Tariquet

By habit I refer to it as Tariquet, which is actually the name of the distiller. It is properly referred to as an Armagnac, which is a region of southwest France wherein this spirit is distilled.

It is not cloy like mass-produced brandy, and borders on being what I would call an acquired taste. I say this because those who don't know what to expect feel like they're trying to swallow motor oil or feel that, to quote Ralph Wiggum, "it tastes like burning."

Despite a noticeable viscosity it has such heat that it feels as though it evaporates before one swallows it. This is the kind of beverage I like to have drinking companions sample in order to see them make funny faces.

Physical heat is important as well. One knowledgeable Carthay bartender recently served it to me with the snifter resting at a canted angle over a glass of hot water. This smooths out the taste, texture and experience.

Not being a cocktail, there is nothing about Armagnac that makes it specific to the Carthay Lounge. But I only have it when I am there, and tend to forget it exists when I'm elsewhere, hence this entry.

Having a high tolerance for alcohol, Tariquet comes in very handy when I need something that will get the job done. "Candy is dandy but liquor is quicker."

...

So then, just to make this more than a one-note entry, here's a song by my favorite band, The Vatican Cellars, about fencing. It was composed for a compilation about Olympic sports. Their assignment was fencing. I present for your enjoyment: "A Palpable Hit."

The Cicada Club

In this entry we venture away from the Carthay Lounge and visit a very special place called The Cicada Club. Silvia took me here for Valentine's Day.

Rounding 6th onto South Olive Street I find myself thinking "this city should be cleansed with fire." Then one pulls up to the valet in front of 617 and finds a miraculous oasis in a sea of depravity.

Upon entering the Oviatt Building (1928) one steps into antiquity encased in amber. The Cicada Club is a time capsule created by and for people who were raised on Turner Classic Movies and long to step into an art deco world which now exists only on celluloid; except it's still here, living and breathing, with hardly a hint of irony.

Watch any film from the 30's containing a nightclub scene. It exists in real life at the Cicada Club, replete with the original gilded ornamentation.

I didn't expect to enjoy the food. The venue's novelty caused me to expect bland mediocrity. I was pleasantly surpised by the quality of my scallop and whitefish special.

We dined upstairs, enjoying the view. Adjacent to our table was a lounge area and bar, replete with a piano that some of the evening's talent used to warm up.

Dancing to swinging tunes is a novelty in and of itself, but as an added bonus there are dancing girls.

Speaking of eye candy, look how sparkling Silvia is when she elects to "be a girl."

Add to all this a set of seasoned bartenders who know how to make a proper Old Fashioned and you create an experience I was geeking out over from the moment the doorman greeted us until staggering to the car.

And best of all: there's hardly a hipster to be found in the joint.

I'm looking forward to our next visit.

Spicy Chicken Roll

It may have been a mistake, but I introduced my father to the Carthay Lounge. He's been illustrating my initial enamoration all over again.

As previously stated, I don't generally go in for rolls. He does. So he wanted to try the "Spicy Chicken Roll - with Cilantro, Cucumber and Lettuce."

This is better than I expected, particularly because of the sauce which I can't remember the name of. It's not soy sauce, it's sweeter and much more viscous.

The picture my father took with his phone is giving me Carthay cravings, actually. I'd much rather be there right now than in this office. Working in a cubicle is life's way of saying "go sit in the corner and think about what you did."

My father is retired, though, and a creature of habit, so he needn't wait long for the time of day he calls "martini-thirty." On a good day that's around the time the Lounge opens. For me, today, that won't be until around 4pm. I just have to hope the old man is living it up in my stead.

I suddenly recall Sam Elliot in The Big Lebowski: "The Dude abides. I don't know about you but I take comfort in that. It's good knowin' he's out there. The Dude. Takin' 'er easy for all us sinners."

Scotch Whisky Flight

Sometimes you need a session of day drinking with J-Bomb; particularly when your head has been wrapped around trying to create the puzzle for Potter Day.

Look, you try crafting a puzzle designed to keep 400 geeks busy for 6 hours - even when they're working together - and tell me you won't need a day of bacchanalian unwinding.

See the shirt she's wearing? It once enabled us to skip the line for Space Mountain. This was ages ago, before my girlfriend had gotten me into Doctor Who, before the first thing you saw when you stepped into Hot Topic was Tardis-themed merchandise, when Whovians could still be all hipster about it. A sympathetic Cast Member saw her shirt and said "Alons-y" and handed her a pass that enabled us to skip the Space Mountain queue.

Today I checked off the Scotch Whisky Flight. J-Bomb happened to know that if it's Scotch you don't put the letter 'e' in whisky; and she doesn't even drink it.

The word whisky comes from the gaelic "uisce beatha" which means "water of life."

Carthay's Scotch Whisky flight consists of the following:

1. Johnnie Walker Green Blended Malt.

2. Oban 14 Yr Old Single Malt.

3. The Glenlivet 19 Yr Old Single Malt.

Whisky flights come with a glass of water. Our host on this day was under the impression it merely acts as a palette cleanser. A previous host - the one who served me my first flight ages ago - suggested that if one adds drops of water to the whisky it "opens it up" and broadens the flavor. In sampling this flight I acted upon the assumption that adding dihydrogen monoxide drops after the first sip adds texture to the experience.

I scribbled things in an attempt to create what passes, in my imagination, for tasting notes. Transcribed in all their horrific verbatim they read:

1. Peaty. Not too much burn. Gentle heat. Drops: take the edge off the peatiness. 

2. This one immediately makes me smile. Balance and smoothness.

3. Very smooth, nothing to complain about, but not as much luster and spirit as the Oban.

Carthay Club Mojito

My friend Darcy had just finished her shift. I was at the Park doing recon and solicited her company for post-work libations.

This is what Darcy looks like when she doesn't know I'm taking her picture.

But she likes having her picture taken, so here's what she looks like when she notices I'm trying to take candid photos.

Sharing our table (owing to crowded conditions) was a woman from Utah who invited us to join her and swore she wouldn't make a peep or bother us. She then proceeded to interrupt each and every statement that escaped from our mouths and would not shut up until I politely elected we change venues. Per my notes she suggested that if ever we're in Utah we should visit something called the Red Iguana.

But anyway... Darcy had a Carthay Martini. She commented that she wonders if the reason why she enjoys martinis is not as much for the gin as for the fancy olives.

I decided to cross the Carthay Club Mojito off the list: 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.

I'm usually not fond of mojitos; I find that they taste immature. They taste viscous and tawdry and cheap. Not this one, though, and I assume that's due to a higher than average integrity of ingredients. The Carthay Mojito doesn't taste like it's made of silly syrups, it is crisp and refreshing. On a warm summer day I might be tempted to revisit it; and I don't even like mint, generally.

Darcy ordered a snack I wouldn't normally be drawn to, a roll. I failed to take note of which it was, and I'm not sure it's even still on the current menu. I could be wrong about that. The one thing I really liked about this snack - its one highlight in my mind - is the coating of roe. I love roe. I love all kinds of roe. In the case of this roll it adds a wonderful pungency.

Next time you're at your favorite sushi place, step outside your comfort zone and try some flying fish roe.

Negroni, Wildberry Lemonade

By accompanying me Silvia was able to add a character/outfit to her collection. She collects Disney characters, has an overflowing photo album with a few rare gems. She was just recently able to add The Bride and the Tightrope Walking Girl by virtue of participating in the Tinkerbell 10k.

Her reward for getting in shape, I suppose. The general public, however, were on that day able to get a photo with Minnie in flapper togs in Carthay's outer entryway.

Anyway, the Negroni: Beefeater Gin, Campari, and Carpano Antica Sweet Vermouth served over Hard Crushed Ice.

I'd have to describe the Negroni as an acquired taste. Our waitress kindly asked me if I'd ever had Campari before, which I interpret to mean that she's had a Negroni or two turned back by those who don't know what they're getting into.

The flavor is overpowering at first. It makes your face contort. Then, as you drink more, you acclimate to it. By the time you approach the bottom of the glass, you're enjoying this peculiarly bitter cocktail.

I made Silvia try it. She made the exact face I was hoping she'd make - wish I had a picture of it.

Silvia had the Wildberry Lemonade: All Natural Lemonade with flavors of Blackberry, Strawberry, Raspberry, and Blueberry with a Spritz of Purified Sparkling Water, topped with Wildberry Fruit Foam.

It is tart, delightful, and full of goodness though not saccharine. It reminds Silvia of a pink lemonade with a hint of raspberry. This is one I'll remember for teetotaler companions and my next dry spell.

And oh yes, I sampled the Canard Confit Sliders - with Apricot Conserve, Watercress, Crisp Onions, and Taleggio Cheese. They're okay if you like delicious snacks.

They nearly make up for the disappearance of my favorite Lounge snack, the Moroccan Meatballs. Nearly. But it's a sad recurring theme that my favorite item from any menu of any venue I frequent is always the first to go.