Tim Elliott is my friend
Is Tim Elliott is my friend? No, not really. I’ve never met the man.
Tim is famous as one of the original wine bloggers and podcasters with his WineCast site.
I have followed Tim’s WineCast regularly for months and sometimes that kind of familiarity can feel like true friendship. (You know, sorta like the lady who stalked David Letterman for years.) But in this case (don’t worry Tim), I really am Tim’s friend on a website called the OpenWine Consortium.
“What kind of site is OpenWine, John?” you might ask.
OpenWine Consortium is a global, non-profit wine industry association featuring the newest generation of emerging companies, wineries, publishers, services and a motivated community dedicated to changing the world of wine.
If you’re familiar with some of the other networking sites (like LinkedIn or FaceBook) you might recognize the features. Anyone can sign-up as a member and post information about themselves. Your information and the information about hundreds of other members are linked together in a way that helps everyone communicate in a meaningful way.
“Huh? What’s that mean?” would be a normal response right about now.
Think cocktail party, diary, phone book and Christmas card list all rolled into one. It’s pretty new (having just started in February 2008).
Wanna find and visit with other people that know about wine? Join the OpenWine Consortium.
Two tee-shirts at Lowe’s
It’s midday on a Sunday. I live in west Houston and I had just driven over to the local Lowe’s hardware store to buy a new mailbox. Someone had decided to slam their car into my old one late Friday night and the mailman complained to me on Saturday.
I’m thinking that my whole investment at Lowe’s should be less than ten bucks for a plastic mailbox and the small piece of wood I need to mount it on my old mail post.
I walk into the store and ask the first employee I see: “Mailboxes?” A model of efficiency: short and to the point don’t you think?
She gives me a funny look and rolls her eyes back inside her head like she’s looking for the answer. It takes maybe thirty seconds until she finally says, “Aisle seventeen.”
Great, I’m at aisle one. I was hoping to do this whole shopping spree in less time than it took for her to answer and now I gotta walk all the way across the store.
I’m a fast walker but it still takes more than a minute to get to aisle seventeen. I turn and walk quickly to where the mailboxes are when behind me I hear, “Oh, sir, can you come here a second? I want to show you what my husband is wearing.”
Now there’s something I didn’t expect to hear when I entered this store.
I’m confused, a little, but I walk back toward the attractive 30-something brunette. She’s at the end of the aisle pointing towards her husband who’s two aisles down. When I reach the end of the aisle she says, “look at his tee-shirt. It’s the same as yours.”
Well, I look at his and then I have to look at mine. I’m a guy; I haven’t a clue what shirt I picked out this morning.
Turns out I’m wearing a Portsmouth Brewery souvenir tee-shirt I picked up last December when I was visiting my son in New Hampshire. That guy two aisles down, the husband of the lady standing next to me, is wearing the same souvenir shirt in the same color.
“It’s his favorite shirt,” says the wife. “He won’t let me throw it away even though it’s old and faded. He just loves their beer and that shirt!”
I wave to him. We both seem a little bit embarrassed by the whole matter.
“Hmm. I was just there a few months ago. My son lives up there.”
I walk back to the mailboxes wondering if there’s any cosmic significance to it all.
The Portsmouth Brewery
56 Market Street
Portsmouth NH 03801
(603) 431-1115
www.portsmouthbrewery.com
Steak night at Ernie’s
It’s 6pm on a Thursday night and I’m driving home to an empty house with an empty stomach. Sounds like a good time to stop and eat at a place where everyone knows my name. I drive south on Montrose, just past US-59 and turn right. There it is: Ernie’s on Banks.
“A martini. Gin, of course,” I say as I ease into the barstool at the end of the bar.
The bartender’s name is Danny and he’s friendly enough. “A special gin?” he asks.
“What’s the house?”
Danny shows me a bottle of Taaka.
“Oh, yeah, I’ll need the Tanqueray, please.” Taaka is cheap stuff at six bucks a bottle. Not tonight, thanks.
Danny shakes me a great 3-to-1 martini and I settle into my seat.
American Standard Dry Martini
3 ounces gin (always use the best gin you can find)
1 ounce dry vermouth
shake, serve up with a single olive
I’m a purist when it comes to my martinis. The drink is mostly gin, so scrimping there doesn’t make sense. And the vermouth is critical: too little or too much and the drink loses its appeal. Shake mine, please, don’t stir. I like to drink my martini while it’s still laughing at me.
There are five or six people at the bar and two more at the dart board. None of them know my name and that’s alright with me. I’ve only been here once before, on my way to some museum event a month or so ago.
As I finish my martini I realize that my empty stomach won’t go away by itself. I stopped in tonight because Thursdays are $10 steak nights.
“Danny, I’ll have a steak, well-done.” I motion to him that I’ll be at the table closest to the door. I’ll be able to watch the TV and the crowd from there.
The steak arrives quickly enough and it’s just the meal I needed.
Ernie’s On Banks
1010 Banks Street at Montrose
Houston TX 77006-6112
(866) 464-9251
www.erniesonbanks.com
The McGlinchey and the Swizzle Stick Bar
“Hi, my name’s John. What’s yours?”
“Kevin,” said the young bartender who looks too young to be able to answer my next question. He’s Kevin Moreau and I’m in the famous Swizzle Stick Bar at the Loews Hotel in New Orleans.
“I’m on a mission and I have a deadline.” I’m almost afraid to tell Kevin why I’m really there. I need to finish designing two different signature drinks for a cocktail reception and a dinner tomorrow night. I’ve been mixing and sampling on-and-off for a month, but now the time is getting close and I’m not ready yet.
“Can you help me conjure up a signature cocktail?” I anxiously ask Kevin. “The law firm I work with is holding its annual meeting here and I’d like to serve a signature drink upstairs in the hotel tomorrow night.”
Café Adelaide / the Swizzle Stick Bar
300 Poydras Street
New Orleans LA 70130
(504) 595-3305
www.cafeadelaide.com
In front of me is a yellow sheet of legal paper with the outline of a drink I’m calling the “McGlinchey.” That’s the same name as the law firm. The drink is a whiskey sour of sorts, except more complex and hopefully a tad more drinkable.
“Sure, I’ll do my best. Is that where you’re starting?” Kevin glances down at the sheet of paper I’m writing on. Like any bartender or accountant, Kevin is an expert at reading upside down.
“Yup,” I say. “The drink starts with Irish whiskey to celebrate the heritage of the McGlinchey name. Then there’s Southern Comfort to honor the New Orleans roots of the firm. There’s some lime juice, fresh of course, to give it a slight sour edge and some pineapple juice to blend the lime with the peach notes of the SOCO. Can you mix one over ice so we can find out what it tastes like?”
Kevin glances at the recipe’s outline, turns away and moves to his mixing station. In a minute or so he returns with a short drink in a rocks glass. He places the drink in front of me. Using a bar straw, he pipettes a little of the mixture and tastes it himself for the first time.
“Too sour,” he says. It takes me barely a sip to agree.
“We should add a little simple syrup,” Kevin says, knowing I’m ready to agree.
I’m wearing a friendly smile of appreciation: “Sometimes I underestimate just how sour fresh lime juice can be,” I nod.
Kevin brings over a shot glass with just a spot of simple syrup. I pour the syrup into the glass and mix the drink with a swizzle stick.
“Much better! I think we’ve got it. Mission accomplished.”
McGlinchey
With just a taste of old New Orleans
1 1/2 ounce Irish whiskey
1/2 ounce Southern Comfort
1/4 ounce fresh lime juice
1/4 ounce fresh pineapple juice
1/4 ounce simple syrup
dash Peychaud’s bittersServe over ice in a rocks glass.
Garnish with a cherry and a pineapple cube.
“Now, one more thing, Kevin,” my earlier apprehension mostly gone. “I need another drink for a smaller group of the firm’s lawyers who practice law around the Class Action Fairness Act of 2005, that’s ‘CAFA’ for short. This drink needs to be stronger and, here’s the hard part: the initials of the ingredients need to spell out CAFA.”
