Good red wine; bad white linen

Last night we also visited Block 7, a new wine bar that is soft-opening behind our house. It was also the after-party spot for "White Linen Nights" up in the Heights neighborhood, which meant the place was filled with ladies and gents in wrinkled-yet-expensive looking chinos, skirts, and blazers. Very, VERY creepy. (Apparently there was some kind of dust-up with a group of Linenites complaining about a failure to properly enforce the guest list, but that's neither here nor there.)

What was also wierd, but in a very pleasing way, was how friendly the management and staff were, and the remarkable range of wines they carry at retail price. The restaurant/bar is attached to the wine shop, and you can walk back and forth between them, selecting, sorting, and tasting. We had a couple of U.S. Sauvignon Blancs for less than $15 a bottle (!) and after a long discussion with one of the owners, Michael Housewright, he steered us toward an awesome, lightly chilled and slightly fizzy and fruity Barollo that wasn't listed (instead of one of the pinot noirs I'd been angling for). It was a great wine for a hot, muggy night. If you go, ask to be served by Davy Jones -- a tattoo-sheathed front man (whose band, I hope, is called "The Lockers") and a very gracious waiter.

I wasn't blown away by the food, though they're still working up to their full menu, and I didn't get to try the venison Sloppy Joe on Challah that was eying me (I was full of homemade tapas from our earlier engagement, see below). I also saw Bobby Heugel checking the place out -- he's the English grad student cum Mixology entrepreneur who started up Anvil. You know, the same old story.

I didn't get a chance to ask Michael what brought his place about, or even what Block 7 is named for, though I think he's started it with his wife, who was also there smoothing down those wrinkly white-worsted patrons (couldn't resist). But I've a feeling there'll be many more opportunities to get the skinny.

Read more of "Good red wine; bad white linen"

Jade Gimlet

I'm sure this is a recipe somewhere else on the internets, but over the weekend (alongside sailing, shopping for wedding bands, and barbecuing a brood of chickens), The Talented Videographer and I came up with a refreshing summer drink. Make a vodka or gin gimlet per usual (1.5 oz. liquor, .5 oz. lime juice, .5 oz. simple syrup) and add some crushed fresh basil to the shaker with ice. Shake it all up; use a spoon to fish out some of the basil and add it to the glass, then strain the mix on top. VY yummy.

Read more of "Jade Gimlet"

On The Wagon

Londoner Nina Caplan finds a month of sobriety not to her tastes:

So I did it. It’s not difficult. Just dull. I felt unsociable. I missed the glow of self-satisfaction that alcohol brings, and the clear division it offers between work and recreation. I would cook dinner for a friend, watch her down half a bottle of wine and feel guilty for not joining her. (It was like when I gave up smoking years ago: I hated being unable to provide the comfort of cigarettes to others.) I missed feeling like part of a tradition of literary self-destruction.

... How does one negotiate the cracks in social discourse without alcohol?

This jibes with something I've long sensed about academics. We're a well-lubricated bunch; conferences and talks flow with wine and cash bars. And if we didn't drink, all of that civility would collapse under the weight of our acute idiosyncrasies.

Caplan sums:

So what else did I learn after a month of stone-cold sobriety? That it's over-rated. There is a reason why people drink proportionally more the less they like themselves: alcohol takes you, as so much slang for drunkenness has it, out of your head. I’m no self-loathing Hemingway or Parker, but a month is a long time in your own uninterrupted company. Nobody wants to spend that much time with me--not even me. This is despite the fact that I found abstinence to be good for my self-esteem, not the other way round. People keep asking me if I feel healthier. I don't, particularly. But I do feel smug.

Read more of "On The Wagon"

T. G. I. M.

It may be that Monday has the highest average rate of heartattacks, but the weekends are slow news and blog days. Now that the work week is back, we return to the gripping "he said ... she said" stories that constitute political coverage: "Republicans are sounding down in the dumps ... Dems say bring it on." I'm just waiting for "Republicans advise caution ... Dems say Get 'er done."

Tipplometer: lets make that five commiserating drams of Wild Turkey for distraught repubs, and a jack and tobasco shot for the dems. Tipplometer total: 6.0

Read more of "T. G. I. M."

A word on mixology

Did you know drinking cocktails was patriotic? It turns out that the cocktail is quintessentially American; the word emerged in the U.S. in the early nineteenth century, and the form of the libation -- hard liquor mixed with some kind of sweetener, gained prominence here first, as well. Cocktails were developed because there was lots of nasty hooch being brewed here, and people wanted something to sweeten the flavor. But the event which really launched the cocktail was prohibition. When alcohol became illegal, it was a lot easier to smuggle a fifth of gin than a barrel of beer. As a result, the American brewing industry tanked, and the mixologist was born. So feel free to sneer at those servile imitators, the microbrews, next time you savor a mint julep or its southern cousin, the mohito. And hum a few bars of your favorite stars and stripes-themed tune -- it's the American way.

Read more of "A word on mixology"