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.
"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?"
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.
