Category Archives: Cocktails!
Le Beaujolais Nouveau est arrivé! Well almost.
courtesy Alliance Française of Portland
Well BFD. You know I’m no wine snob. Not even close. In fact, I’m entirely willing to admit I don’t know enough or have an adequately sophisticated palate to get uppity about my wine preferences. In truth, there’s very little I won’t drink, but in recent years I have drawn a line in the sand when it comes to Beaujolais Nouveau, that’s right a line in the sand, my friends. I’m like the Colonel Qaddafi of immature wine. Why, you ask. Why? The labels are so festive and there’s a big PR push every November. Well, I’ll tell you.
For me, Beaujolais Nouveau is the wine equivalent of Coors Light. I mean really, why would you want Coors to be any lighter than it already is? That’s like saying you want light water. In my opinion, the new Beaujolais tastes like a dumbed-down merlot – and what’s the appeal of that? You could just throw some vodka into a glass of Welch’s grape juice for the same effect.
Note the new screw top!
So what’s all the ruckus about every year? No idea. I suppose it might be that it’s an easy way for a bunch of French wine makers to squeeze $10-$12 bucks a bottle out of you on a quick turnaround. I do know the new Beau doesn’t taste like much, and I can think of plenty of wines at that price that don’t make me feel like sucking my thumb when I drink them.
Still interested? Well it’s your liver not mine – mine’s already quite limber. If you want to know more, here’s a good primer on all the wines from Beaujolais.
Go ahead and drink up, pilgrim. But if it’s new, do give it a little chill before you pour it.
Hey Hey Hey, Mateus Rosé!
I just love pink wine, and recently I was touting one or another of my favorites to a friend, who replied, a bit sniffily, that he found pink wine completely disgusting and was horrified – though not surprised – that I’d stoop to swilling such, well, swill. Long story short, it turns out he mistakenly assumed I was flogging White Zinfandel, a Ripple-like potable that is much favored by the older set, by which I mean people far more advanced in years than myself who, in addition to actually drinking the stuff, also use it to lube their wheelchairs, soak their dentures and fill their catheter bags. I am told it’s a big favorite on the early bird special menu in certain, warmer climes.
Nothing slurs “party” like a fine rum punch
Now that you’ve ordered that sleek ultra-modern punch bowl (or have managed to sneak Aunt Pearl’s out in your handbag) and are starting to draw up the list of invitees to your upcoming binge, you’re probably wondering what to fill the bowl with to ensure that everyone has an unforgettable evening, and by that I mean hazy recollections of behavior so egregious, untoward and shame inducing that they will never, ever be able to purge them from memory no matter how hard they try. I’m talking real long term counseling issues here. That’s the mark of a great party.
Well put down that bartender guide and toss off any thoughts of lemonade, ginger ale and whiskey with a big blob of lime sherbert floating in the middle. This concoction, sans hooch, was a favorite at family affairs of my youth, and let me tell you, it has taken years of talk therapy, pillow punching and psych meds – at times administered in a residential setting – to deal with that trauma, not to mention the lingering insulin flashbacks. But happily, here I am on the sunny side of wellness, ready to help you fill your holiday punch bowl with a real crowd pleaser: yup, rum punch. Read the rest of this entry
A little champagne, et pourquoi pas?
courtesy http://www.vogue.co.uk
I drink champagne when I’m happy and when I’m sad. Sometimes I drink it when I’m alone. When I have company I consider it obligatory. I trifle with it if I’m not hungry and drink it when I am. Otherwise I never touch it – unless I’m thirsty.
~ Madame Lilly Bollinger
Well that about sums it up for me. In fact, if I had to choose only one drink for the rest of my life it would most certainly be champagne. As such, I have devoted a not inconsiderable amount of time and energy to the search for a drinkable bubbly priced at $20 or less. I mean I have really put my back into this one, and I am pleased to report that my efforts have been crowned with success. Now don’t get me wrong, I love me some Bolly and I never turn down a glass or three of Veuve Cliquot when it comes my way, but in these times of economic hardship, sacrifices must be made, belts tightened and expensive wines relegated to special occasions – weddings, birthdays, conditional releases and suchlike.
This is my current favorite, Gruet Brut. It’s lovely and dry, but not a lip puckerer. Nice delicate bubbles and you can order it online for $13.75 a bottle. Plus, it comes in pink! Here’s what the good folks at the Gruet Winery in New Mexico have to say. (No really, New Mexico. Apparently the soil is similar to that of France’s celebrated Champagne region, or at least that’s what the nice guy at Fat Cat told me.)
Our flagship sparkling wine. Known for its classic, crisp style with rich complexity and a fine mousse.
Quite honestly when it comes to a wine’s mousse, fine or otherwise, they might as well be talking about Bullwinkle for all I know. I can say with certainty, however, that this is by far the best under $20 bottle of bubbly I have found in a very long time. They’ll ship a case directly from the website and apparently they make the really good stuff, too, if your budget allows. If not, you’re still sitting pretty.
What ails you? Nothing a little hot whiskey won’t cure.
Back in my sporting days, I used hit the ski slopes occasionally, and at times I very nearly enjoyed it. Unfortunately there were a few incidents – a run in with some ski-wees (NOT my fault), several round trips on the lift (one gets to talking and sharing a nip…), and that final, unforgettable run down the Grand Prix trail and straight through the lodge. These things happen.
In any case, it’s been some time since I hung up my skis, well actually set fire to them in a fit of pique, but that’s a story for another day. Nonetheless, there are certain trappings of the sport for which I maintain a girlish enthusiasm. I’m talking, of course, about furry après-ski boots, lodge bars and hot whiskey.
Kitchen Slattern 