xraytheenforcer: (soylent green)


Burns night went well. I did not fuck up the vegetarian (in fact, vegan) haggis, and the meaty real deal was quite tasty. Too bad my stomach decided that yesterday, of all days, was a Time for Hate. I spent the entire day in pain, chewing on antacids at work, and finally descending into PeptoBisland when I got home (in the end, nothing really worked). It really, really, really sucked. I couldn't even stomach more than 2 swallows of whisky, it was that bad. So I can't say I was much company, but Doug soldiered on (and also made a tasty cranachan). Still, we read some poetry, and listened to some songs, and generally had a good time with some of our friends.
xraytheenforcer: (soylent green)
The haggis arrived today. Well, one of the haggises arrived today (I ordered one from each butcher to compare/contrast quality). 
xraytheenforcer: (cocktail)
Nothing much of use to say. We are drinking rum and generally enjoying life.

The Year of Fuck It! is going very well. I am sure somebody is going to shit on my parade soon enough, but I cannot but be relatively happy. I've even lost a few pounds and am now feeling much better about myself. Still not skinny like I used to be, but fuck it. I like having curves.

I think I might need to make a Year of Fuck It! avatar...hah.

knackered.

Sep. 30th, 2007 01:04 pm
xraytheenforcer: (manhattancoctkail)
Bartended a party last night with Doug and Kristin (Alchemist from the boards; she of the Boskone madness). Had fun, but that's some exhausting work, especially when fighting a cold. Also, stayed beyond sober. Tried sips of each of the two drinks we served (classic margaritas and moscow mules), and then drank water for the duration. Frightening, non?
xraytheenforcer: (cocktail)
We just finished off the bottle of 15-year Highland Park that we bought while up in Orkney. A sad day, to be sure, but damn that whisky is good stuff.
xraytheenforcer: (cocktail)
Didn't pack as many boxes, but did shred a shit-ton of paper today. Taking a break, though, to enjoy a Calvados cocktail.

Calvados Cocktail

1 1/2 oz Calvados 
1 oz orange juice
1/4 oz Cointreau 
1 dash orange bitters

Shake and strain into a chilled glass. Stare at the destruction around you, and despair, because you'll never get all this shit packed by next Saturday afternoon.
xraytheenforcer: (white hat)
So, at long last I tried an experiment -- one I've been wanting to do for almost a year.

See, in the old days (like, handlebar moustache era), bartenders did not use mere "simple syrup" (that's sugar dissolved in water) to sweeten their cocktails. No. They used something called Sirop de Gomme (aka Gomme syrup), which is simple syrup (usu. 2:1 sugar:water) with dissolved gum arabic**. This mixture entirely changes the character of the cocktail. It makes the drink incredibly smooth and silky -- in short, it's a fucking revelation, and another bald indicator that most bartenders (and bar patrons) don't know what the fuck they're doing these days.

So of course we had to try our new gomme in a variety of cocktails, all of which demand simple syrup, last night. A Commodore. A New York cocktail. A Sazerac. In the end, the Sazerac was the clear winner -- those drinks that are booze-only and that require sweetening will benefit most from the gomme. But it did a creditable job with the Commodore as well.

Now, three cocktails in any evening is going to make me loopy -- I also managed 1/3 of a beer with dinner, but gave the rest to Doug. Amazingly, the only aftereffects of my booze blowout was a wicked headache at 11pm last night, and some crazy-ass dreams about monsters off the coast of Australia. Awesome.

**In my research, I found that gum arabic is a major crop in Sudan, and which has been linked with the entirely fucking awful Sudanese government/Janjaweed. Well, fuck. I'd already bought it and dissolved half the packet in water. No going back after that. Although now I'm kind of curious where else gum arabic (or gum acacia) is found...
xraytheenforcer: (bunny)
I realize that I've lost sight of the original purpose of this LJ -- that is, to document the cocktails I drink and lay down the recipes for those who wish to join me in liver destruction. Through my self-indulgence, I have brought shame on my family. *seppuku* Augh!

Marguerite Fizz

1 1/2 oz gin (4.5 cl, 3/8 gills)
1/4 oz grenadine (6 dashes, 1/16 gills)
1/4 oz fresh lemon juice (6 dashes, 1/16 gills)

Fill with ice, soda

This one is a delightful drink for warm weather. Basically, add the first four ingredients into a cocktail shaker and shake, then strain into a highball glass. Add ice, and top with soda (seltzer) water. Enjoy while shopping for apartments and contemplating your fate at the hands of the fickle real estate market.
xraytheenforcer: (Default)
The shit I do for money!

I gotta prepare a 5-course gourmet meal tomorrow night. The caveat: I'll get paid over a thousand bills for the article I write about the experience afterward. The hitch: I gotta set myself up for failure by picking really time-dependent or finicky dishes for the entire thing. Like, blinis and souffle and duck.



Lemon Drop
1.5 oz vodka
3/4 oz lemon juice
1 tsp sugar

Shake over ice, strain into a sugar-rimmed cocktail glass. Get blind drunk with cousins you only see once a year.
xraytheenforcer: (Default)
Damn. My gran passed away last night. Now, those who've read this journal for awhile will remember when we had to move her from her home (which she had lived in since she was 3 years old) and into a nursing home -- and my very distressing visit to her there this past March. Mentally, Gran hasn't been around for a long time, but goddamn, it's still hard. Hard to deal with her decline, hard to deal with her death.

Well, if there's one thing my gran loved, it was a party. And none of this B.S. teetotaling crap. A proper party with plenty of booze. I've already posted the recipe for our favorite holiday drink, the Ramos Gin Fizz (because real ladies don't drink hard alcohol before noon). This time, in a nod to my gran's preference for vodka (after a particularly bad Manhattan-soaked evening in the 1940s, she never touched whisky again), we present:

The Moscow Mule
1 3/4 oz vodka
1/2 oz lime juice
ginger beer
lime wedge

Build ingredients over ice in a highball glass. Garnish with lime. Sit on the back porch and reflect that Gran's house didn't have indoor plumbing until the 1920s or so.
xraytheenforcer: (red dress)
Yeah, it's [livejournal.com profile] misunderstruck 's (Mr. X/Doug) birthday today. And it's supposed to be, like, 102F today. Good Gods, it was hot before the damned sun came up!

Happy Birthday Doug!


In honor, the recipe for Doug's favorite drink.

The Gibson
3 oz gin
1/4 oz vermouth
odd number of vermouth-infused cocktail onions where n>1

Put onions in a chilled cocktail glass. Stir other ingredients over ice. Strain into glass. Drink with flourish and then perform some rockin' air guitar for the cats.
xraytheenforcer: (ethelclose)
I repeat: I slept in the bedroom.
It was so miserably hot last night, I thought it would be a toss-up: stay awake and sweat to death, or risk the coughing fit in air-conditioned bliss. I slept through the night. The entire night. OK, I was a little stuffed up this morning, etc etc...but, hell, any kind of victory is welcome at this point. Also, no critters that I can see. My winged tormentors seem to have moved to greener (less violent) pastures.

A themed cocktail:

Between the Sheets (OK, so we don't have sheets, plural, in the summer. Work with me, people!)
1 oz cognac
1 oz rum
1 oz cointreau
1/2 oz lemon juice (or to taste)

Shake over ice. Strain into cocktail glass. Garnish with a twist. Drink quickly, then sleep in a real bed for the first time in a week.
xraytheenforcer: (Default)
Update on the Apartment o' Death: still sleeping on the couch. Attempted to sleep in the designated bedroom, lasted 30 minutes until first asthma attack, gave up the ghost and crashed on the futon. After 3 hours of heaving, retching and wheezing. WTF? Thank the gods for the Intarrwebs and the delicious distraction it provides.


Attempted all kinds of cocktail mayhem this weekend. I made a variation of a Maiden's Blush, but with a splash of Lillet, and a bit more grenadine than usual. Delightful. We're still working on the Gentleman Bastard -- using cognac as a base is a fucking pain. Nothing goes with it. We tried a cognac + benedictine + Lillet....no love.

But, a post needs a recipe. Soon, I'll be posting all of our X-class Inventions in one post. So you can see just how crappy our tastebuds are! Until then:

The Maiden's Blush**

2 oz gin
3/4 oz cointreau
1/2 oz fresh lemon juice
grenadine to taste

Shake over ice. Strain into chilled cocktail glass. Laugh at how far from a maiden you are, at this point in your life. Fornicate.

**I jacked up this cocktail to include:
1/2 oz of Lillet Blonde
1/2 oz grenadine
xraytheenforcer: (Default)
Yeah. We drink a lot. A lot. Maybe not Hemingway or Bukowski levels, but enough to stay reputable among the Right People.

Well, Doug (Mr. X to those who would know 'bout that) has devised a new cocktail. Drink it when you are feeling a bit indie rawk.

The Van Pelt

2 oz gin
1 oz sweet vermouth
1/2 oz Aperol

Stir over ice. Strain into cocktail glass. Get all indie rawk on your friends and put on the Van Pelt or Small Factory**.

**Damn, I love this band.
xraytheenforcer: (bunnypwn)
My apartment may be killing me.


A Drink, because we need it:

The Scofflaw

1 oz rye whiskey
1 oz dry vermouth
1/4 oz lemon juice
dash grenadine (use the real stuff, made from pomegranate. the fake makes a bad cocktail)
dash orange bitters

Stir over ice. Strain into a cocktail glass, garnish with a twist. Quaff, and reflect on the frailties of the human body. Have a sympathy asthma attack, then burn some money.
xraytheenforcer: (Default)
So, about a month ago we (the magazine) called in something known as the Lazy Drinker. This is a machine that is supposed to fulfill all of your cocktailian needs -- a cooler, a bunch of Tygon tubing, Solenoid-driven spigots, compressed CO2, and a computer with a huge database of completely undrinkable swill (a main ingredient for many seems to be Southern Comfort).

Now, I say that this shit is an abomination -- make your own fucking cocktails, pay someone humanoid to do it, drink beer, or just get the fuck off the sauce altogether. So we devised a contest: Martha vs. The Machine**. We both mix cocktails, and the various editors, friends, fact checkers, interns and hangers-on judge who makes 'em best (vs. who can make 'em fast. I know the machine will kick my ass in that arena).


To quench the existential, cocktail-based pain (and to celebrate having broadband in the apartment again), a recipe:

The Waldorf Cocktail

2 oz. Rye Whiskey
3/4 oz. Sweet Vermouth
2 dashes Angostura Bitters
Ricard

Add Ricard to the mixing glass, swirl, and the discard. Add ice to the mixing glass, then remaining ingredients. Stir, then strain into a cold cocktail glass. Bitch about the no-class put-ons (knowning full well you've had more than your fair share of gin-and-juices in the past.)

**The whole ordeal will be on the web at some point. I'll post links soon enough.
xraytheenforcer: (bunnypwn)
Names in blood, and all that. Lease is signed, we move in on the 30th or the 1st. Hopefully this will curb my recent crankiness. Between the apartment and the heat, I've been on the verge of quasar-level flaming certain people (on the boards, IRL, my boss, my writers) for the smallest of infractions. Bleargh. I need to save that hate for...the next election.

America, Fuck Yeah!

Celebratory Sealing-the-Deal Drink, Brooklyn Version.


The Brooklyn
2 oz rye whisky (Matt uses Old Overholt. We use Rittenhouse)
1 oz Gran Gala
2 dashes Angostura bitters

Stir ingredients over ice. Strain into chilled cocktail glass. Flame the orange peel (we'll teach y'all how to do this in LA, BwB peeps), then drop into drink. Extend the Bird to Manhattan (poor fuckers), sit on yer brownstone stoop, and watch the goombahs drive by. (or, in our case, the MILFs with the double-strollers.)
xraytheenforcer: (bunnypwn)
Thank you, all who crossed fingers, toes, nostril hairs ("but whatever you do, don't cross the streams!") for the housing biz. We got approved for the apartment! Move in date: July 1. Yep, cuttin' that bad mutha closecloseclose. But at least we are still in our neighborhood (so I can give my money to the proprietors I like -- cheese shop, wine shop, nifty indie clothing boutique) and near the subway. In all, a fab outcome. Next up, giving Ikea my money, because the one thing this place lacks is ample closet space.

A Celebration Libation

Classic Champagne Cocktail
sugar cube
bitters (Angostura or Peychauds)
brut champagne

place sugar cube into champagne glass. soak sugar with bitters (couple of dashes). top off with champagne. toast your good fortune and kiss the ones you love.
xraytheenforcer: (bunnypwn)
Still nowhere to live. 15 days until Homelessness. We look at 2 1 places tonight -- maybe we'll get lucky? (Just got a call that one of the places has just been rented. Fuckers.)

Also, am formally swearing off tequila for the remainder of my life. I don't know what it is about that stuff, but I was wrecked from Tuesday night's outing (going away party for a colleague). Nothing says "Teh Sux" like dry heaves on the subway.

Tequila Avoidance Therapy
(aka Classic Margarita)

2 oz silver tequila
1 1/3 oz cointreau
2/3 oz fresh squeezed lime juice

Shake over ice. Strain into glass. Walk into bathroom and pour the margarita into the toilet. (this cuts out the middle-man, you, from having to gestate the margarita for a few hours -- embarrassing yourself in the process -- before relinquishing the drink to its fate in the sewers of your home town). Flush. Twice. Curl up asleep on the cool, cool tiles until morning.
xraytheenforcer: (Default)
I fucking hate searching for apartments. And I hate being backed into a corner. Bah. Might as well say "I hate life," because the NYC rental market is a fucking bloodbath.

No cocktail can possibly rate. So fuck that poncy shit.

1 shot glass
1 bottle Kentucky bourbon.

measure bourbon into glass. drink. wince. curse the shitty housing stock and contemplate moving to Yonkers, then berate yourself for thinking such blasphemous thoughts. Repeat.
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