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.