I must admit, for Walt's favorite drink. My notes say that it invoked the childhood memories of stolen sips of watered-down whiskey. It tastes like a drink you can't appreciate because you still have a child's palate. It has a nice, citric and fragrant nose that doesn't follow through; like coffee, it's yet another beverage that doesn't taste as good as it smells.

Autumn, in the meanwhile, may earnestly enjoy her gin & soda more than she has enjoyed the gin & tonic.

One of the drinks I ordered, following this, was the Brandy Alexander. This was not my first, nor is this its first mention on this blog, but I had never transcribed its exact constituents. So here you go: "Brandy, Dark Crème de Cacao, Creme, and Nutmeg, chilled and served up." So sumptuous.

We found ourselves in an engaging conversation once Autumn introduced me to the word "communitas." Linguist friends are helpful for providing words that crystalize concepts you knew only to be vague abstracts previously. She seemed able to see within it the positive aspects such as egalitarian sentiment and the shared abandonment found within dance events, rock concerts, etc. My own interaction with humanity being somewhat different, I found myself only able to see it as something that, on a long enough timeline, leads to Final Solutions.

This discussion ended when we were joined by Ryan and Brianne, two fellow Fullertonians who do the Park in my preferred fashion - with a perspiring glass in hand.

The Spirit Room, Twisted Vine

A lifetime in watering holes has taught me one abiding truth: the people you find in dive bars are saints and angels compared to the crass bastards you find in a wine bar.

I'll explain what I mean by that in due time - it was really just a hook to get things rolling. I want to first start by taking you away from Carthay for a moment and visiting two of my favorite locals.

We start first with The Spirit Room, the weekend nighttime lounge found at The Cellar in Fullerton, featuring classic cocktails and prohibition-era tunes. If you've never visited I cannot recommend a better place for either a meal or a drink. If you eat there and order the lobster bisque you will be compelled to write poetry about it. If you request a glass of wine from the sommelier or a cocktail from the bartender there is zero chance they will disappoint you.

On a recent visit the bartender recommended I try the Negroni, a cocktail I had tried once before and was not impressed with.

Gin, campari, vermouth, orange peel, stirred and strained over ice.

As it turns out, I simply hadn't had a properly made negroni in the past. And this one was utterly delightful and well-balanced, not the bitter, pungent mess I thought this drink normally is.

But my favorite cocktail to have at The Cellar - my standby - is definitely the Sazerac. Apparently it's the oldest cocktail in America.

I've failed to jot down its exact constituents as they prepare it at The Cellar - the only place where I order it - but I can tell you that it involves rinsing the glass in absinthe. Now that's cool.

There's another place I would normally not feel compelled to tell you about were it not for the fact that on a recent impulsive visit the place was all but empty.

When I normally visit Twisted Vine I merely pass through, the place being bustling and nary a chair to be found. Of course, I haven't made the attempt in quite some time because I became fatigued with the clientele. Why? Because I go to Twisted Vine to have a glass of wine (or seven) and a snack and read my book in peace. Not to be interrupted by some inebriated, bored bourgeois clown whose meandering attention inevitably provokes them to repeatedly come between me and my book so as to impart their sagacious platitudes. Why do normal people find the presence of literature so offensive in public spaces?

On this recent, meandering walk I found the same, familiar faces behind the bar with nary a task to work on, as the place was much slower than I'd expected. It had been quiet lately, one of them told me.

The entire staff at Twisted is excellent. Every one of them has always made me feel welcome and been accommodating. So I sat down to have some savory snacks and sample a couple flights.

The summer white flight is always a delight on a warm day. I like pairing it with some of their crab cakes - it's not easy to find good crab cakes, it is? The image above would show you said cakes were it not for the fact that I devoured them before it occurred to me to capture them for posterity.

The second flight was a product of factors I'd never expected to coalesce: wines grown and made in Arizona as the brain child of Tool's Maynard James Keenan. Yup, that happened.

The one in the middle, the 2010 Nachise, is particularly good. 47% syrah, 19% grenache, 15% mourvedre, 13% petite sirah, 5% couniose.

They also pour generously with their flights, so yes, I do endorse a visit, especially now that beer is so en vogue that the place no longer apparently captures the imagination of the trendy. Perhaps now my book and I can go back and enjoy ourselves in peace, free from the mental molestation the blessed peasants in dive bars rarely impose on me.

Mojito, Double Pear Martini, Pimm's Punch

My only intention had been to spend the day doing reconnaissance for the upcoming Harry Potter Day at Disneyland. But then I received a call from my friend Lacy out of nowhere, suggesting we meet at the Park, where, conveniently, I was. So once she was off work (early for Labor Day weekend) we met up at the Lounge for a drink, thereby inducting another lady friend to the Carthay Circle Drinking Club.

"What's with all the womanizing, Zoe?" 

What can I say? I'm an animal.

Lacy's pretty amazing these days. She recently began working at WDI (that's Imagineering to you) and regaled me on this day with the story of how she came to find her place in the magic factory. Naturally all her Disnerd friends are consumed with jealousy, and outraged at the fact that anyone should posses not only her genetics but also her precocious talent.

Anyway, checking a couple more items off the Lounge's roster...

I decided to try the Carthay Club Mojito: Bacardi Superior Rum, Organic Mint from nearby farms, fresh Lime Juice, and Organic Agave Nectar topped with locally sourced Purified Sparkling Water served over Crushed Ice.

My notes say my drink was tart and strong. Those were the two adjectives I used, one of which I've used often. I really should start finding more describing words that apply to the realm of flavor. The fact that I did not write more than two short words is indicative of the fact that this drink, though not unpleasant, was not one that captured my imagination nor fostered a desire to  have another at a later time.

Lacy ordered the Pimm's Punch, seated to the right of my mojito in the image above, of which I forgot to transcribe the ingredients. 

Lacy's notes were that it was not a typical fruity drink, and is nice on a warm summer day. I agreed, this time around. I vaguely recall feeling it was a pinch too sweet the last time I tried it.

Lacy's second round was a Double Pear Martini: Double Cross and Absolut Pear Vodka, Pear Nectar, and fresh Lime Juice complimented with a marinated Baby Pear, served up.

"It tastes like drinking a pear," was Lacy's observation. And she's right. The beverage somehow even evokes the semi-sandy texture of a pear. I can't say whether that's a psychosomatic experience.

We also shared a whiskey flight but were distracted by conversation and made no notes at all. Maybe I won't bother ever making notes on the whiskey flights. Maybe I'll just enjoy them. Perhaps whiskey belongs in the province of conversation, revelry, and immediacy rather than documentation.

The word whiskey, they say, comes from the Gaelic "usquebaugh," which means "water of life."

After this we strolled for a while.

Irish Coffee, Tequila Daisy, Doctor Who

I was brutalized from the previous evening when I couldn't get to sleep and resorted to drinking half a bottle of brandy. (Never again. Never.) Nevertheless my friend Melanie and I had plans, and guess where she wanted to go?

And thus the Carthay Circle Drinking Club inducted a new member. Melanie wants to know when her picture and a plaque will appear on the wall of my apartment along with the other affiliates.

Here she is making sure everything is copacetic in the matrix while trying a Ginger Rogers (see previous entry).

In order not to fall asleep in my chair I elected to start with the Irish Coffee: Jameson Irish Whiskey, hot Coffee, and two Sugar Cubes topped with a frothy Cream. (As ever, I am deferring to the capitalization choices of the menu's copywriter.)

I was not given a straw, and since my bartender was not a fool I assume it's not something she forgot. The way the components are stratified makes one expect an initial mouthful of foam with the same satisfaction as that one concentrated chunk of sour cream in a drive-through burrito. However, if sipped gingerly, the right amount of foam combines with each dose of coffee, the combination being unctuous and pleasant.

Feeling nearly human I was ready to try my own Brown Derby, rather than sample another members'. My notes: very sweet, cloy, enjoyable.

My resolution to sample the entire menu must by necessity entail trying elements I normally want nothing to do with, meaning tequila.

The Tequila Daisy: Don Julio Reposado Tequila, Cointreau, Creme Yvette Violet Liquer, fresh Lime Juice, and Organic Agave Nectar, served up.

My camera isn't well-suited to taking underexposed images, and I loathe the look of flash-images, so I try whenever taking pictures for my blog to remember the advice Woody Harrelson gave in Zombieland: exhale before you shoot.

I expected the tequila taste to be hidden, as it is in so many psychedelic popular drinks it finds itself in, but no; it's up front. Someone as prejudiced as I am must leap in and make peace with their tequila issues.

Truth to be told, I did not dislike it. I liked it more than several other drinks I've had in the Lounge - the Hemingway Daiquiri comes to mind.

My Tequila Daisy came with a violet flower. I can only assume it's because the bartender liked me better. Melanie asked if we could trade. We could not.

Then we talked about Doctor Who for a couple hours.

Phil Collins, Phailure

Being in the neighborhood I impulsively attempted to drop into the Lounge, which was roped off. A wardrobe rack was stationed outside and a large dolly crane was parked in the esplanade, which meant that the Lounge would be closed to the public for the entire day or at least until the heel-dragging production crew got around to shooting whatever Family Channel spot was slated for the editing bay's delete bin (I will not use the term "cutting room floor," which was suited for a more civilized era of mass media).

I still had some writing to do, so I elected to try the Uva Bar.

I selected "'The Phil' Collins": Gin, St. Germain, raspberries, cucumber, lime juice. Our host seemed enthused to plug the value of the cocktail menu so I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt.

It doesn't taste particularly like either Genesis or innocuous pop tunes. It tastes both medicinal and tart but is a refreshing cocktail aptly suited for common tastes on a warm summer evening.

Anyway, back to my writing project. Hopefully next time the bartenders in the Lounge will have something to do besides wait for shooting to commence while pretending to wipe down the counter again.

[three pages of unrelated notes later...]

Okay, I hadn't planned on writing more about Uva this evening, but tonight has been too entertaining, in the way that only a working shit show can be if you're not involved with it.

First H. (the name I'm giving to the host who has been trying to make me cocktails) starts losing it after her first hour here and makes her first reference to being a "manager, I'm not even supposed to be over here tonight," meaning my side of the bar, I can only assume. Later, M. (who wears the purple polo of management but doesn't posses the proper gravitas) is asked by H: "can you do a sweep for pint glasses, I need them." 

"... Huh?"

"Pint glasses, I'm almost out."

He holds up two dirty glasses before him, glasses that only one who has never met the concept of volume measurement or beer could conceive as what she was requesting.

"Those are pilsners," H. says.

"Well... tell me what you want!" responds M.

Seriously? H. seems to be thinking. "Go around and collect pint glasses for the wash."

"Alright, I don't know if you're asking me to get a box from the office or something..."

We didn't even act this way in front of civilians when I worked at Starbucks. And we earned a pittance compared to M. 

I would say that, except for the food, Uva is a total shit show, were it not for bartenders Justin and Temple - who I think may be brothers. These incidents don't phase them, nor do they bat an eye when I laughingly describe the conduct in their establishment as making me want to say "Mom, Dad, stop it! You're ruining my birthday party!" They don't let the bastards grind them down; they're among the reasons I keep coming back (on occasion).

Backwards In High Heels

Two entries in the log for this Friday evening.

I happened to stop into the lounge after meeting with family for lunch and found that lo, our favorite bartender from Trader Sam's has reappeared! And by "our" I refer to my friends Ryan and Brianne, two fellow Fullertonians who do the Park in my preferred fashion: with a perspiring glass in hand.

Anyway, today I decided to try the Sparkling Mare... The sound you just heard was my friend Autumn (see previous post) yelling from the rooftops that I already had one on a trip previous and why don't I merely abide by her word and some other business about Chomsky being full of it or something.

The Sparkling Mare: Iron Horse Sparkling Wine, St-Germain Elderflower Liquer, and Aperol Orange Apertiff.

My notes from this afternoon: Clean, good aroma, not too tart. Just enough viscosity to taste like booze and prevent you from downing it like a wine cooler on a hot day (which it was and still is).

After a few sips the drink takes on the character and feeling of drinking Franzia (only a bit sparkling). Does the fact that it has the pink color of a hideous white zinfandel affect my impression?

The second drink that caught my eye was the Ginger Rogers: Plymouth Gin, Luxardo Apricot Liquer, Noilly Prat Dry Vermouth, and a hint of fresh Lemon Juice, served up.

My notes: Nice citrusy nose, very well balanced, no annoying tart acidity, no cloying boozy thickness. This one is a winner - my first and definitely not my last Ginger Rogers. "And it's got three ounces of liquor in it too," added my kindly, silver-haired and sagacious bartender.

I often keep a classic film channel on at home as background company, not just because I enjoy the content but because I can't stand advertising, which comprises 40% of the content of all other basic cable channels. There was a Fred Estaire and Ginger Rogers movie on three days ago. Any time I glimpse one of these films or hear the name Ginger Rogers I'll always think of the same four words:

Backwards in high heels.

Martinis, Brown Derbys, Club 33

My friend Autumn - you'll probably be seeing a bit of her in future posts - had never been to Club 33, so I asked a friend of mine to set up a dinner reservation as a belated birthday celebration. It was all downhill from there.

This day also saw the first coming to order of the Carthay Circle Drinking Club, but not before Autumn and I got a three round head start.

Let's pour into my notes and see if we can decrypt what happened yesterday.

I began with the Carthay Martini. The cocktail menu describes it as follows:

Classically prepared with

Hendrick's Gin or Double

Cross Vodka, Lillet Blanc 

Dry Vermouth, and Gourmet 

Truffle Olives served with 

an ice sphere made from 

locally sourced purified 

water.

I'm attempting to recreate the line breaks from the menu to illustrate our confusion when it came to the drink's actual constituents - was there meant to be a comma after the word "Blanc" which a copywriter simply omitted due to the line wrap? Or are they suggesting that Lillet Blanc is or makes a brand of dry vermouth? 

What we eventually got out of our bartender, after failing to convey the nature of our question several times, is that rather than add dry vermouth to the cocktail as would be the case in a typical martini they use Lillet Blanc which is sprayed into the glass using an atomizer. Whether or not the menu conveys a dubious description is a point of contention, I suppose. Anyway, martinis that evoke the Vesper seem to be coming back in style as far as I can tell.

The Vesper was invented by Ian Fleming - yes, it's the drink Daniel Craig orders in Casino Royale. You cannot actually recreate this drink, however, as Fleming's recipe calls for Kina Lillet, which technically no longer exists; the closest approximation to the original formula is Lillet Blanc. So there.

Side note: I have "Casablanca" on while typing this up. Days ago, when I called Autumn to discuss meeting up, I told her we were going to have a Casablanca day. I also happened to have taken something very potent to help me sleep right before I called her, which was genius. I really wish I could know what it's like to have a conversation with me while I'm entering an altered state; it must be amazing. Anyway, I said it would be a Casablanca day because if you've seen as many classic films as I have you'll get the impression, if we allow these films to substitute as actual artifacts of the era, that everyone wore several layers of fantastic formalwear in all occasions and climates, whether in the Moroccan desert or in a coal mine. The weather forecast indicated temperatures in the mid-90's, but as this was a day not only for Club 33 (which has a dress code) but also for being fabulous in the Carthay Circle Lounge, I planned on taking my favorite new jacket for a ride (over a collared shirt and atop my best dress pants). If you're going to be hot you might as well be hawt. Autumn went out shopping on the morning of our adventure trying to find herself a sun dress, which she is convinced are no longer sold, so she ended up with a smart black and red number. I promised her we'd be the best dressed non-employees in the Park.

Let's talk about ice spheres (made from locally sourced purified water, naturally).

Ask four different bartenders how and why this contraption does precisely what it does and you'll get four nearly-different answers. The procedure, nonetheless, goes like this:

A cylinder of ice is placed between two brass elements with a spherical lacuna between them.

It takes less than a minute for the brass, using weight, kinetic energy, heat - something - to melt and warp the cylinder into a neat little sphere which ends up in your martini. Despite what you might expect, the result is not a watered-down cocktail. Verdict: thumbs up, naturally. It has Hendrick's, after all.

If I were to be entirely honest, I think the truffle (and blue cheese?) stuffed olives are a bit overpowering. However, I keep eating them, so they can't be all that bad.

Autumn began her drinking marathon with a Brown Derby, which consists of Bulleit Bourbon, fresh grapefruit juice and honey, served up. I'll get to her notes on the drink in just a bit.

I began round two with something from the menu I had zero familiarity with, the Hemingway Daiquiri: Bacardi Superior Rum, Luxardo Maraschino Liquer, Fresh Lime and Grapefruit Juice, and Orange Agave Nectar, served up. I'm recreating the description from the menu verbatim because I didn't understand why the description called for using the word "and" twice.

My notes tell me I thought this drink was tart, and evoked thoughts of margaritas. I know this description is about the Hemingway because Autumn made a note in my book to explain this later, should I forget. She became increasingly more helpful as the day wore on.

Autumn ordered the Gin & Tonic: Botannical. Hendrick's Gin, Premium Tonic, Star Anise, Cardamom and Mint. This is a really delicious and refreshing drink which I'll order for myself on my next visit.

She also ordered what I would have assumed to be a dubious pairing, a duo of chocolate truffles. The lighter one she described as lovely, rich and decadent with milk chocolate on the nose and a hazelnut finish.

Next up for me: The Aviation Cocktail: Plymouth Gin, Creme Yvette Violet Liquer, Luxardo Maraschino Liquer, and Fresh Lime Juice, served up.

I thought this one tasted medicinal, and also tart. I like the hint of violet but I was becoming fatigued with tart drinks.

"It tastes like old candy," Autumn observed. "Not like rotten candy but like old people candy... You should make a note - that's my favorite kind of candy. I'm the queen of black licorice." 

We took a break to go on the Monster's Inc ride; a dark ride was all we had time for. By the time we disembarked Matt, Darcy, Raustin and Noel had arrived and the first meeting of the Carthay Circle Drinking Club was coming to order.

I had it in my mind to try a Sparkling Mare until Autumn pointed out that I already tried one of those on our last visit, during which we both went to the dark side.

My note reads: "Autumn says I had a sparkling Mare last time" which she continued by writing "and a Pimm's Punch but you're too stubborn to listen to my genius. Jerk..."

I have no notes on what Matt and Darcy ordered to drink. I was too preoccupied with telling the story of all the poor drinking decisions Autumn and I made on our last visit, and why we will never again order a drink with a glowing cube now that the Glojito no longer exists.

Raustin (not pictured - the only photo I have of him is incomprehensibly blurry) ordred a Brown Derby. My transcription of his tasting notes says it was sweeter than he expected. He thought it would be more citrus.

"Bourbon is sweet, what were you expecting?" asked Autumn. Then she scrawled some more sagacity in my notebook: "I disagree. It's a balanced drink with tart notes that brings out the sweetness." She wrote many things, but in general I'm only going to share excerpts of Autumn's vitriol thoughts.

Skipping over the next two paragraphs of Autumn's sagacity we come to:

*Now we've had enough drinks to discuss people's sex lives. Good times.

*DO NOT TELL PEOPLE HOW POORLY I SPELL*

*Darcy says Racer 5 = yes. "It's smokey."

(Not transcribed are Autumn's thoughts on beer in general, which involve words I'd rather not affix near photos of beverages.)

*Now we're drunk enough for casual racism. Not me, of course, I have class.

(Not transcribed: the rest of that page of Autumn's notes.)

Not wanting to imbibe another new drink I could potentially forget I went with a Carthay Manhattan, the only other cocktail in the lounge for which they create the spherical ice.

Around the same time - for a pick me up - I had a Chip Shot (detailed in first entry) and Autumn had the Brandy Alexander... I forgot to write down the ingredients for that one. I'll have to pick them up later.

The Brandy Alexander is wonderful. I love the subtle hint of nutmeg that teases the nose.

[Casablanca just finished so I've put in a copy of Harvey, starring Jimmy Stewart. Elwood P. Dowd makes everything better, particularly following a day of consuming low grade poison in marathon format.]

Soon it was time to take Autumn to Club 33 for dinner.

You'll probably know all about 33 already, so I won't belabor its history or exclusivity; the interweb has plenty of resources if you want to learn about it.

I want to focus first on what is good about 33: all of the times I've visited the club in the past. Those were all good meals and good experiences. And although the entire staff is excellent and give stellar service, the kitchen failed us that night. Out of respect for Autumn's belated birthday experience I cannot leave that part out of our review.

I did not know until our arrival that Autumn had never seen Fantasmic before, which she attempted to watch with an obstructed view from the balcony. The show was a total failure. Half of the pyrotechnics were absent, Murphy the dragon was not working at all, and Ursula's float never appeared.

I've had utterly delightful meals at 33. This one, unfortunately, was preternaturally bad. Autumn chose the corn bisque which was gelatinous and abnormally sweet. Everything was abnormally sweet, in fact. Here in my notes in Autumn's handwriting are the words: Please use the word "hideous" when referring to the bisque. 

I started with the scallops which were mysteriously piled atop what seemed to be turkey stuffing and paired with a dipping sauce which, as far as I can tell, was either cocktail sauce or ketchup with a few teaspoons of sugar added. I had scallops at 33 last year and, unlike on this occasion, they were delicious and had been prepared for a sane person's palate. 

As for Autumn's entree, here are her notes: Everything was sugar coated. The potatoes had sugar around the edge, the snap peas were tossed in sugar. The short rib was covered in a sugar sauce and it was set in a port reduction sauce. It was awful.

The only other note she left in my moleskine reads: Stop calling them 5-toed cats. They're "polydactyl." (We had been discussing Hemingway's inbred cats.)

My Chateubriand, though lacking in seasoning, was edible.

For her birthday they brought Autumn a chocolate mousse and box of macaroons. They were dead set on putting as much sucrose in her as possible. She left with an upset stomach.

Better luck next time.

She did enjoy the fireworks, though, which she got to watch from the club's balcony and were a delight once the feral kids around us stopped kicking her. She described them as awe inspiring and beautiful. She gets emotional about fireworks. Looking at the world through her eyes is fun when she takes a breath from itemizing everything I do or say that is stupid or incorrect.

My goal of drinking the entire menu is well underway. I leave you with a photo Darcy took in the Lounge. Until next time: Cheers.