THE DIGITAL VIKING: EDSBS'S GUIDE TO SPICY LIVING
by Holly Anderson on Jan 15, 2010 4:47 PM EST
50 comments
Welcome to the Digital Viking: The EDSBS Guide to Spicy Living. Published every Friday, the Digital Viking embraces zesty living with a six-part review of the essentials:
--A patron saint invoked for inspiration
--Drink
--Comestibles
--Combustibles
--Transit
--Canon
Steady study of the Digital Viking's recommendations will increase spiritual happiness and liver circumference. Apply once weekly and throughout the week for best results.
This week's Patron Saint: Colton Harris-Moore. 18 years old and already in the pantheon, Colton Harris-Moore is many things you'd like to be: unapologetic kleptomaniac, agile woodsman, and a amateur aviator who taught himself to fly planes based on video games he played. (And probably stole.) Aviator is a loosely employed term: Colton Harris-Moore has yet to fly a plane and then land it successfully, thus falling in line with DB Cooper as "Guys in the Pacific Northwest Who Are Weak On Landings."
Oh, yeah: He's got t-shirts and a fan club.
That doesn't stop him from stealing Cessnas, or from committing over 50 robberies at this point while sending his victims cheeky photos of himself, or most impressively from eluding a huge manhunt limited to one island despite being a big white 6'5" dude living in the middle of the woods with night-vision goggles on in a fortress made of pizza boxes. We're not sure what Colton Harris-Moore is doing out there, or what he thinks he's going to do with stolen DVD players in the middle of the woods, but like a gigantic pack rat fueled by Papa John's delivered to location "THE WOODS," he's living out the game of Grand Theft Auto: Puget Sound meets My Side of the Mountain you only wish you could.
To wit:
He evaded a police pursuit by crashing a Mercedes-Benz into a roadside gas storage tank, using the explosion as a diversion to escape back into the woods where, he says, he feels like a Native American.
Oh, that clears it up: he's building a casino out there made of pizza boxes and stolen DVD players. You call it insanity, but they said that about Idi Amin, too. Salute, one-man crime wave and outdoorsman: your time may be limited, but no one can say it isn't without spice. (Just don't shoot at the cops again. They tend to shoot back when you do that.)
Drink.
HOLLY: At this early stage in the offseason, we need something a little overtly snooty to distance ourselves from whatever manner of swill we poured down our gullets at tailgates hither and yon last fall. To that end, whip up an Aviation. Creme de violette is more widely available in the States now than it has been in decades. To this, add fresh lemon juice, maraschino liqueur (this is not grenadine) (nor is is the juice your maraschino cherries are floating in) (Luxardo is good; get it here), and dry gin. If you really want to get matchy-matchy, use the sublime Aviation gin espoused in the first Digital Viking column.
Orson: Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA. Holy shit, this beer is like sliding tongue-first into the sweaty and delicious cleavage of a buxom beer-wench at Oktoberfest. No, beer snobs, I don't mean it's redolent of the autumnal flavors one would come to expect from the variety of beer usually labeled "Oktoberfest." I mean it tastes like fat delicious titties rolled in hops, and if you need any further elaboration it can be provided in two forms:
a.) Go buy it and drink it.
b.) Stick your face out so I can slap it with an oar.
I bought the 60 minute IPA and had to ease into it like a car you can't quite handle, while the 90 minute one is simply too much hoppy throttle for this man. Rhetorically speaking, if the 60 minute IPA is Christina Hendricks--ample, but I'll give it a go--the 90 minute is Chesty Morgan, and is strictly for fetishists. Nevertheless, having exhausted the metaphor completely, know this: it's a fantastic fucking beer, and would go really well with some big beefy sandwich like a French Dip or plain ol' roast beef intestine-wrecker.
Additionally, it's all-American, so you can go President Camacho and stick big red and white and blue sparklers in your hair while drinking it and chanting "U-S-A! U-S-A!" to piss off the Flemish and Wallooni beer snobs in your universe. MY BEER ISN'T FLAVORED WITH THE RAPE OF THE CONGO, WAFFLEDICKS.
Comestibles.
ORSON: Sardines. EWWWWW THEY'RE SALTY!!! Big deal. So are chips, and you inhale those like a delusional crackhead trapped in sauna goes after puffs of steam from the hot rocks. Sardines fueled Viking invasions and kept sailors strong despite the rigors of sea travel and constant gonorrhea infection. Their power can certainly help you in your arduous journey through spreadsheet Mordor.
So unfairly maligned as hobo food by the cartoons of my youth, sardines have made a deserved comeback for the "people who like food that tastes like food" movement. Technically made up of several groups of the family of small fish of the family Clupeidae, sardines make superb bar food, are loaded with omega 3s, give you the proper caveman vibe as they come loaded with tiny but edible bones, and most importantly give you, the diner or bargoer, the message you want to broadcast when you just want to drink and be left alone: my breath smells like beer and salty fish, and this is nature's do not touch sign.
In many states, being spoken to by anyone but service staff after eating sardines constitutes justifiable homicide. I'm not clear on which ones, so just shoot first, ask questions later, and trust the wheel of justice to sort the rest out for you. They go well on salads, too, which you may want to look into if you're toting around an extra ten to fifteen pounds of dickshade like I am at the moment after football season.
HOLLY: Aretha Frankenstein's Shrimp & Grits. This is Aretha's. Rachel Ray visited once for a segment on her show, and the staff hates her guts, so they've got that going for them.
The shrimp and grits need no further introduction.
Combustibles.
HOLLY: Sam Barros' RailGun:
From its conception, the original PowerLabs Linear Magnetic Accelerator ("Rail Gun", or "Railgun") was conceived for the primary goal of simply proving that it could be done; on a low budget, with common materials and powered by a never tried before electrolytic capacitor bank.
The result looked like this:
Orson: This dance line from a 1974 Soul Train dancing to Earth, Wind and Fire's "Mighty, Mighty."
(HT: Lang Whittaker.) If the guy at 2:08 doesn't set your panties on fire, ladies, you're wearing asbestos drawers.
Transit.
The Bugatti Veyron 16.4
Like the best things in life, there is no purpose to the Bugatti Veyron 16.4's existence. It is an evolutionary dead end: with a top speed of 253 mph, it either becomes a plane or a tactical missile with a max payload of two human beings at this point. There is nowhere to go, nothing more to learn from it, and no offspring from its genes. It flies, it explodes, or it sits in your garage. These are its three possible developmental ends.
What is can do in the Veyron is tear the paint off other cars, outrun police helicopters, and guarantee the most spectacularly expensive fiery death one could possibly have, all fit into a package based on alien technology. $1.25 million on four wheels, the Veyron has as much horsepower as two Corvette Z06 V8s, and will empty a gas tank in two minutes at top speed. Presumably you won't have to worry about this, since time elongates as you approach the speed of light. At that point you'll either have hit something and aerosolized, or traveled back in time. The good news: the Veyron's nimble handling should help you dodge velociraptors and other predators you encounter in your travels.
It comes with custom luggage to fit the tiny cargo space, no car holders, and a shirt that says "I LIKE TO BURN MONEY."
HOLLY: Volkswagen GTI.
This was the car that basically invented the concept of the "hot hatch" all the way back in 1976 -- take a plain old boring-ass economy car (in this case, the VW Rabbit), firm up the suspension, drop in an engine any reasonable person would consider way too powerful for the vehicle in question, and let that sucker fly. The GTI has now been through 35 model years and five redesigns, some of which have been faster than others, but it's still the premier hot hatch on the market, capable of outrunning many so-called sports sedans costing twice as much. Only it doesn't look that much different from a standard Golf, so you can piss on speed limits with abandon and the cops still won't pay half as much attention to you as they do to the middle-aged guys driving 65 in their Corvettes.
Plus it comes with plaid seats. Get your girl a skirt to match, and hit the road.
Canon.
HOLLY: Knowing.
Sloughed off in last winter's post-holiday cinematic dumping ground, it's the latest release from Alex Proyas, responsible for The Crow and Dark City (and I, Robot, but we don't talk about that). Despite the ACTION! trailer, it's a genuine-article science fiction movie, haunting, atmospheric and spooky, and would about be a perfect film if it had Dark City's Rufus Sewell in place of Nicolas Cage. (Nicolas Cage, to his credit, is actually pretty good and shows an unnatural level of restraint for being Nicolas Cage in an apocalypse movie; it's just that it's impossible to forget he's Nicolas Cage anymore. He dies in the end, though, if that helps.)
The Darkside Zodiac, by Stella Hyde. The canon can and should include the finest of bathroom books, and Stella Hyde's Darkside Zodiac is the best we know of, especially since it's basically one long piss on the concept of a.) astrology and b.) human decency. It dissects each sign by its darkest possible traits, which would get really tedious over almost 400 pages without punchy prose, bitter snark, and the book's "come and go as you please" design.
I'm particularly fond of the Sagittarius chapter, which includes the following deathless bits:
WORK: No one could say you were lazy; you'll do anything, anywhere, but not for long. You usually run three or four jobs at once, all of them erratically...if the minutes begin to drag, you organize paperclip racing, inter-departmental chair-spinning contests, or trashcan infernos (you bet on whose burns longer before the sprinklers go on and the whole office closes down for the day.)...No one employs you for long, because after a while their insurance company tells you not to, but you don't care if you're canned...The black economy adores you because you always lose the paperwork and you don't give a rat's ass about health-and-safety regulations.
IDEAL CRIMINAL PROFESSION: Mugger. The simple opportunistic crime you were born for: requires no forward planning or special tools--just daring, physical strength, and a quick getaway; yields instant cash for you to lose immediately at the races.
SEX: It's not the case that you are a heartless jackhammer--you always give your partner a friendly slap on the haunches while you are doing your post-coital stretches.
GAMBLING: ...you will be the farm, your firstborn, your best friend's firstborn, and Grandpa's pacemaker on which will be the first raindrop to make it to the bottom of the windowpane.
Sometimes a book cuts you so deeply you have to respect its knifework, even when it's writing about the wrong sign. For that and against the general disrespect given to well-written books designed to sit on coffee tables or the back of toilets, we praise thee, Darkside Zodiac. Now get out of my head.
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Just once I want the Canon to be something about cannons. SHOW SOME SERIOUS OWNAGE!!!!! /ZodiacMf’d
by chaimy4life on Jan 15, 2010 4:57 PM EST reply actions
“Knowing” was abandoned in the post-holiday cinematic dumping ground because that is where it belongs. It’s crap that even makes “I Robot” look good in comparison.
by oc phil on Jan 15, 2010 5:01 PM EST reply actions
Creme de violette for an Aviation? Isn’t that a little excessive?
(Then again, I spent New Years gooned on a drink that’s two parts bourbon, one part Luxardo, half a measure of vermouth and all shaken over ice and strained into Cane Sugar Dr Pepper. I call it the 301.81, which is DSM-IV for Narcissistic Personality Disorder.)
Yes, I am a beverage fop. Look, I’m a Vandy guy in the same town as Bourbon & Branch, what do you want from me?
by Vandy J on Jan 15, 2010 5:03 PM EST reply actions
The hell you from, son? Creme de violette is the crucial ingredient.
by Holly on Jan 15, 2010 5:08 PM EST reply actions
Holy mother of pearl. Crème de violette? You’re fucking kidding me. I had no idea there was such a thing. I’m 100% sold. Get me to a bar right now. In fact, I’m on my way out the door. (Come to the Artmore on W. Peachtree, where a portion of all bar sales every third Friday of the month goes toward Kids’ Chance, providing scholarships to children of folks killed or catastrophically injured in work-related accidents — does this count toward my Day of Service?) And if the bar doesn’t have it, I’m scouring local package stores. Must. Have. Some.
by NCT on Jan 15, 2010 5:10 PM EST reply actions
I couldn’t agree more with the drink section. I came across this thanks to the Atlantic, which is not very spicy at all, but get an Aviation at Arnaud’s French 75 bar in New Orleans – it’s very wood-lined, cigar smoking, old-fashioned antidote to people vomiting their Hand Grenades onto Bourbon street. (Vandy J, you might like Cure). And the 60 minute IPA… it would be a rare set of boobs that would distract me from that. Their brown ale is very much of the “one is enough” variety, but that 60 minute IPA is trouble in bottled format.
Also, re: the GTi – once upon a time I owned a series 3 VR6, which didn’t handle as well as it might, but I miss that car something fierce. The repair bills not so much though.
by dc trojan on Jan 15, 2010 5:11 PM EST reply actions
the 60 minute is a tasty beer. In addition to the 90 minute they also make a 120 minute which goes from 0 to “which way is up again” in a few sips. The best thing that Dogfish makes though is the Palo Santo. It’s delicious and just one of those is more than enough to knock you on your ass.
by Samari on Jan 15, 2010 5:21 PM EST reply actions
Les Miles tried your 60 minute IPA, sir, and while he found the first 58 minutes of it delightful, the final 2 minutes dribbled down his neck to the floor, where he promptly shat on it and set it afire.
That said, TITTIES WRAPPED IN HOPS = HELL AND YES.
by Jack Fact on Jan 15, 2010 5:23 PM EST reply actions
Introduced to the Dogfish 60 by a conscientious barkeep on the slopes of Lake Tahoe. That man was tipped well. Good Lord, them’s some tasty titties.
by CA Dawg on Jan 15, 2010 5:40 PM EST reply actions
Samizdat: 1 part Gin, 1 part 100 proof Stoli, enough Angostoura to make it orange. Nearly the only drink where the 80 proof spirit is the weakest ingredient. If the great Angostoura famine has hit your area as it’s hit the Mile High city, Campari can substitute.
by Ambitious Drinker on Jan 15, 2010 5:42 PM EST reply actions
Les Miles doesn’t drink beer. He downs a handle of Knob Creek which he chases with Wild Turkey. Then he get in his 86 IROC, blastin’ nothing but 80’s rock, peels out after every stop, if he choses to stop, steers with his right hand, if he’s in between swigs, flippin the bird with his left, all the way to the grocery store, where he parks in two handicaped spot always. Then he pisses in the lobster tank and buys some ground chuck and eats it raw. Then he goes and watches game film.
by Kevin@LSU on Jan 15, 2010 5:43 PM EST reply actions
Pretty sure the guy you’re referring to on Soul Train played Norman in The Wire. And Dirty Dee in Pootie Tang.
by now_a_hoo on Jan 15, 2010 5:47 PM EST reply actions
The 90 minute is amazing, though it is hard to drink a number of them.
The 120 Minute on the other hand you need to split with a few people. Not really even sure if you can still call it beer or even if it is actually good, but it is an explosion in your mouth.
by Chris on Jan 15, 2010 5:49 PM EST reply actions
Holy shit Holly, a GTI? That is serious gearhead territory. A million cocktails to you.
by BurritoBrosShits on Jan 15, 2010 5:53 PM EST reply actions
@4 – alas, I got my Aviation recipe from Paul Harrington in the days when Wired had a cocktail menu. I still have his book, which is getting tough to come by. An ex took my 1956 edition Esquire Drinks Book, too…the bitch.
@6 – I ate the creme brulee at Arnaud’s one night about six months after Katrina. (Family wedding trip.) My immediate reaction was “okay God, any time you’re ready I’m good.” I had a similar reaction to the Sazerac at the Columns. God I miss New Orleans.
by Vandy J on Jan 15, 2010 6:07 PM EST reply actions
Anytime Holly wants to write her magnum opus tome on Civilized Drinking, we’re waiting. After reading this I might dump a bottle of Hendrick’s on my head and run around in circles in the office until I can get to a proper drinking establishment.
by Flatlander on Jan 15, 2010 6:43 PM EST reply actions
You’ll love the 60, 90 and 120 minutes when they’re ON DRAFT at the Dogfish Head Alehouses in the Metro DC area.
I came.
Also, for quick baptism into drink fobbery and all it’s glories, I highly recommend “The Cocktail Spirit” videos by Robert Hess over at Small Screen Network.
by Techie on Jan 15, 2010 7:42 PM EST reply actions
The only appropriate drink for the first Digital Viking of the year is the Bama Bomb. The day after the national championship game is the first day of the next season.
by Herb on Jan 15, 2010 7:47 PM EST reply actions
Dogfish Head 60 IPA is probably the best American IPA out there. A fine example of the breed… If it were a prize winning dog. Instead it is the manna of the gods.
by RanchyBalls on Jan 15, 2010 8:05 PM EST reply actions
This native Northwesterner salutes you for the D.B. Cooper reference.
Now it’s been a while, I’ll grant…but when I was growing up, the part of the Pacific Northwesterner Venn diagram where the following sets would all converge:
a) People who were high school sophomores or younger
b) People who did not believe D.B. Cooper was still alive somewhere out there
c) People who did not believe in Bigfoot
d) People who did not believe in UFOs
was pretty much a null set.
by Blog Goliard on Jan 15, 2010 8:57 PM EST reply actions
Orson: Good calls – Dogfish Head IPA and Sardines Love them swimmers on my pizza, my salads, and crackers. I figure that the Bugatti is just a little overpriced for most of your audience, but we can dream, can’t we. I will check out the Darkside Zodiac.
Holly: I love railguns. The Navy is trying to get one big enough to shoot a VW GTI sized projectile over the horizon. Shrimp and grits is the food of the gods. ’Specially where I live in the Souf Kahlina lowcountry. We catch our own shrimp. And “Knowing” was one of my favorite movies from last year ’cause EVERYBODY died.
by SC_Eer on Jan 15, 2010 9:59 PM EST reply actions
Hmmm. May be time to trade in my EB 110 for a Veyron. Could get to New Orleans in an hour and a half from here.
by Another damn Dan on Jan 15, 2010 10:28 PM EST reply actions
at Kevin@LSU:
Havent tried the 60 Min IPA, but since my work territory has me working in the Baton Rouge/New Orleans area, I have come to love that territory because of the great beer selection and food….Sammys Grill—-the fuckin bomb….PF Changs..Zeas….and all things Abita…Andy Gator, Jockamo IPA, Turbo Dog, hell all this free time is spent drankin up the local flavor and not workin out……I think Ill try the Dogfish brews next week…..they dont have this gravity beer in Bama…another good beer is Brooklyn brewed beers…..and the fact we bought 138 proof Absinthe at Albertsons in Baton Rouge that listed for 58.00 and convinced the manager that we saw it at another Albertsons for 38.00, and he fell for it and we bought the last 3 bottles they had for that….I gotta tell ya, Louisianna grows on you….will spend next week in New Orleans… any insider tips???
by Mr. Pelican Pants on Jan 15, 2010 11:43 PM EST reply actions
Vandy J @ 16 – The only time I’ve been at the Columns was the Thursday before Mardi Gras last year and it was too busy for anything other than a quick beer. I don’t know if the current Arnaud’s bartender, a guy called Chris, was there right after Katrina but that man makes a mean… well everything, really, but the sazeracs are mighty good. One time I was in town on my own for work and ended up just eating dinner at the bar as well… I left the per diem far behind me but god that was worth having.
by dc trojan on Jan 15, 2010 11:46 PM EST reply actions
I hadn’t tried Dogfish Head until I went to NYC on vacation for the holidays.
GOOD LORD, IT’S ALL AWESOME. 60 & 90 minute IPAs, Brown Ale, & the Raison d’Etre. I have yet to find a place that sells it here in the Pacific Northwest, but I doubt the various breweries here want that kind of competition.
by Signal to Noise on Jan 16, 2010 12:00 AM EST reply actions
The Bugatti Veyron will own your ASS.
And if you’re not watching Top Gear on BBC America or clips of it on YouTube, you are really missing out.
by MrRedDevil on Jan 16, 2010 12:18 AM EST reply actions
The last time I was at Arnaud’s (nearly two years ago now) I found it to be very lacking in the food and service department. That probably had something to do with one of the guys at my table being absolutely wasted by the time we arrived though, and I think I ordered poorly (always a drag).
The bar allowed for a nice mid-meal cocktail and smoke break, which was the best part of the meal.
The food the next night at Mr. B’s was 5x better.
by Kecalf Bailey on Jan 16, 2010 3:06 AM EST reply actions
Oddly enough, I brought home a bottle of Plymouth tonight and made a Harrier for myself (keep lavender-infused Goose around thanks to EDSBS) and an Aviation for the missus. Creme de Violette makes the drink. Fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice makes the Greyhound variant, as does not over-infusing the vodka.
Chris Hannah and Marvin Allen (at Arnaud’s French 75 and the Carousel Bar at the Hotel Monteleone, respectively) are among the best you’ll see anywhere, and they’re within a couple of blocks of each other in the Vieux Carre. Get an Aviation and a Moviegoer from Chris. Get whatever’s been invented in the Carousel (and it’s a decent list) from Marvin.
by Shpip on Jan 16, 2010 3:30 AM EST reply actions
From this I was able to:
- Experience my parents when they were in the flower of youth Torture my liver in new and exiting ways
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- Think about Christina Hendricks making out with Chesty Morgan Develop a new reason to love women named Aretha (and another reason to dislike Rachel Ray)
-
— Enjoy something very much akin to Morning Wood thanks to Top Gear
Fine work all around, sir and miss.
by Harris on Jan 16, 2010 7:26 AM EST reply actions
man, this is one fantastic write-up… days of distraction are built into each section… you guys rock the heavens
but so little football here….makes me sad
by BoKno on Jan 16, 2010 7:35 AM EST reply actions
I love me some sardines. Ate them out of can growing up, but had them fresh for the first time in Spain this spring. These were the real deal: whole sardines (head to tail), salted, grilled, and doused with oil and lemon juice. Kind of hard to eat with the bones and all, but un-fucking believeable.
by Eer in the ATL on Jan 16, 2010 9:24 AM EST reply actions
I think dogfish head is out of delaware and available most everywhere…to the guy who was waiting til he got to Louisiana to sample it.
Maglev trains and rail guns are sweet. Cheers to 21st century living.
Spicy living all around!
by Brian on Jan 16, 2010 10:12 AM EST reply actions
go to youtube and look up any soul train line. chock full of stank.
add don cornelius’ dusky voice and you have enough combustables to take over a small island nation.
by jd on Jan 16, 2010 11:01 AM EST reply actions
This was great. Rewatch the dance line video and pay attention around 1:30-1:35. One of the dancers smacks a guy in his fro while dancing down the line. It just made my day and eased my hangover.
by UGA Dawg on Jan 16, 2010 12:31 PM EST reply actions
I would love to make an Aviation anything, but they don’t have a distributor in the state of FL and haven’t for the last 2 years. Eventually I’m going to have to Smokey and the Bandit an 18 wheeler full of the stuff to make do.
And a Bugatti & VW in the same post? Someone owed Volkswagen a favor. It’s time to unpimp zee auto indeed. Maybe next week we can get some SSC Ultimate Aero TT coverage since it’s unseated the Veyron as “fastest production automobile”.
by BDoc on Jan 16, 2010 9:44 PM EST reply actions
I don’t care what anyone says, there’s no such thing as a good tasting beer. They all tast like shit. They only taste good relative to shittier tasting beer. If it didn’t get you drunk, nobody would choose to drink it.
by Brizzle on Jan 17, 2010 1:03 PM EST reply actions
37 – Baptist? Mormon? Muslim? Dead liver? Daddy turned into an angry monster after the fourth drink? Three out of the five? Five out of the five?
by cantcatchuf on Jan 17, 2010 1:26 PM EST reply actions
Darkside Zodiac sounds like perfect George Noory material.
by Wright on Jan 17, 2010 1:52 PM EST reply actions
@38-Agnostic, former drinker, so 0 out of the 5.
by Brizzle on Jan 17, 2010 2:38 PM EST reply actions
40 – Wait, what, sweeping generalizations don’t work? Dammit. Sorry ’bout that.
cough “nobody would…” cough
by cantcatchuf on Jan 17, 2010 4:07 PM EST reply actions
Tonight, on 60 Minutes….
http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2010/01/14/60minutes/main6097706.shtml
by softbatch on Jan 17, 2010 4:57 PM EST reply actions
So, I’m sitting here at this second having a beer at the Green Parrot bar in Key West, and as I walk up to the bar to refresh my drink, who do I see sitting across the bar? The Dread Pirate Leach. Seriously. Just had to share that.
by Chas on Jan 17, 2010 11:54 PM EST reply actions
Orson-
I’m nominating Hemingway for next week’s Patron Saint. That he didn’t kick this feature off last year is an atrocity that must be rectified.
by DougoUConnPlaysFootball? on Jan 18, 2010 8:55 AM EST reply actions
Good effort on many fronts y’all.
One note though:
While I definitley appreciate women who appreciate cars (drive manual, Holly?), GTIs of any year race in G-stock in SCCA events while a Subaru FORESTER xt competes in D-stock in a system where A represents greatest performance potential and H represents the least. This puts the GTI squarely in Taco Bell mild sauce territory.
Only the british and the italians make slow cars with enough panache to be spicy AND pokey.
Not tryin’ to be a dick, I’m just saying
by sweat in 1080p on Jan 18, 2010 2:14 PM EST reply actions
After consulting with the “Committee on Establishing Standards for Important Stuff” (aka me and my fellow bartenders), the following is decreed:
1) Any cocktail requiring more than 2 ingredients is 35% gay.
2) Any cocktail requiring more than 3 ingredients jumps to 85% gay.
3) More than 4, and you are cosmo-drinking Liberace wanna-be.
Exceptions to this rule include: manhattans, white russians and variants thereof.
That’s the 2nd time this week someone has recommended the Dogfish Head, so I’m gonna have to give it a try.
by Derrick in KC on Jan 18, 2010 2:22 PM EST reply actions
IPAs, in no particular order.
1) Odell Brewing IPA: Floral and tart, with a nice 7.0 ABV. You could drink 3 or 4 of these without serious damage. Hard to find outside the Rocky Mountain west.
2) Stone Ruination IPA: 7.7 ABV, but manages not to taste too boozy. Split a bomber w/somebody you lurve. Good with foot-tasting cheese (apologies to O).
3) Lagunitas Maximus IPA: 7.5% ABV. Easy drinkin’, widely available outside CA.
by ESMjr. on Jan 18, 2010 10:53 PM EST reply actions
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