Open Bottles

'The "P" In "Pride" Stands For "Pride"

2011-05-14T09:19:00.000-04:00

This is certainly shaping up to be a Long Weekend of Fine Dining!

On Thursday, my recently-graduated sister achieved employment at a local grocery store. Not the most high-falutin' job, but it's beer and pizza money and that's what matters. To celebrate, the Boyfriend and I decided to invite the B's over and cook a big dinner. Planked salmon, grilled asparagus, baked sweet potatoes, and steamed broccoli. The Youngest B provided us with a salted caramel chocolate cake, which was crazy good, and we imbibed copious amounts of Domaine Bellevue Rose that I reviewed last week. Fantastic.

Last night they reciprocated, stating that they wanted to make it back onto the blog (really) and served us a selection of interesting wines along with lemon chicken, fried rice, a type of slaw, and a creamy, pesto-y soup. Mrs. B takes great delight in making people guess what they're eating, and it took several guesses to realize that the slaw was made from broccoli stalks. I normally HATE slaw, nasty, mayonnaise-covered slimy cabbage that it is. But this was crisp and fresh and full of tart dried cherries and blueberries. Crazy good. The soup, it turns out, was a (not quite) vegan cauliflower and pesto soup. No cream, no butter, just cauliflower, pesto, and some toasted pine nuts for garnish. Wonderful.

Mrs. B is the one to introduce me to the joys of dry rose wine, and she loves it even more than I do. For this event, we were treated to the wonderfully named Barnyard Griffin 2010 Rose of Sangiovese. This wine poured a beautiful, deep magenta-pink. It was considerably fuller bodied and sweeter than the Domaine Bellevue, but where the latter is strawberries, the Barnyard Griffin is all sweet cherries. I worried that the intensity of the cherry flavor and the body of the wine would result in a cough-syrupy mess as the wine warmed, but my fears were unfounded. It was certainly sweeter than I usually go for, but it finished clean and bright, without any of the cloyingness that some people associate with pink wine. It is a fabulous pre-dinner drink.

With dinner we had several bottles of riff pinot grigio terra alpina 2009. The bottle doesn't capitalize so I don't see any reason why I should either. This wine smells a bit yeasty and minerally, and it is just a bit prickly on the mouth, but smooth flavored with just a hint of citrus on top of the slate and earth that kept it from being stodgy. I liked it considerably better when I was eating salty food as opposed to just sipping it on its own, but it's a lovely white.

Eventually the Children (I'm 24 but I'm still Children when I go to the B's house) were banished to the basement while the Adults played bridge or something. However, since the Children are now all (except for Youngest B) above the age of 21, Oldest B brought a bottle of Nocello down with him. I was not familiar with Nocello, but anything that comes in a fancy bottle with a figurine on top can't be all bad!

Nocello, as I found out, is a walnut liqueur from Italy. I am generally suspicious of nut liqueurs because I hate amaretto. The intensity of almond liqueurs sets off a part of my brain saying "WHOOP WHOOP THIS IS NOT FOOD WHOOP WHOOP PROBABLY ARSENIC" which is a really retarded response to have when you are not living in ancient Rome. Nocello sets of no such alarms. It is glazed walnuts. Sweet-sweet but nutty and and delightful. I couldn't drink much more than a sip because I was driving, but this was superb.

As I write this, my family is buzzing about in preparation to go to Charlottesville to see my cousin's play. He is an extremely talented singer, and this show should be excellent!

Domaine Bellevue 2010 Touraine Rose

2011-05-11T20:48:00.000-04:00

Everything that I like seems to come from the Loire valley anymore.

Seriously, the sparkling I liked at the wine tasting, the last two white wines that CartoonSailor or Disaster brought over to my house, and this rose. All delicious, all from Loire.

This particular rose pours a vivid pink. It is precisely the color of the wickedly spined briar roses that grew everywhere in Eltville, the town I grew up in. It has a refreshing, citrusy smell, rather like limes with a tiny touch of raspberry. It is a little bitter up front, followed by tartness, and it leaves a refreshing taste in the mouth. Unlike many rose wines, this has very little berry sweetness. It is tart and clean all the way through.

Delightful.

Soon I will have the opportunity to try a different variety of wines. The Boyfriend and I are going to California for a week. We will be near-ish to Monte Ray, I am told, and at some point will be visiting Napa for some wines. Frankly, I am relatively certain that I will love California so much that I will not want to leave. They have artichokes, wine, and seafood. That is basically all I ever want in this world. Avocados too, I suppose, but I'm pretty sure they have those in a different part of California, yes?

I am very bad at geography. VERY bad.

WINE TASTINGS!

2011-05-09T20:59:00.000-04:00

I shouldn’t have to tell most of you this, but frankly being a grown-up sucks.

First of all there’s the bill-paying, the apartment cleaning, the necessary day-to-day activities of adult life that you can conveniently ignore when you’re the age where you REALLY want to be a Jedi when you grow up. Frankly, I STILL want to be a Jedi when I grow up, but that’s beside the point. All of that crap is crap, but you knew it was going to be crap right around when wanting to be a Jedi changed to wanting to be an accountant (this is a joke, nobody wants to be an accountant, not even accountants).

Worse than all of that though is the fact that being a grown-up means caring about things you really, really wish didn’t exist. Like elections, body-fat percentages, personal finance, and tax laws. All of that stuff, I can conclusively say, is stupid and boring and dumb. Unfortunately, as an adult, it is now part of my life to give a damn about this nonsense. I do not appreciate being made to give a damn about this nonsense.

Luckily for us, there is a cornucopia of ways to distract our adult selves from the obnoxiousness of what we insist is “The Way Things Work.” Some people use TV, some people use magazines, and a few diseased minds cope by immersing themselves entirely in business (I’m looking at you, Boyfriend!) None of these things work for me. TV gets boring fast, magazines get insipid even faster, and my giveadamn gets broken after about fifteen minutes of business news.

So instead, as you all have probably figured out by now, I drink copious amounts of wine.

On April 30’th I went to another wine tasting at the Iron Bridge Wine Company in Columbia. This is a fantastic little restaurant and wine bar frequented by old hippies and current government employees. It is exceedingly small, so don’t expect to just show up for dinner. You must make a reservation. Luckily for me and my Boozery compatriots, you do not need a reservation for a wine tasting, we just Showed Up!

“We” in this case refers to myself, my roommates DesignBroad and Beersnob, GrogLass who is BeerSnob’s girlfriend, Disaster and CartoonSailor. One may ask about these new nicknames. Disaster, you see, is consistently breaking shit in my house. His name is apt. CartoonSailor… well, he’s a cartoon character. You’d have to meet him, but if you do you’ll know. He is a cartoon.

Unfortunately, there was a distinct lack of Spectacular Wines. There were a few Very Good wines, but really only one or two that jumped out and said “I AM SUPER DELICIOUS!”

We began with sparkling wine. The Chateau Gaillard “Clemence Query” Cremant de Loire was a fantastic Chenin Blanc/Chardonnay blend. It was delightfully crisp, bright, and balanced. It had a few light fruit notes that were pleasantly backed by the delicious yeasty flavor of a truly good sparkling wine. At nineteen dollars, this is too expensive for a graduate student, but ought to fit nicely within the price ranges of those who want to celebrate an event without truly breaking the bank.

On the other hand, the Rialto Moscato completely failed to impress. It was sugary sweet with weak carbonation. It tasted more like a flat energy drink than it did a fine wine. RieslingSnob might like it, but personally I do not find it worth the fifteen dollars it is reported to cost.

The next wine, a Riesling, got me VERY excited, because it was from Eltville am Rhein, the town I grew up in in Germany. Unfortunately, I was unfamiliar with the winery, J. Baumer. It was a middling sweet white with notes of pear and honey. Not being a sweet wines kind of person, I was a little unimpressed. Frankly if it hadn’t had the connection with my childhood, I probably would not have bought it. As it was I bought two bottles. I am not good at impulse control.

The Shaya Verdejo Old Vines white was, according to my notes, “minerally.” This is the only note I have. Unimpressive.

The Dry Creek Fume Blanc Sauvignon Blanc was next, with earthy, barnyard notes in the nose and minerally flavors on the tongue. It would likely be better with food, but as a sipping wine I found it to be a bit too strong on that ammoniac flavor that sometimes happens with Sauvignon Blancs.

I was very pleased with the Tre Monti Vigna Rocca Albana Secco. While the name may be a tongue twister, the wine itself is light, airy, pleasantly fruity, with a little bite of alcohol flavor at the end that keeps things interesting and clean. I very much enjoyed this wine and recommend it highly, though at 16 dollars it is a bit out of my personal price range.

On to the “Rich, Savory, Toasty & Luscious Whites”

The Graham Beck “The Game Reserve” Chenin Blanc was, in a word, “stinky.” In Disaster’s words, it smelled “kinda like feet.” While I’m sure the odor was masking some decent flavors, the key word there is “masking.” I certainly couldn’t taste them.

Daniel Gehr’s “Oak Free” Chardonnay was quite pleasant with minerals and earth, but it CLEARLY wanted to be drunk with food, not as an afternoon sipping wine.

As for Newton Red Label Chardonnay, well… frankly the less said the better. Okay I guess I have to say SOMETHING, fine. It was like drinking old lady perfume. Flowers everywhere. Oh god.

Luckily, I found everything I wanted in the Saint Roche les Vignes rose. It was clean, simple, and light on the palate. Its orangey color was also quite pleasing, and the red fruit notes were subdued by a lovely dryness throughout. Perfect thing for a summers day and a good book.

I have better notes on the reds for one very good reason: The white wines are served on low tables, and there was a huge line behind us. The reds are served at the bar, which is the perfect level to write on, and by the time we got there the line was pretty much gone! Hooray!

Unfortunately, the reds were really not interesting. The first we tried was the Annabella Special Selection Pinot Noir, which I found to be light and unimpressive with no real aftertaste to speak of. Disaster disagreed with me, stating that he caught a distinct floral aftertaste. I contend that it was just the cheese he was eating.

Babcock “Rita’s Earth” Pinot Noir poured a much paler red than the Annabella, and was equally light bodied. It had some decent flavors, but they were quickly washed away. CartoonSailor demanded to know why this wine wasn’t just from Oregon instead of California. It needed body to maintain some of our interest. As it was, meh.

The Col d’Orcia “Spezieri” was equally unimpressive. There was a sharpness at the beginning that brought our hopes up, but the nose was all alcohol and maybe a touch of cola (maybe). CartoonSailor drank his and immediately realized he had not actually tasted anything. Then he knew despair.

Those were the light reds though, and frankly our snobbishness knows no bounds when it comes to demanding strong flavor from wines. The “Big Red Wines That Should Knock Your Socks Off” was a bit better. The Borsao “Berola” was bloody fantastic, I must say. It was a mild, medium bodied red blend that had just enough complexity to keep us interested without beating us over the head with different spices and fruit. This is an excellent sippin’ red, perfect for an evening on the couch watching “Boston Legal” and eating homemade sushi after driving all over the eastern shore of Delaware. In related news, last Wednesday was a good day.

The Chateau Sainte Barbe Cabernet/Merlot blend was a considerably darker color than the Berola, but lacked interest. It was all alcohol on the nose, and frankly didn’t quite have legs.

The Robert Davis Syrah smelled like a stable, but was delightfully smooth and velvety. It was a low impact red, despite the barnyard on the nose. Nice.

The Durigutti Reserve Malbec was nice. Not great, but nice. Mild notes of black pepper overlaid the currents and alcohol.

I quite liked the Maipe Reserve Cabernet Sauvignon, which I found to be meaty and delightful despite a sweetness strange to Cabernet. I wanted more. DesignBroad disagreed vehemently, describing it as one of the worst red wines she has ever tasted. I know this cannot be true because I am pretty sure she was there when we drank that strawberry splendor crap during the Cheap Ass Wine Tasting a long while back. Blech.

The Kiona Cabernet/Merlot blend tasted the way nail polish remover smells. No.

The Bogle “Phantom” Proprietary Red was solidly “meh.” It was better after eating a bit of sharp cheese, but for 26 bucks I kind of want a wine that is going to perform a bit better than that.

The day ended with the Conn Creek “Anthology,” which was really very, VERY good. Unfortunately, it was on sale (SALE!) for 40 dollars, and I am not really ever certain that wine is 40 dollars-worth of good. Maybe when I am out of grad school I will think differently, but seriously.

It was a good experience, but frankly the wines were a bit lacking. Disappointing. Iron Bridge Wine Company is one of my favorite places to eat, so I guess my standards were a bit high. Still, I got several bottles of very good wine out of it, thus ensuring that I will have plenty of distractions from the other disappointments of adult life.

Graduate school has eaten my soul

2011-05-01T22:48:00.000-04:00

...and honestly probably my liver as well.

Drinking briefly stopped being about taste sometime in late February/early March and became about getting drunk. One evening, after getting involved in some drama that I should just have ignored, I cut up someones face.

I'm pretty sure he deserved it! I'm also pretty sure I warned him I was gonna do it! But mostly I remember waking up the next morning, my mouth tasting like sandpaper and my head feeling like it was lined with painfluff and thinking the following:

"Oh god Learning Shots were a bad idea."

"Did I make out with DesignBroad last night?"

"Wait... wait... did I cut up Disaster's face? WHY DID I CUT UP DISASTER'S FACE?!"

I went downstairs and sure enough, I had both cut up Disaster's face and made out with DesignBroad. Thankfully neither one of them was particularly upset with me. We all pretty much agree that the night started off downhill when we started doing "Learning Shots," which was a drinking game with one absolutely retarded rule: drink whenever you drop a kitchen utensil. Don't do that. That is a bad decision no matter how awesome it sounds when you are cheerfully sober. Just... trust me on this. If you aren't trusting me on this, at least don't do Learning Shots with tequila. If you insist on doing Learning Shots with tequila... well then I hope your group's version of Disaster is as laid back as ours is.

I'm much better now, thankfully.

I have also figured out how to make really good sangria, the key to which appeared to be boxed malbec (reasonably tasty even without sugar, triple sec and fruit added) and blood oranges. I *love* blood oranges and I am so very very sad that I can't find them right now.

In non-drinking news, I have completed my second draft of the novel and nearly completed my first year of graduate school. I have also learned how to make muskrat pie.

You heard me right! The Boyfriend has been threatening to bring muskrat to my family's gatherings for a long while now, and finally used my family's Easter celebration as an excuse. It's delicious as all hell too. Here is a recipe!

Take one muskrat and cut into muskrat bits. Soak in saltwater for two days to get the musk out. Season and cook muskrat by your method of choice fully. Set your sous chef to picking the muskrat from its bones. Muskrats have lots of bones and you don't want to crunch on them. While he is picking the muskrat, finely chop two carrots, one large onion, and one medium celery stalk. Saute your vegetables until they are appropriately squishy. Add salt, cracked black pepper, and sage to taste. Add the shredded muskrat bits and heat them through.

While the muskrat and veggies are blending their flavors in a bizarre orgy of taste in your pan, grease a muffin tin and squish some dough into the cups. Our dough was leftover pizza dough which had yeast in, so we had to blank-bake them first. If you have to do that, line the dough-cups with some wax paper and fill with uncooked rice. When that is done, sprinkle some muskrat and veggies into each cup, but don't overfill.

In the pan you sauted the muskratty veggies make a quick roux, one tablespoon of butter to one tablespoon of flour (muskrats are oily little devils, but they shouldn't give off a lot of fat to make the roux with. Even if they did... pour it out and just use butter. Your guests will thank you). Add a cup of hot water mixed with a tablespoon of beef Better Than Bullion (it's expensive but it makes the best damn gravy). Add pepper, and sage to taste, you won't need more salt. Fill the muskratty cups the rest of the way with gravy, put into 350 degree oven and bake for about 15 minutes, or until the crust looks crunchy.

Yesterday I went to a wine tasting, and so I will have tasting notes up soon enough! In the mean time, I suggest that you all make a muskrat pie and absolutely do NOT take any Learning Shots at all during the way!

NaNoWriMo and a Malbec

2010-11-06T18:36:00.000-04:00

As I attempt to complete the next three hundred words necessary to complete my quota for today's NaNoWriMo, I am drinking a glass of Arido Malbec. The Boyfriend is fond of Malbecs, and for twelve bucks it's hard to say no!

It pours a beautiful ruby red, though the nose is a bit lacking. Alcohol vapors are dominant, followed by wood smoke, pepper, and red fruits. It is surprisingly light bodied, and tastes more of dark plums than it does of smoke. It is extremely pleasant, though it's the least Malbec-y Malbec I've ever tasted. It's quite sweet. I am very fond of it.

The NaNo for this year is called Compass Rose, and while it is equally cheap, it has nowhere near the pleasant subtlety. It is, in fact, about dragons. Specifically, nasty tyrannical dragons that decided to take over the world around 1975. It's set in 2010, after a girl with amnesia is found by a mobile hospital unit run by the human resistance. She and her very unique car are taken in by Eyes Ahead, commander of the recon and resupply forces, and the nature of her mysterious past becomes distressingly apparent.

...I am very ashamed of myself. I think I shall continue drinking this wine in order to assuage my guilt at thinking up this monstrosity.

OH GOD THESE RIBS ARE SO GOOD SKAFDIWRHKSA

2010-10-25T19:52:00.000-04:00

I literally made that sound when eating some ribs made by the Boyfriend this weekend. It was impossible for me to eat those ribs without making little happy sounds the entire time. They were so tender you could cut them apart with a set of tongs. The dry rub was the same one he usually uses, so at first we weren't sure why these were even better than they normally are. We determined that it was because he took them out of the smoker after two and a half hours, and then put the suckers in the oven for the next three, putting a mop-sauce on them every half hour or so. This took a normally fantastic recipe into the orgasmic territory.

I love ribs.

I also love wine, as we all know, but ribs aren't really a wine food, right? WRONG! If you are making spicy, dry-rub ribs, then you want some Black Box Pinot Grigio.

That's right.

Boxed wine.

Most wine drinkers will turn up their nose at boxed wine, but I know better. Have you ever ordered beef burgundy at a restaurant? Even chances that the Burgundy used was from a box. Or perhaps you got a white-wine sauce on your pasta. Probably from a box. Boxed wine is awesome for chefs, because it fits easily on a rack and generally provides a nice, even, "winey" flavor.

That's all well and good, Stark, but you don't drink cooking wine, do you? Well, yes I do because I don't bloody well cook with wine that I wouldn't drink, but that's beside the point. Black Box actually produces some very pleasant wine. The Pinot Grigio is light, citrusy, and just sweet enough to cool your mouth after a bite of something spicy. It is not cloyingly sweet, nor is it sour, but it also lacks complexity. It's lightly sweetened lemonade, which is exactly what I wanted after eating those utterly fantastic ribs.

At the moment however I am not sitting in a fabulous house overlooking the Assateague bay, I'm in my house in Bolton Hill, sitting next to a plastic cauldron and arguing about sociology with DesignBroad and Mr. India. This would be less pathetic if I were not sitting across from DesignBroad right now.

I am drinking a glass of Venta Morales Tempranillo, which is "extremely quaffable" according to DesignBroad. She's right. It's a light to medium-bodied red with a nicely peppery flavor and no aftertaste to speak of. It is not heavily tannic, which I appreciate. Again, not particularly complex, but quite pleasant.

Tomorrow I'm going to show the schizos at work The Great Pumpkin. That should be pretty cool. Until then, continue drinking!

It's a Good Day.

2010-10-21T21:45:00.000-04:00

As I walked into work today I was greeted by Harrison, an extremely fat man of mixed heritage. Harrison's traditional greeting is "Good GOD she so beautiful! My son..." and then word salad for about two minutes. This time, at the end of his babbling, he shouted "When I was nineteen I ran the race and I told them they could KISS my TAN ASS."

...right on, Harrison. Right on.

Later, I was threatened by a pedophile, a paranoid schizophrenic helped me carry my coffee down the hall because he didn't want me to burn myself, and my coworker got propositioned by a developmentally delayed meth addict.

Working at a mental hospital is TOTALLY AWESOME.

I'm not even kidding. I love coming to work and listening to Harrison telling me about his son (to whom I am apparently engaged?) and encouraging me to win at Wimbledon next summer. Oh, forgot to mention: I'm Maria Sharapova to him, apparently. My coworker is the Queen of England. She's also an extremely dark skinned black woman. I don't know where he gets this sort of thing, but it's utterly hilarious.

Still, I have a lot of responsibility now. I have a caseload of four clients (none of whom I will discuss on this blog. "Harrison" is a composite character, and that's not the name of any client in our ward) along with twelve credits worth of classes. I recently was let go from my job at the call center, which was a sad parting. I genuinely enjoyed that job, and we parted on excellent terms. Hopefully I will work for them next summer. I'd totally post a link to them if I didn't think they wouldn't appreciate the traffic from the Drinking and Swearing Blog.

Speaking of drinking, I'm a broke-ass graduate student who just managed to get a ninety dollar speeding ticket, so I'm drinking the CK Mondavi Sauvignon Blanc that Hootie McBoob brought to my house a while back. It is... wine. White wine. When you think "dry-ish medium white" this is what it tastes like. There is no complexity, no real nose to speak of. Granted, I just destroyed my palate on some really fabulous Indian food from Kumari, so this could be the best goddamn wine ever and I wouldn't know. I doubt it. Though hey, for twelve bucks for 1.5 liters, it's pretty much the best you're gonna get. At that price, the best you can hope for is "inoffensive," and it's certainly that.

We also have a new cat. We have two now. Black Cat and White Cat. They are also known as Lady Cat and Broheim, or rarely by their proper names: Leili and Cygnus. Cygnus is currently sleeping on my lap and being generally adorable.

It's a good day.

Pesto and White Wine

2010-08-10T20:59:00.000-04:00

The one lovely thing about living away from ones parents is the sudden ability to cook exactly what you are craving at any given moment. The one problem about living away from my parents in particular is that my father is such a stunning cook that everything I make by comparison is bland and unfortunate.

Of course, he has a lifetime of experience more than I have, and he probably has the sense not to use homemade pesto on rotini of all things. What was I thinking?

For those of you who don't know (and those of you who should but are just ignorant doofuses, and I'm looking at you here, BeerSnob), there is actually a very good reason for the wealth of different shapes for pasta. Each shape is designed to be a very specific sauce-delivery mechanism. Rotini is good for creamy sauces that would fall off of spaghetti, but terrible for thicker sauces like this particular pesto I made. The Pasta to sauce ratio is sadly lacking. Also? It needs more garlic.

Though, I will say, the sardine toasts I made taste AWESOME with a spread of this pesto. I know what I'm having for lunch tomorrow!

With this pesto and sardine-toast monstrosity, I am drinking Picpoul de Pinet Couteaux de Languedoc. If you're looking for a cheap, dry white that won't scare the neighbors, this is it. When you open the bottle (a screw cap, which honestly I'm starting to like more and more) you are instantly hit with the aroma of apple cider. The apple sweetness on the nose is not indicative of sweetness in the bottle: it is quite tart, blood oranges up front with a touch of that yeasty flavor you get from a particularly good bottle of champagne on the finish, which is not particularly long or complex, but smooth and pleasant. It has a very prickley mouthfeel. It makes the finish cleaner, the flavors crisp where they could have gotten stodgy. It handily brings out the garlic in the pesto I'm eating, which is really useful, since it lacks flavor.

Oh well, nothing for it but to try again. Luckily, basil is cheap at this time of year, and the Boyfriend's basil plant is freaking HUGE. No, that's not a euphemism. The basil and pineapple sage in his garden are merging into one massive plant of deliciousness. I am so jealous, since my basil plant died a spindley death.

I will try this recipe again, probably with better nuts (oh yeah, did I mention that I used walnuts too? yeah pine nuts are expensive and I'm a graduate student). The wine, on the other hand, will remain the same. This is a fabulous house white, and I would recommend it to anyone.

Shiraz and a cat

2010-08-02T19:14:00.000-04:00

Last week our home was graced by the presence of the MusicMan. MusicMan and I went to high school together, and then pretty much stopped hanging out for a much longer time than was actually reasonable. We used to walk home from school, singing terrible Nu Metal and occasionally building a nightclub in his basemant. Oh yeah. We were pretty cool guys.

Anyway. MusicMan, RieslingSnob, Designbroad and I went out to dinner at Joe Squared last Thursday, which is a pizza place a few blocks away.

Holy crap. People had been telling me for ages how excellent Joe Squared is, and I kept brushing it off. I mean sure, I like pizza, but meh. I went to a few pizzarias in Naples and pretty much decided that I've been ruined for pizza in this country. I was so wrong. Joe Squared is awesome and you should go. Right now. Yes, even those of you who live in England. Don't argue with me. I'll cut you. Like a pizza.

MusicMan and I decided that what we really needed was a bottle of wine. Now, the wine list is broken down into varietals, but doesn't tell you what the actual wine you're getting is. So you see that it says "Cotes du Rhone" and "Merlot," but whether it's Sutter Home or H3, you don't know! This is probably for the best, because had I read its name I probably never would have ordered the Royal Bitch Shiraz.

Anyone who has known me in any capacity knows my predilection toward swearing like a sailor with a stubbed toe. I like cussing. "Shit is Fucked Up" is a great song (they played it at the concert. I squealed like the fangirl I am). Still, I tend to look askance at wine bottles with coarse language. If you have to stoop to cussin' to make your wine interesting, you've probably not made very good wine, is my thought.

It was actually pretty tasty. Mellow, light bodied, and pleasantly spiced. My first impression was pork loin with peppercorns, which is a pretty bizarre first flavor impression. The heavy, gamey taste, thankfully, dissipated as the wine breathed, leaving behind black pepper and dark red cherries. It was quite enjoyable, and it disappeared rapidly.

On Friday I went to a party at WAC, which was delightful because I haven't seen Captain Class, Cashew, Lady N or Matchatchee in quite a while. It was good, especially since Matchatchee (she's Polish, her name uses more consonants than I know what to do with) is headed off for more hipster-y climes. We'll miss you, you hippie.

At any rate, at this party I brought my strawberry infusion. You know, the one that has been sitting unopened since March 11. Holy science that is some good liquor. It's all sweet strawberries, and about two seconds after you swallow a wave of alcohol hits you. Lady N summed it up pretty well: "It's like strawberry pie's whore sister!" It's really really good. Like, almost too good to mix with anything else, though I'm tempted to mix it with a little cream just to see if it works.

On Sunday, for the traditional Land Otter Sunday Night Dinner, I made chicken braised in hard cider with apples. I'm eating the leftovers now. It is insanely delicious. Like, even without the bacon that the recipe recommends. It's sweet and meaty and appley and whooooa I'm all about it. Oddly enough, it involves one of my least favorite foods: the onion. But this onion gets cooked and cooked and cooked until it absolutely melts in your mouth, leaving you with perfect sweetness and chickeny apple goodness. It's totally worth the bottle of cider used for cooking. It's also worth it to buy the darkest and driest cider you possibly can. I used 802, though Strongbow might have been better. I would have used Magners, but I don't think I could let any of that go without drinking it down immediately. I LOVE HARD CIDER.

It's surprisingly good with a glass of the Chandon sparkling rose that's been sitting in my fridge, opened, for the past four days. There's a recommendation for you. You want a wine that will last for bloody ever, even open? Chandon sparkling rose. It even still has some bubbles left!

Everybody's working for the weekend

2010-07-26T21:12:00.000-04:00

The last two weekends have been spectacular. I don't know if I mentioned the Offspring concert I went to, but I should have. Holy shit, I love that band. I was sad they weren't headlining, though, because they ended up just playing a handful of their big hits instead of Nothingtown, Rise and Fall, and Trust in You, which are three amazing songs that don't get played often enough outside of my own car.

Anyway. There is a strange thing I have noticed about beer at sports and concert venues. First, it is always American lite beer. Coors, Miller, and Bud are pretty much the only options. Occasionally you'll find Bud Lime, which tastes like someone once described drinking a corona with lime to a person who had only ever eaten lime jolly ranchers before. Even so, Concert Beer is delicious. Partially because you end up wearing it when someone elbows you in the arm, I think. Same goes for Baseball Beer, perhaps doubly so, since it was so brutally hot this weekend, and at least Jiffy Lube Life (worst. name. ever.) had some ventilation coming down from the stage.

Would you know, I have never been to a losing Orioles game? This weekend was no exception, when my boyfriends family took me out to Camden Yards. It was a good game too, some spectacular plays (are they plays in baseball? I do not know) were made. The seats helped too! We were right next to the news box, right behind home plate. I could actually read the names on the backs of their shirts!

I want to make a joke about Luke Scott or Ty Wigginton but I really don't have one right now.

ANyway. We have begun a tradition at our apartment (apparently we're Land Otters... I don't know. Design Broad and I probably shouldn't be allowed to name things while we're at work/school) of having Sunday Night Dinners. This past weekend, Design Broad made vegetarian chili, and her friend Riesling Snob brought the wine. He brought a very pleasant Blue Vin Riesling from the Mosel valley that had been recommended to him by the wine people at Corridor. It was very light, very pleasantly balanced. It had a citrus tartness as a counterpoint to the honey, which was not terribly cloying. It was really good with the chili, which was not as flamingly spicy as Design Broad wanted, but hey.

We also had an exceptional Lan Crianza, which was at its peak of drinkability according to the handy little graph on the back of the bottle. I love it when wineries add SCIENCE to their packaging. They're marketing their way right into my booze-sodden little heart. This was a very peppery, very smooth wine with a finish like crunching into a black peppercorn. It was not terribly heavy bodied, but the velvety mouthfeel added a lot of class.

Basically what I'm saying is that it was way too fucking hot for that wine, and we need to get some of it for the fall. The Internet is saying good things to me about the price, so that's reassuring. I love it when good wine is under 15 bucks.

Next Sunday Night Dinner will be chicken thighs with apples braised in hard cider. There is no smiley emoticon big enough to express my joy.

A short story

2010-07-24T22:37:00.001-04:00

Here, have a hastily written short story based around the book I'm writing.

_____________________________________________________________

“She rode a horse.”

Je’Sorto smiled, showing sharp, white teeth. I wasn’t used to seeing him like this yet, in his real body. I was used to him being a skinny and pale guy, awkward and skittish, not an eight-foot tall, grey-furred shapeshifting monster. His ears, long and broad like a desert fox, were settled back and low, the tips brushing the back of his shoulders, facing toward me in a way I was told meant contentment. The low light caught his delicate fur, the UV reflective hairs showing brightly, making his massive, torso-covering tattoo stand out starkly.

“You have to understand,” he continued, looking at me with those acid-green eyes, lacking both white and pupil. “We’re true hermaphrodites, so we don’t use words like ‘sissy’ or ‘pansy’ to discuss weaklings. None of our insults are inherently gendered, because we don’t even have that concept. Instead, when you want to say someone can’t pull their own weight, or that they’re weak, you say that they ride a horse. Only the very old and very weak ride horses, the rest of us can run almost as fast on four legs.” His face lost some of its humor. “Most of us, at least.

“Cavalry was a relatively new concept. We’re primarily carnivores, herd animals get nervous around us, so we got on the domestication train a lot later than you guys. The ones who lived out on the plains figured it out way before we did. By the time Mau Sithren, the capital city, got the idea, the nomadic clans of the plains were doing it for hundreds of years.

“They were our enemies and our ancestors. Before Dineruk, that was where I was born, was settled, there were the nomads. Clans Ritu and Denu, who would feud and bicker for centuries, were both born out of the Denairiij, the clan of the Red Dust. There’s an interesting story about that too, actually…” His voice trailed off. He looked out the window, resting his chin on one clawed hand.

“Anyway. I was a potter. I liked to make things that were pretty as well as functional. My gift, the control of fire, was very useful at this time. To be able to control the heat in your kiln to a fraction of a degree… it was good. It made me a good potter.

“It was early fall, just before mating season. I was male that season, which meant I had to put together a dance, a display for the females. I was practicing my dance when someone sounded the alarm.

“I kind of expected it, really. Raiders hit pretty much every year just before mating season, when everyone was just crazy with sex hormones and the least able to fight coherently. So I ran, first on two legs and then on four when my body caught up with my brain, and, without pause or thought, ran directly into a horse.

“If you ever have the opportunity to clothesline a horse with your face, don’t do it. It hurt. It hurt a lot.

“I don’t really know how I got up there, I must have shaken something loose in my head, but the next thing I knew I was on a roof. It was good, dense thatch, made by my mother as a matter of fact, and it held my weight.

“Raiders were streaming through the town on horseback. They were headed for the grain silos next to the temple. I watched three raiders pass under me, all painted with red and white clay. I crouched, determined to tackle the next one who passed, to get him off of his horse and to rip out his throat with my teeth. That would impress everyone, I thought then, and make me one of the most attractive mates in the village.

“It was a terrible plan, but it turned out to be the best one I ever made, because it introduced me to Si’Toa, father and mother of my children.

“I hit her like a wrecking ball, my teeth and claws were buried in her side before we hit the ground. Her horse screamed, panicked, and ran away. I’m sure it ended up someone else’s dinner, but I couldn’t even think at the time.

“You’ve heard the term ‘bloodlust’ before, right? You’ve probably not ever felt it. This was my first mating season, my first experience being male, and while I knew that the raiders usually hit during mating season, I had not been aware that they generally only sent out females who were in heat.

“To give in to desire would mean death, I knew that, distantly. Still, it made me pause, I delayed the killing stroke, my teeth grazing her throat, her pulse hot under my tongue. She was breathing hard, and I made the mistake of pulling away and looking into her eyes.

“Si’Toa’s gift was a subtle one. As I manipulated flame, she manipulated emotions. That eye contact was all she needed, and a flare of lust surged through me. I reared back, my stupid, adolescent brain focused on a single goal.

“And then she stabbed me.” He lifted an arm. “You can still see the scar, under the fur.” He showed me a tiny white line just underneath one of the black stripes of his tattoo. “That bitch! We don’t value scars the way you people do, marks that we can’t change are shameful, hence the use of tattoos to mark criminals. Whenever I accused her of riding horses later, she would jab me in the side where she stabbed me.” He shook his head, smiling sadly.

“I was losing blood quickly. I was still quite young at that point. Later, when we went to war, I learned how to move my blood vessels around, to isolate a damaged area. It’s a useful trick for a soldier, but a potter shouldn’t need to know how to do that. So I bled and bled while she kicked me away and laughed.

“Shows what she knew,” he said smugly. “I got up, still bleeding, and tackled her again. She was ready for me and got loose again. Her fur was matted with blood from both of us, and I was struck suddenly with how beautiful she was, like an angry god.

“She was as tall as me, which was rare to see, and where I kept my hair short and in a mohawk she had hers long. She didn’t have much of a nose, she told me later that she felt it was just something more to break, and her mouth was wide with thin and supple lips. Her eyes were blue like a robin’s egg. Her face was painted stark white with a single diagonal slash of red. I wondered if it had been paint of if I had messed up her face with my blood.

“She was ready for me to tackle her again, and she spat on me as I tried to stand. That was more insult than I was willing to bear, even from an angry god. So I set her on fire.”

He flinched, his ears swiveling back, discomfort written on every line of his face. “I heard her screams in my sleep for months. Fire is a terrible way to die, and a harder thing to live through. My last thoughts before I lost consciousness were those of regret for killing something so beautiful.

“I thought that maybe I’d paint her likeness on a wine amphora, in memory.

“I woke up the next day. Someone had cleaned and dressed my wounds. I was in the temple. I was very weak. Someone was standing over me. It was Juth, a priest of the storm god. I liked him, he kept secrets well. I’ll tell you the story of him and my friend Sef’Teral some other time. After welcoming me back to the world and giving me water, he asked me what I wanted done with the one who had tried to kill me.

“’She’s not dead?’ I was surprised. I put everything I had into that blast of flame. ‘What did you do with her?’

“’Well, we took her to the judge and he said that it was up to you. You stopped her from getting to the grain stores, and she wounded you. As a citizen it is your right to decide what to do with your attacker.’

“I asked him to take me to her. He had to let me lean on him, which was an awkward thing since I was easily a foot taller than him. He brought me to her bed.

“Her feet were burnt badly, but the rest of her was barely singed. I had burnt off that beautiful, stiff hair, but even in pain and unconscious, she was the most lovely thing I had ever seen. Juth cautioned me against thinking with my sex. ‘She’s beautiful, but she tried to kill you and will do so again as soon as she wakes up. Kill her now and save yourself a lot of trouble.’

“This was good advice, but how could I obey? I was an artist and she was so beautiful. It would be easier for me to destroy my kiln than it would be to destroy her. Instead I decided to personally tend to her injuries.

“Everyone told me I was being an idiot. My mother especially. Our people aren’t typically monogamous, we don’t marry, and we’ll mate with several people over the course of a season. Sometimes, though, we’ll meet someone who just fits, and we pair bond with that person. My mother had never pair-bonded with anyone, and thought that I was wasting my time. She was in my house every day that I was at Si’Toa’s bedside, yelling to me that I was being an idiot by not practicing my dance. She didn’t want me to shame her when I danced, to be reduced to forcing myself on someone to breed.

“Si’Toa thought I was being an idiot too. When she woke up she was confused, she thought I was her raid leader. When I disabused her of that notion she spat at me again, called me a moron, and vowed to try to kill me again the second she was able.”

He laughed then, a deep and rich sound, utterly unlike the laugh he had in his human form. “That came sooner than I thought, actually. She had taken a length of bandage and tried to strangle me with it. I had been keeping my claws sharp for just such an occasion. I cut apart her weapon, knocked her out, and put her back to bed.

“Her feet, as I said, were badly burned, and the floor of my house was swept dirt. Her feet had cracked when she moved, and she got dirt into the cracks. She developed a very bad infection, which made her delirious. I kept her wounds as clean as I could for weeks.

“It took two weeks for her to get over the fever. Her wounds had healed, but the fever from the infection had made her weak. She had kept trying to kill me, but that had almost become a game between us. Once she had a knife to my neck, ready to cut, but she paused, just like I paused, and I was able to take it from her. When I told her to go back to bed that day she just… went. It wasn’t a submissive thing, she hadn’t lost any of her spirit. It was like she has just decided that she was going to stay here and let me take care of her.

“It was during this time that she told me her name. ‘Si’Toa.’ A common name, for someone so extraordinarily beautiful.” He paused. “I guess that doesn’t make sense. ‘Oa’ means ‘grain.’ When you add a T to that it basically means ‘Gold Grain,’ like the grasses of the plains. She didn’t like to hear me talk about how gorgeous she was, and was more inclined to attack me right after I made mention of her beauty.” He looked back out the window, intentionally avoiding my gaze. “Gods,” he whispered. “I miss her so much. Even when she hurt me, reopened the stab wound in my side, I loved her. I would rather she stay and fight me than have her gone like this.”

He shook himself, and returned to the story. “Before I knew it, it was mating season and I had not practiced any dance. I was a wreck. Part of me wanted to stay and keep watch over Si’Toa.

“But the other part of me didn’t want to take care of her. It wanted sex. We’re all slaves to our hormones at some point. Mine beat me up and dragged me out the door to the field outside of Dineruk.

“Gods above, if it weren’t heresy I’d love to show you those dances. The males were all dancing, those of us with flashy powers were using them. Sef’Teral, my best friend and later one of my generals, was calling down lightening to dance alongside him. The females were lining up for it, and I mean that literally. Eventually they’d stop lining up and start fighting, and that would be fun to see too. God, when I was female I knocked out someone’s teeth. I had to make them new ones from ceramic when the season was over.

“I only had a few dance steps worked out, but I was lucky. Pyrokinesis is a pretty rare talent, and I’m really tall, so whenever I stumbled I just stood up tall, hollered, and let loose a blast of flame. I wasn’t doing as well as Sef, who had put thought into his dance, but I wasn’t exactly shaming my family.

“My heart absolutely stopped when I saw Si’Toa, staggering and weaving her way into the frenzy of women in front of the field. She wouldn’t be able to fight them, I knew it. But gods help me I couldn’t go down there and stop her. All I could do was jump higher, spin faster, hope to distract them from her.

“Imagine my surprise when she grabs someone by the ears and hauls them off their feet, throwing them to the side like chaff. I said she was as tall as me, but it was easy to forget how tall we are when we weren’t around others. She was a giantess, and even weakened she was strong.

“And her eyes were fixed on me. She opened the second lid, like so,” He slid aside the acid-green eyelid to reveal his naked eye, with its wavy m-shaped pupil. “This is a challenge. It’s like saying ‘my eyes don’t need to be protected, I am so much stronger than you.’” He closed his eye again, setting the lid back in its normal place. “No one challenged her. It was like a sea parting.

“Whenever I think of home, whenever I think of joy, I remember her walking toward me, feet still scarred, fur still growing back, her eyes naked. It was… impossible to describe. You humans do things so differently. It was beautiful. I bit her when we came together, on her throat where I paused weeks ago. She had her hand on my side where she’d stabbed me, her claws digging into my flesh.”

He went silent then. I had to prompt him to continue.

“And then.. life happened. In the spring she had my child, Je’Temis. The next fall I was female and she was male, and I gave birth to twins, Si’Riath and Si’Muirin. Nine years later, Si’Riath was run down and killed by a warrior from the ruling clan, and we went to war. I committed a grievous blasphemy in my quest for revenge, and Si’Toa and I were imprisoned, tattooed, and exiled. I’ve been here now for fifteen hundred years. I haven’t seen her for more than a few minutes for the past five hundred. It hurts to live here. It hurts more to live without her. We can’t die here, and it hurts even to breathe. There’s a reason we thought this place was hell for so long. I…” He stopped talking, and looked out the window again. “I miss her desperately.”

I took his hand then. His huge, black-clawed, terrifying hand. He gripped mine, taking whatever small comfort I was able to give.

We sat together until the sun went down.

how much wood would a woodchuck chuck

2010-07-21T21:45:00.000-04:00

if that woodchuck were flavored with blueberries?

Probably not that much, because it would immediately be shot and eaten by redneck gourmands and its fur sold by Canadians who have briefly forgotten that it is not the 1700s anymore.

...actually I'm pretty sure that's most of Canada, but I'm from the DC-Metro area so we pretty much assume that all of Canada involves glaciers, moose, and roving bands of rabid Quebecois. Occasionally Alanis Morrisette comes out of her cave and is frightened by her shadow and we have six more months of winter.

It is never summer in Canada. It is merely mosquito season.

This is what happens when you drink blueberry flavored woodchuck. You start thinking about Alanis Morrisette and taking lazy swings at the low-hanging fruit that is our northern neighbor.

Anyway, it certainly tastes like blueberries. It's very sweet, not too terribly cloying though. Like all woodchuck ciders (excepting the 804, which tastes like God loves you), it's not particularly complex. I can't help but consider all of these flavored things to be "baby's first beer." It's what a high schooler drinks because they want to be cool but they don't like the taste of beer. It's certainly drinkable, but there are two bottles of it in my fridge and I just don't see me actually going over there to drink them. I'm much more likely to drink the Natty Boh that was left here by my flatmates boyfriend.

Hey. I'm from Baltimore. It's expected. Don't be hating.

...I'm so ashamed.

Okay, this is getting silly.

2010-07-20T09:46:00.000-04:00

So, Stark. Why haven't you been blogging?

Well, Internet, I've been kind of busy. In the past few months I've been moving in to an apartment in Baltimore, in a neighborhood called Bolton Hill. If you're a Baltimore person, it's right next to MICA. This past weekend was Artscape, and thusly my neighborhood was flooded with hippies of all stripes and colors. Most memorable was the homeless dude who decided to do some late-night yoga in front of our fence. Better than peeing on it, I suppose.

I've also had the opportunity to go back to Centro Tapas Bar, a narrow place in Federal Hill with astoundingly reasonable prices and absolutely amazing food. The only problem with this place is that whenever I try to get there, I end up lost and in the ghetto. This time my epic travel fail involved screwing up the light rail system and ending up in Sandtown. THAT WAS AWESOME.

Stark, you may well ask, how the hell did you end up in Sandtown trying to get from Bolton Hill to Federal Hill? I HAVE NO IDEA. I AM REALLY BAD AT THIS SORT OF THING. IT IS A SERIOUS PROBLEM.

Anyway. By the time we got to the restaurant, it was still totally worth it. The tapas at this place range from 3 dollars to 12 dollars, most of them capping out at about 8 bucks. Whenever I go, I make sure to get a plate of cabrales, a delightfully stinky blue cheese, and some boquerones, pickled and marinated white anchovies. Fabulous. The bread that comes out as an appetizer is wonderfully crusty and flaky, and it comes with a pimento and smoked-paprika olive oil for dipping, which pairs beautifully with a glass of Dibon Brut Reserves sparkling wine.

We also ordered approximately seven buckets full of red sangria. We never got water, an oversight by a frantic waitress, and so I ended up drinking sangria every time I wanted something to cool my mouth off with. I regretted this the next morning, but man, that was some good sangria. With my dinner (mussles and lamb meatball skewers, shared with Mr. India) I ordered a glass of peppery viognier, which paired fabulously with the mussels. At the end of the meal, the Boyfriend ordered a little caramel custard. It was good on its own, but if you took a bite with a mint leaf and washed it down with a spicy ale, it became the Best Desert Ever.

I recommend this place highly, the wait staff is fun, the prices reasonable (dinner and extraordinary amounts of wine for myself and the boyfriend came out to just under 75 bucks), and the food is amazing beyond belief. I recommend the Arepa Mechada, a corn cake topped with oxtail, avocado and fried egg.

In other Drink With Stark adventures, I found a liquor store on North Charles called SPIRITS and I am in love. It is full of wine, cheap wine, cheap and delicious imported wine. I got a bottle of French sparkling rose (still not champagne) and a bottle of cava, both for under 13 dollars. JACKPOT. It's not a difficult walk from the house, either, though the streets may become a little harder to cross when they're not barricaded for Artscape.

Also distracting me from updating this blog is the fact that I am engaged in writing Rising Mind again. This version is significantly darker than the NaNo. I will probably post excerpts, because I can.

Strawberries! And kiwis!

2010-05-13T07:56:00.000-04:00

When I planted my strawberries I had this bizarre impression that I was going to have enough berries to make tarts and shortcake. This would be true, but instead every morning I go out to water them and I pick the one or two ripe berries and eat them right there.

They are incredibly delicious.

This was the best decision.

Speaking of Fruit Decisions, my boyfriend went insane a few weeks ago and came back from Home Depot with two thornless blackberry bushes, two blueberry bushes, and a male and female kiwi.

Okay. I can get behind blackberries. I *love* blackberries. And blueberries are good in pancakes and muffins. But kiwis? "Do those even grow here?" I asked him.

"Sure! They grow in New Zealand and we're at a comparable latitude!"

"...You're full of shit."

"Yes but this will work! Now help me build a trellis!"

So we built a kiwi trellis, which was basically a 5' high box without a lid that he plans to string wires across. This entire time a little sandpiper who decided to lay her eggs in the old garden was cheeping and flopping about like she had a broken wing to get our attention away from her eggs. Go away, dumb little sandpiper. We do not care about your eggs. Of course, because we wanted to put the blueberries in a place even nearer to her next, we were unable to put those in the ground. But we did manage to plant the blackberries and build a serviceable trellis for the kiwis (really).

He's going to have a much more badass garden than I am. But that's because I'm trying to move out and mom and dad don't want me to wreck the yard with a tiller. Of course if we get the apartment in B-More that we're looking at...

THERE WILL BE CHERRY TREES.

Sofia blanc de blancs

2010-05-10T11:41:00.000-04:00

Many wine bars/restaurants in my area end up feeling stodgy, aiming at a middle-aged upper-middle class clientelle. I can't really blame them, that's the group that has all the money. Still, my early-twenties broke-ass self would really appreciate a place that takes itself less seriously. Of course, that can be another trap for wine bars: becoming so trendy that they drive away older patrons.

Victoria Gastro Pub has all of the trimmings of a proper, high class wine bar and restaurant. It looks rich, but there's something about it that puts you at ease. After a while I realized that it was the radio. They were not playing the standard "top hits from the 1820's 30's and 40's" like many upscale places seem to do. It was playing alt rock intermixed with some top 40s, which took the edge off of the pretension.

One of the best things about Victoria is the food. And I am not just saying that because my direct supervisor is married to the chef. Okay, maybe that's a part of it, but not a big part. The duck fat fries specifically are the tastiest things I have ever put into my mouth, being smothered in duck gravy, gruyere cheese, and little awesome bits of ducky goodness. The tuna tartare is fabulous, with delightfully rich tuna and little pieces of apple that provide a really interesting contrast. The Boyfriend was a big fan of the banana chips that came on the side, but I am still convinced that all bananas contain spider eggs, and will not eat them.

We also had a bowl of asparagus, lemon and goat cheese soup which was possibly the best thing ever on a spring night, and a plate of frogs legs. I'm not a huge fan of frogs legs, I think they're too fiddly and the taste vs texture thing throws me a bit. Of course I won't turn up my nose at the little amphibians, but They're not my fave.

What really stole the show for me was the wine, which you knew I had to get to at some point. I was craving bubbles, so I ordered whatever sparkling came by the glass without really paying attention to it. It turned out to be Francis Coppola Sofia Blanc de Blanc, a California sparkling wine that comes in a can.

You heard me.

In a can.

With a straw.

This really blew my mind for some reason, and I was barely able to focus for long enough to actually taste the wine inside. It was sweet, with apricot notes on the nose, but tart, with a bit more lemon than apple and very little of the yeasty flavor that one finds in some sparkling wines. I blame the Muscat. Still, it was not cloyingly sweet nor was it aggressively tart. It was clean, bright, and balanced, and it went REALLY well with that asparagus soup I mentioned earlier. I would definitely order it again.

The can, though. I still have it because it was kind of adorable. It really didn't change the taste of the wine at all, and, as the Boyfriend pointed out, it is a brilliant marketing strategy. It's a perfect club sparkling, light, easy to drink, and more important for bartenders, easy to store and easy to open. In a restaurant it's lacking a bit, I kind of like the pomp of the wine opening display, but you usually don't get that when ordering by the glass anyway. I recommend this highly!

Not dead, still drinking

2010-05-07T07:56:00.000-04:00

well, shit, this Blogging thing looks like it crapped out on me a bit. Oops. The issue is that every time I start writing Rising Mind like a good little author I stop updating the blog. Also I now work a 9 to 6 job and rarely want to compute when I get home.

These are bad excuses.

I would like to apologize by telling you all to go to 13.5% wine bar. It is wicked awesome, the waiters will snark at you, and the wine is FABULOUS. I had a glass of rose cava that tasted like raspberry-lemon bars, except without any sweetness with a nicoise salad and it was heavenly. BeerSnob got a beer that involved evolution somehow. Survival of the drunkest? I don't know. Also some slow cooked short ribs that tasted like jesus, except he stripped the fat off of them. Dude won't eat fat. Crazy.

Anyway. I'm going to try to get back into the swing of this blag nonsense, provided that my brain doesn't strangle me in the meantime with story arc ideas.

Cazbar and Sparkling Wine!

2010-04-10T09:23:00.000-04:00

On Thursday I had the very good luck to go to Cazbar, a delightful Afghani place in Baltimore that I have no idea how to get back to because DesignBroad took Rt. 40 into the city and I never go that way. I'm going to have to figure it out at some point though, because holy crap, what great food. I got these little tender dumplings, covered in yogurt and some kind of spicy sauce and some wicked tasty cigar pastries. Oh god, so delicious. Go there like right now if you live anywhere near Baltimore.

I also got a glass of Peared Champagne, one of Cazbar's signature cocktails. It was recommended to me by the waiter, and was, at 10 dollars, the most expensive drink on that menu. It was a mixture of Champagne and Grey Goose pear vodka, and I think a drop of pear liqueur. Luckily for me, I am pretty sure I can recreate it using delightfully cheap materials!

Last nights dinner was something less epic. Take out Chinese food paired with Gloria Ferrer Sonoma Brut sparkling wine. That's actually a pretty great pairing, the MSG and hot pepper laden General Tso's chicken brings out the tartness of the wine in a way you wouldn't expect, and the happy fizzy bubbles remove some of that sickly sweet aftertaste you get from cheap Chinese.

Also it's just a really nice bottle of wine. Sparkling anything on a Friday night is just delightful, whether it's at a bar or in your own home.

This weekend is a weekend of No Plans, which could be nice or could make me go completely mad. We'll find out which later!

9001 Times Better Than Farmville

2010-04-06T10:30:00.000-04:00

It's getting on summertime, and that means Mojitos. But mint is so freaking expensive... how can I enjoy my delightfully refreshing Rum Drinks without breaking the bank on herbs?

PLANT A GARDEN!

But Stark, you may whine. I do not live in a nice area for gardens/I don't want to wreck my lawn with a tiller/I'm about to move out of my house and don't want to leave all my plants behind with my parents! I cannot have a garden for fabulous fresh herbs, fruits, and vegetables!

START A CONTAINER GARDEN AND QUIT BITCHING ABOUT IT!

Of course, if you're like me and broke most of the time, it's good to start small. I was lucky in that we owned all of those pots beforehand, and so didn't break the bank on containment devices. The only container I bought was the horse trough up there that the herbs are in, and that was about 25 bucks from Home Depot. The Garden Center is a dangerous place for me to be, because I LOVE plants even though I know jack about them. The Boyfriend (who helped with the garden and even bought me that lovely basil plant) had to talk me away from acquiring a dwarf peach tree.

But seriously, how awesome would it be to have peaches in an apartment?! SO AWESOME.

Anyway, no fruit trees. Here's what I've got:

MINT! For mojitos, iced tea, schnapps, deserts, and just chewing on while mowing the lawn!

ROSEMARY! For all of the things one needs rosemary for! Rosemary has this tendency to get HUGE, and will inevitably need to be moved out of the horse trough planter and into its own pot. However, while it is small and happily in sunlight, I'm going to keep it where it is.

CHIVES! Which make a great garnish as well as being a fine ingredient.

BASIL! For PESTO. As well as more PESTO and some extra PESTO and did I mention PESTO?

I guess you could put it in tomato sauce too.

This plant looked kind of sad right after we put it in a pot, but after a brief rain shower this morning he perked up nicely. Probably just some transplanting unhappiness.

TOMATO! Specifically Red Beefsteak Heirloom tomato. I bought it mostly for Mom, and selected this specific variety because "beefsteak" made me giggle. I am kind of a tool. This guy got some recycled potting soil, so we'll see how well he does. It looked like fine, dense soil still, unlike the dusty stuff we found in one of the bags, so I figured he should be okay with it.

Oh yeah. You know what that's about. STRAWBERRIES. Who doesn't love strawberries? Nobody, that's who. I've got two of these babies in pots that are probably a leeetle small for them, but they'll do until I can afford another one of those long horse planters. When they start fruiting I'm going to cover them in bird mesh to avoid avian attacks. Freakin' birds.

And finally: LETTUCE!

LETTUCE!

MOAR LETTUCE!

Good lord that's a lot of lettuce. Romaine is a great salad veg, and it tastes awesome all the time. I don't expect much from the Four-In-A-Pot plants, due to overcrowding and the sub-par potting soil we had to use (ran out of the good stuff). The two in their own pots have already gained half again their original size! What awesome plants!

Now, we'll see whether or not these things survive longer than about a month, which is my standard "oops, forgot to water them!" time frame. Hopefully they will thrive and provide me with delicious fruit, leaves, and herbs for the rest of the summer until I move out!

The Lord is Risen! Now Let's Drink! Hallelujah!

2010-04-06T10:04:00.000-04:00

Easter was... epic this year. Truly epic. It was a feast of gigantic proportions, and I am larger for it. Our menu was as follows:

Chili sambal shrimp, made by The Boyfriend
Jalepeno Popper Dip, made by The Smalls
Raw Oysters, served by Dad, The Boyfriend, and Mr. Small
Grilled Foie Gras, made by Dad and Mr. B
Antipasta Salad, made by The Smalls
Grilled/Smoked lamb, Small Potatoes, and Asparagus with Hollandaise, made by Dad
Cheeses selected by Me
Irish Cake Bombs, made by Me.

Oh god. So much food. The Boyfriend is a mighty fine cook, which is part of why I like him so much. Unfortunately, he also has the tendency to say things like "Hey, you know what would taste great with this? CAIPIRINHAS."

A capirinha is a wonderfully refreshing drink made with cachacas, a sort of un-clarified sugarcane rum from Brazil. The recipe on the back of the bottle calls for using raw sugar, but we substituted simple syrup, because we didn't want to spill a crapton of sugar all over the floor. Our recipe was as follows

3-4 pieces of lime
1 measure cachaca
simple syrup
lime wedge garnish
sugarcane juice (optional)

Muddle the lime in a lowball glass. Fill with ice. Add cachaca and syrup. If using it, splash a bit of sugarcane juice in. Stir. Taste. Decide it's too strong and squeeze your garnish into it. Realize that you can no longer taste the alcohol. Drink three. Make a bad decision.

You don't *need* the sugarcane juice, which really just tastes like sweetened hearts of palm, but it adds a really nice green aroma to the drink that makes it especially nice on a hot day. I'd caution against using more than a splash, though, as you want the cachaca flavor to come through too.

After a caipirinha, I had a glass of sparkling Merlot. You heard me right. The Pugliese Vinyards 2003 Sparkling Merlot, hailing from the North Fork of Long Island. It is a deep purple-red sparkling wine, that fizzed up in a way that reminded me of that scene in Fantasia where Bacchus visits the centaurs and gets everyone drunk and wine gets sloshed about pinkly. It was actually pretty good, very different. Sparkling wine is such a pleasure, and when you get something that weird that tastes that good, you've just got to go for it. I recommend it highly.

There were other wines, but I found that after a few handfulls of shrimp, a dozen oysters, a caipirinha and a few flutes of sparkling wine that I could not recall much about any of them. In all honesty though, the rum drinks and sparkling Merlot were the highlights of the alcoholic reverie. I cannot recommend these enough. Seriously, go out and get yourself some cachaca and some limes and make yourself one of these, because it's The Best.

A More Different Rose

2010-04-01T16:57:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I drink rose wines that are NOT Marques de Caceres! I know, crazy, right?

To begin with, today is the perfect pink wine day. It's sunny, warm, light breeze... and it's been a miserable ass winter. A month ago our lawn was butt deep in snow. Right now our tulip tree is in bloom and the grass is getting taller than I think I can really conscience, despite my totally reasonable hatred of mowing the lawn.

Work was delightful, just enough tables to make money and keep busy, and all of them disappeared exactly at 2:00. So much win. While resetting the dining room, one of the managers asked me if I wanted to try some tongue.

Now, my first thought was "why Jessica, are you coming on to me?" but I don't say things like that at work, because I'm kind of a goodie-two-shoes when I'm not swearing my head off. I had never eaten beef tongue before, offal just rarely shows up on my table. My other coworkers had refused to eat it, and the fact that I agreed to try it made Chef laugh. "Stark will eat ANYTHING!" It's true. I'll pretty much eat anything he puts in front of me. Except tomatoes. I freaking hate tomatoes.

This was nothing like tomatoes, however. It was sliced very thin and served with a really great gravy and little pickles. The texture is kind of weird, it being a totally different type of muscle than regular type beef. It's grainy and... stretchy. But it tastes like good lunchmeat, and with the tart little pickles it was awesome. I'm down with tongue.

Speaking of offal... I also had the opportunity to taste Chef's faux fois gras. He handed me this bread with stuff on it and said "TRY EET." I really didn't know what else to do. It had the silky texture of foie gras, but there was something... off. It didn't taste livery. It didn't taste like meat. It was also very pale. After I finished he told me that it was Monkfish liver. Huh. How about that? I really didn't even ever think of Monkfish as having livers, but I guess they'd have to have them. Learn something new every day.

Moving on. After work today I bought a bottle of Mouton Cadet rose. Mouton Cadet is the "affordable" wing of Baron de Rothschild wineries, the oldest brand name in wine. I really love Bordeauxs, apparently. Red, white, or pink, they're all delicious. Normally these bottles retail for somewhere between 13 and 15 bucks, which make them a great wine for the broke-ass wine drinker. The rose has a really lovely sweet raspberry nose, and when it hits the tongue it's like a squeeze of fresh lemon juice. It mellows into a light, early summer fresh berry taste that makes it a perfect wine to sip on a warm day. It is quite dry, and not heavily tannic, and is a great idea next time you're at the liquor store.

My boys in the Outback!

2010-04-01T08:01:00.000-04:00

No, no I really got nothing to say today, except that you REALLY should check out ANDREW AND WILLIE'S VAN-TASTIC ADVENTURE.

Click HERE and watch Andrew and Willie set off on their excursion from Adelaide to Darwin, all videotaped for your viewing pleasure.

What? A Job?

2010-03-31T09:40:00.000-04:00

I got one of those! Woo! Starting on the 12th of April! WIN!

This makes me especially happy because it lets me have Easter Monday off, so I'll actually be able to hang out with The Boyfriend, who will be coming down for the ANIMAL CRUELTY CELEBRATION.

Why do I call it that? Mostly because we'll be eating foie gras and raw oysters. Personally, I don't think oysters count as animals, but bajillions of taxonomists and biologists disagree with me. Still, what oysters really are, are delicious.

Does that comma look right to you? Grammatically it's correct... but it never looks right to me. Grammatically speaking that ellipsis I just used is also crap, but then again I never claimed to be an English Major.

...wait.

ANYway. Additional Good News is that I saw my cousin's production of RENT down in Charlottesville, VA the other day. Great cast, great voices for everyone. Frankly I have no idea when my cousin developed a singing voice. Apparently he's been doing stuff like this for a long time and I'm just a really terrible family member for not noticing. That's probably accurate.

None of this has anything to do with wine or other bits of alcoholism. That's because I drank so unwisely that I do not properly remember anything I drank over that weekend. I am a moron. Still, I was introduced to a lovely wine bar called Siips (oh yeah, two "i's" is how you know it's good) in the pedestrian zone of C-ville where I had a really great glass of... something. It was French and expensive and tasted like smoke and seaweed. Heavenly. Too bad I don't remember a dang thing about the name, thus making this wine journal thing pretty useless.

St. Patrick's Day, Recipes, Pictures, and an Experience with Fermentation

2010-03-24T10:02:00.000-04:00

WOOO ST. PATRICKS DAY KISS ME IM IRISH WOO SHOTS

No, not really. Don't kiss me, I'll hurt you. Also you're not Irish unless it says so on your passport, you nasty drunkard.

I began the day with Bulmer's, because it's delicious. Don't mind the fact that I have no chin, I donated it to help the sober kids in India. The drinking was necessary because I was engaged in making something suspiciously delicious: Irish Cake Bombs.

Irish Cake Bombs are Guinness cupcakes filled with Jameson ganache and topped with Bailey's frosting. They are also King of Delicious, partially because they are alcoholic, but mostly because it involves nearly an entire pound of butter. Eat your heart out, Paula Deen, but first put a little butter on it. Unfortunately, there is no easy way to hide this behind some sort of cut tag, so just scroll through if you're not interested. Here's the recipe:
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For the Guinness Chocolate Cupcakes
1 cup stout (such as Guinness)
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter
3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder (preferably Dutch-process)
2 cups all purpose flour
2 cups sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
3/4 teaspoon salt
2 large eggs
2/3 cup sour cream

Ganache Filling (Updated to double it, based on many commenters suggestions — thanks!)
8 ounces bittersweet chocolate
2/3 cup heavy cream
2 tablespoons butter, room temperature
1 to 2 teaspoons Irish whiskey (optional)

Baileys Frosting (see Recipe Notes)
3 to 4 cups confections sugar
1 stick (1/2 cup or 4 ounces) unsalted butter, at room temperatue
3 to 4 tablespoons Baileys (or milk, or heavy cream, or a combination thereof)

Special equipment: 1-inch round cookie cutter or an apple corer and a piping bag (though a plastic bag with the corner snipped off will also work)

Make the cupcakes: Preheat oven to 350°F. Line 24 cupcake cups with liners. Bring 1 cup stout and 1 cup butter to simmer in heavy large saucepan over medium heat. Add cocoa powder and whisk until mixture is smooth. Cool slightly.

Whisk flour, sugar, baking soda, and 3/4 teaspoon salt in large bowl to blend. Using electric mixer, beat eggs and sour cream in another large bowl to blend. Add stout-chocolate mixture to egg mixture and beat just to combine. Add flour mixture and beat briefly on slow speed. Using rubber spatula, fold batter until completely combined. Divide batter among cupcake liners, filling them 2/3 to 3/4 of the way. Bake cake until tester inserted into center comes out clean, rotating them once front to back if your oven bakes unevenly, about 17 minutes. Cool cupcakes on a rack completely.

Make the filling: Chop the chocolate and transfer it to a heatproof bowl. Heat the cream until simmering and pour it over the chocolate. Let it sit for one minute and then stir until smooth. (If this has not sufficiently melted the chocolate, you can return it to a double-boiler to gently melt what remains. 20 seconds in the microwave, watching carefully, will also work.) Add the butter and whiskey (if you’re using it) and stir until combined.

Fill the cupcakes: Let the ganache cool until thick but still soft enough to be piped (the fridge will speed this along but you must stir it every 10 minutes). Meanwhile, using your 1-inch round cookie cutter or an apple corer, cut the centers out of the cooled cupcakes. You want to go most of the way down the cupcake but not cut through the bottom — aim for 2/3 of the way. A slim spoon or grapefruit knife will help you get the center out. Those are your “tasters”. Put the ganache into a piping bag with a wide tip and fill the holes in each cupcake to the top.

Make the frosting: Whip the butter in the bowl of an electric mixer, or with a hand mixer, for several minutes. You want to get it very light and fluffy. Slowly add the powdered sugar, a few tablespoons at a time.
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Now, I did a silly thing and thought "hurr bittersweet chocolate they don't have that here unsweetened is like the same thing rite hurr." It is not the same thing and I shame the baking gods. There was improvisation and a lot of powdered sugar, but in the end I made an awesome, slightly-too-thick filling. I should have saved some of it to make truffles with, as it probably had enough sugar and chocolate in it to keep from melting... oh well.

Oh yeah baby. That is cupcake porn. Seriously you guys, you have to make these. Don't get scared by the word "ganache," it's just about the easiest damn thing in the world to make (heat milk, pour on chocolate, stir).

I brought these fine offerings to the bar, where they were appreciated by many. It is time for more Embarrassing Pictures of People I Love.

There were also plenty of Suspicious Drinks. Such as the standard Green Beer:

And the ever-present Irish Car Bomb. AngryGinger was not pleased with the development of Irish Car Bombs.

PictureTaker McDrunksalot on the other hand was thrilled:

I hate Irish Car Bombs. Can't chug fast enough. Blurgh.

Moving away from the St. Patrick's Day festivities (including the wicked awesome party in Middle Basement), today I had an Experience with Fermentation. You see, At Birthday Ball we filled up a resealable container with orange juice for mixers. We then never used it and I left the box in Captain Class's dorm room. That was a month ago. This morning I opened it in order to wash it out, so that I could put something else delicious in it.

I do not think I have experienced that level of energy in a fruity beverage before. It exploded like a poorly maneuvered bottle of champagne. If I had not had the sense to point it away from me, I'd be drenched in fizzy orange bits. Holy science, that was unpleasant. At least it doesn't smell like rotting oranges... probably because botulism is odorless... My god.

Woo! Pictures!

2010-03-16T15:02:00.000-04:00

I found my camera cable! It was, as Mauve Shirt suggested, in her room. How the hell it got there, I don't know, because I'm pretty sure it's not compatible with her camera. Whatevs.

Anyway, pretty pretty pictures!

Look at them strawberries. Look at 'em. Ain't they gorgeous? They were tasty too. MOST of the two pounds of strawberries ended up in the jar. The rest ended up in me. Of course, my favorite strawberries are the mutant ones. You know, the ones trying to grow an extra head or something. Like this one.

IT IS ALIIIIIVE. Or not.

I also did a mango infusion this afternoon. What I know about mangoes can be counted on the fingers of one elbow, so these were selected and broken down pretty inexpertly. There were gonna be three of 'em, but...

I sort of assumed that that's not a good way for mangoes to look. QuasomodoMango was not used in the making of this infusion, though I did involve him in making a mess of the kitchen. GOD mangoes smell like flowery ass. I'm not entirely certain about the quality of this infusion, so I didn't make all that much of it.

Finished products!

Oh yeah, check out that bidniss. When I went downstairs to put the mango infusion away with the others, I made sure to give them all a good shake. The coffee was already turning a delightful color, as seen below.

That is going to be delicious. CRAZY delicious.

Of course, I've got about a quarter liter of vodka left, and I'm wondering what I should do with it. Any recommendations?

I keep misplacing my camera cable...

2010-03-15T22:06:00.000-04:00

Which means I don't have any good pictures of the infusions I made. LAME. It's a damn shame too, 'cause these ones look particularly delicious. First is a strawberry infusion, made with two pounds of strawberries and enough vodka to fill the jar. Mr. B gave me two old whisky bottles, nice glass ones with a cork. One of them is now full of vanilla bean infusion, and the other with coffee bean. My vanilla-coffee infusion was so successful that I really wanted to make more, and I figure that these two can be combined in all sorts of delicious ways, or taken alone.

Now, these particular infusions have a purpose: they are bribes. Before I move out, I will decant and sweeten them (except the vanilla, it keeps its bean in and takes no sugar). They will be served as bribes to those who help me move in, likely along with cupcakes.

I know beer and pizza is the traditional bribe, but I figure this is more my style.

In wine news, I had a delightful Malbec with the Boyfriend. Naturally I can't remember the name. Luckily, when I got home, I found a bottle of Chateau du Cleray Muscadet Sevre et Maine. I don't... I don't know what those words mean. It's French and I'm not very good at this. The grape is Melon de Bourgogne, which is typically used in Muscadet, which I thought was its own grape. Learn something new every day.

It is a very dry, minerally white, which surprised me, since I see "Muscadet" and think "honey sweet." This is really good, and I'd love to have it with oysters. I'll be getting the chance for tasty, tasty slug rocks soon, since for Easter this year we are having a Foie Gras and Oyster Dinner. Oh yeah. It doesn't get much better than that.

...I'm also just happy because I have flowers. I got a shamrock plant named Padraig. Also the Boyfriend got me some yellow roses and they are beautiful.