Lemon Mango Tango

We needed a stretch of the legs. Jen elected to join us for a quick romp in the Park. I wanted to try another of Carthay's teas, as several weeks still stand between myself and the expiration of my self-imposed sabbatical from inebriation.

"Lemon Mango Tango: Zesty Meyer lemons balanced by sweet mangos. Light, fruity acidity makes for a refreshing infusion."

I tried to talk Jen into having another Pimm's Punch (see previous entry) so we could witness the infusion of gregariousness with neurotic self-consciousness. She said no, water please. (I'll try again next time.)

This tea lends itself to a dollop of honey more readily than the rooibos - the sweetness cuts very nicely through the tartness.

Organic Tangerine Rooibos

My sabbatical from alcohol began a few weeks ago. I haven't taken up permanent residence on the wagon, I plan on having a drink with some friends on April 21st (because there is no way I'm not joining my friends in a pint on Potter Day Lite) but for various reasons involving diet, physical and psychological health, and finance, I'm drying up for a couple months; then all bets are off.

Until then: tea!

Our friend Chris was in town and wanted to take in the Carthay Lounge I'd been writing about. The Carthay Circle Drinking Club's constituents on this day also included Jen, Eryhn, Darcy, and Hannah. Chris and I were happily gallivanting with a traveling clam-jam.

My photo indicates that Chris began with an Aviation Cocktail (reviewed recently) but my notes suggest he must have had a Brown Derby at some point because I find the words "well-balanced, grapefruit not overwhelming" and "honey + grapefruit good." These observations might also have belonged to Darcy, who seems to have been enjoying a Derby initially as well.

Given that I wasn't "drinking" I decided to investigate the latter pages of the lounge menu. I've become increasingly fond of loose-leaf teas of late. I'm also trying to abstain from caffeine, so our sober explorations began with the "Organic Tangerine Rooibos: Rich in vitamins, minerals, and antioxidants."

Carthay's loose-leaf tea pots are served with a lemon wedge and an individual serving jar of honey, which is lovely, but this red tea stands up well all on its own. (I have actually found myself returning to Carthay for a repeat pot of their rooibos.) It is a friendly, well-spirited tea that tastes like a pleasant walk in a tropical climate.

In all the years I've known Jen, I'd never seen her have an alcoholic beverage until this night. Not that she's never had one before, she just tends to associate alcohol with headaches, which I can only assume is the product of insufficient hydration.

She wanted something sweet, but being vegan, the Brandy Alexander and Chip Shot were not options. The committee eventually agreed on her having a Pimm's Punch.

Jen enjoyed it, which is not surprising given how innocuous the Pimm's Punch tastes, and found herself soon describing her general sensation as "fuzzy." For the next hour she would check every few minutes to make sure she wasn't being too obnoxious because she was being so bold as to participate in the conversation and have a good time (which can, to the semi-reticent, be terrifying).

I'm hoping I can talk her into having another drink with me when my abstinence concludes.

And then there's Eryhn, who rarely needs excessive coercion. Her souvenir Ariel cup was a particular point of interest that evening, or so the photos suggest. As far as I know, Eryhn still hopes to be Ariel when she grows up. Gingers do need their role models.

Eating Carthay

The drinking companion you see least on this blog is my girlfriend of six years. You don't see much of her because the number of alcoholic beverages she imbibes in any given calendar year can usually be counted on one hand.

We find the two of us here on this blog because we decided to finally take in the full Carthay Circle Restaurant experience in honor of her birthday.

The proper dining room is on the second floor. Every other entry on this blog pertains merely to the bar and lounge domain on the ground floor.

For starters I had the Ginger Pork Satay with Green Papaya Slaw and Mango Raita. 

The pork is tender, sweet and delectable. The rest of the plate - the slaw and raita - almost feel like a superfluous afterthought. I'd have been happy with just the satay. This one skewer was the highlight of the entire meal (for me, at least).

As an entree I had the Tiger Prawns on a Broth of Fingerling Potatoes, Leeks, Applewood Bacon and Thyme.

Definitely enjoyable, particularly if you're fond of prawns. Nothing to write home about, but certainly satisfying.

Her starter, which she found to be quite rich, was the Warm Artichoke Tart (with) Redwood Hills Goat Milk Cheddar, Baby Spinach and a Blood Orange Vinaigrette.

There is really nothing to complain about with this dish, its only downside being that the description of the ingredients is far more vibrant than the flavor of their combination and execution.

Her entree was the Vegetarian Mushroom Risotto; Roasted Carrot Coulis accented with Orange Truffles.

This dish made her vegetarian palate very happy. She loved the generous slices of portobello; large, well cooked slices of basidiomycota make her do a happy dance.

Ordering a starter and entree (or entree and desert) entitles a diner at Carthay to reserved seating (standing, rather) for the World of Color Show, which we both decided to take in finally on this occasion. The show, which might benefit from some semblance of a storyline, is mostly enjoyable until the last act (following the gratuitous death of Mufasa) at which point they completely lost me until the finale.

If I had the evening to do over again I would not have allowed myself to be persuaded to be seated outside, which is bereft of what would have been a very nice view were it not for the high, thick wall fence surrounding the balcony. Even if you're seated next to the wall you can't really see anything. And we missed out on soaking in the ornate nature of the main dining room with its mural ceiling, private rooms and intriguing alcoves. Then again, maybe being seated outside removed the distraction of middle class families who can't be bothered to ask their foul-smelling children to stop screaming for a few seconds.

The Carthay Circle Restaurant has the infrastructure, foundation and potential to be an excellent fine-dining restaurant experience, and on a long enough timeline they may yet fulfill the promise of the furnishings.

Aviation Cocktail

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 Mary

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.

Pisco Sour, Pickleback

"Pickleback! It's like Nickelback only... I forgot how to words."

My drinking companion for this round was Autumn. She seized my notebook and transcribed the words above to prevent me from forgetting that those sounds came out of my face during our last adventure.

She has a marvelous new blog where she talks about fashion. I can never remember how to spell the url (which is autumatopoeia.com). She's didactic as well as snarky; she teaches grown up men how to dress as such without embodying torpor, lists the trends that make her toes curl and those that make her spit vitriol, and explains why fashion is important to you; I highly recommend reading it, particularly if you think it is not.

Today we put a checkmark next to the Pisco Sour: Portón Pisco, fresh Lime Juice, Organic Agave Nectar, and Angostura Bitters, served up.

I had a Pisco Sour once in Arizona. At the time it contained whipped egg white. 

First impressions: the agave nectar flavor becomes more acute without the innocuous cushion of the egg. Agave reminds me of tequila. Tequila makes me think of poor decisions and ruinous evenings punctuated by labored breathing and the taste of bile. I imagine at first that muscling my way through this cocktail will be an ordeal.

I was wrong, of course, and my notes indicate that after half a glass I had made peace with the Pisco Sour. "In fact, it's my friend."

Autumn began with her favorite Carthay standby: the Gin & Tonic with Dill. She looked a bit like Sean Young in Blade Runner on this day.

We also found out on this trip, with squealing delight, that one of our favorite bartenders has a tummy bump hidden under her cummerbund. Though entirely unsolicited, we consented to be the child's namesake if desired.

Anyway, the Pickleback: an increasingly popular drinking trend that Autumn loves because she is totally gay for flavors like vinegar and brine. (Why I can't get her to sample seafood or try my favorite sushi place, aside from her being a desert rat, is beyond me.)

Quite simply, a Pickleback is a shot of pickle brine swallowed immediately after a shot of whiskey, the combination often referred to as a Whiskey and Pickle.

I thought these would form an unlikely alliance of complimentary flavor; they do not. The pickle brine cuts right through the viscosity of the whiskey, erases the flavor and smothers the burn of the alcohol. This is all fine and good, but I like the viscosity, the flavor and the burn - at least when it's a quality whiskey.

Pickle brine's pungency stands out like a thin person at Disneyland when following a shot of whiskey. "I like salty stuff!" explains Autumn. So do I, but I can't help but wonder if this is a thing that some drinkers do to faze their less epicurean friends, in the same way that I've enjoyed disconcerting dining companions at sushi bars by eating the bones of a Spanish Mackerel. 

Our first round of whiskey was Bulleit Rye. If we had been willing to spend more, say on George Dickel Special Reserve, we could have ordered a Dickel and Pickle. To be more frugal, our second and third rounds were Jameson Irish Whiskey. 

My conclusion: if I'm having a whiskey I'll truly enjoy, like Bulleit Rye, I'd rather just have the whiskey, as I actually enjoy the viscosity and the flush that creeps up into my face as the alcohol is burning off. If we're drinking something like Jameson, however, the Pickleback is brilliant!

Then we had a couple Chip Shots. Autumn tallied how many drinks we had imbibed that day and wrote scolding messages in my notebook. Then we were joined by Melanie, put booze in her and went on the Silly Symphony Swings a couple times before shouting our way to victory on Radiator Springs Racers. Then we went to my place where Autumn turned old potatoes into chips and I tried to help but ended up bleeding all over the kitchen floor. Then we forced Autumn to watch a couple episodes of Doctor Who to explain why Eccleston is our Doctor rather than Barty Crouch Junior. We chose "The Empty Child," which Autumn hated and complained about not only on anti-Whovian principle but also because it was scary and a two-parter. "Are you my mummy?"

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.