Today we take a second, closer look at the Aviation Cocktail, as I blew by it the first time around with a fatigued palate and inebriated pen.
Plymouth Gin, Créme Yvette Violet Liqueur, Luxardo Maraschino Liqueur, and fresh Lemon Juice, served up.
Clever drinking companion Autumn appraises it to be Italian in essence; she thinks it's the violet that lends it such a feeling.
It makes me think I should be on a dusty porch in Tuscany at dusk having an apéritif before coming inside for a hearty meal full of starch. I should also have three days facial hair growth, be wearing the same clothes I was laboring in the groves with, my skin still radiating heat, waiting patiently for the first wisps of evening breeze to cascade over residual perspiration.
One of Autumn's preferred standbys is the Brown Derby, which they of course make very well here.
Because we only make responsible decisions while drinking our way through the Park we decided to sup in the lounge of Napa Rose.
For desert I had two scoops of kiwi sorbet. Autumn elected a hot chocolate and doughnut dish with - there is no other way to say this - gold. She felt like having a Tywin Lannister-esque bowel movement. I stood watch at the privy door keeping an eye out for dwarves with crossbows. If the previous two sentences make no sense it's your own fault for not having read "A Song of Ice and Fire: A Storm of Swords" yet.
Bloody Marys are what one is supposed to drink when one is feeling a bit damaged, right?
Ryan and Brianne's passes were due to expire. I decided to join them. Before they joined me I elected to put a checkmark next to the Bloody Mary: Belvedere Bloody Mary Vodka, Bloody Mary Mix, Barbecue Bitters, and Dill Pickle Brine garnished with a locally grown Organic Dill Sprig and a dehydrated Horseradish-crusted Tomato Slice.
I wish I had more bloody mary experience to compare this to. Every time I drink one I feel like I'm trying to bully my taste buds into growing up again rather than react with the same bewilderment they possessed in trying V8 or tomato juice as a child.
This version is much kinder to my sensibilities, and packed with plenty of pungency, needing not even a drop of tabasco, which it did not have, and neither Worcestershire sauce. It has enough gusto to smother the awkward flavor of tomato juice. It's strange that I should find tomato juice to be such a strange flavor when the tomato is my second favorite fruit. I oftentimes just eat tomatoes as a hand fruit, especially the Roma variety.
It was a cold day (by Southland standards). I derived guilty pleasure in seeing tourists leave their cars wearing t-shirts and carrying no extra layering, assuming the sunshine boded a warm day, not a wind-chilled afternoon and shivering dusk.
Day drinking with Ryan and Brianne is like an impromptu holiday; and a marathon event.
And no day at the Park with them is complete without warming the soles of our shoes on the patio of Napa Rose. Should you find yourself in said lounge, see if Matt is working. He may be the best bartender in Orange County (with apologies to the excellent and skilled Carthay staff, who haven't as much license to experiment).
Ryan and Brianne will resume having passes in the Fall. Their myrth will be missed.
