Sol Sister

Resurrecting My Sol

 So my husband and I just returned from a trip with five other couples to Puerto Vallarta. While there, I put the cocktail shaker away, put my flip flops on and kept it simple. Mexican Cerveza my friend.  When we ventured to Soriano to buy beer, Corona had the monopoly on cooler space, but there, off to the side, shinning like the sun was the beer from my Freshman year of college.  Sol. My roommates and I even had a large vinyl Sol banner thumb tacked to the bottom of our breakfast bar.  Very classy. No, it didn't exactly go with my Laura Ashley comforter, but I was convinced it made us look cool. Memories.

My freshman year of college was fall, 1987, the year Heineken started the rumor that Corona workers were urinating in the beer. This was later proven false, but I was suspicious. I wasn't taking any chances.  I drank Sol, if for no other reason than to avoid any looming humiliation from frat boys that the "brunette with the big perm" apparently loved "piss beer."

Corona has long been a staple in my grown-up refrigerator.  It is almost always alongside my Mexican meals and in my cooler at the beach. But I enjoyed revisiting my freshman days and drinking the "Sun" in the sun.  I have decided I am bringing it back this summer. Okay, so I bought a red bathing suit and the label matches beautifully. It's only a secondary reason.

On the last day in Mexico I was standing at the pool tipping up my beer, slugging it back if you will.  I hear, Steve, one of the crazier husbands in our group, channeling a Train song by singing out --in this hilariously aspirated, slow-motion voice: "Heyyyy Sol Sissss-ta" --hence the name of this blog entry and a tribute to my Sol Sista's from the trip:  Cath, Virgie, Denise, Amy & Karen. Good times ladies!

Sol was started in 1899, over 20 years after the revolution against the Spanish (& the French) and the year before the democratization of Mexico. It was known as a working man's beer.  So in the spirit of Viva La Mexico, throw one back people.  Add two limes and a pinch of Tajin, just saying.

CHEERS!

Rosé Wine

Don't turn up your Nosé at Rosé!

If you haven't already given Rosé (or Rosato, or Rosado) a chance, it may be because you are understandably jaded, albeit scarred, from your White Zinfandel days. I know, YOU never actually drank White Zin, but maybe some of your "friends" did.  Well, I drank it in my EARLY 20's and, embarrassingly enough, loved it.  My college boyfriend, who read Hemingway and drank chic French table wine or Pernod, was a chef at night and his tolerance for my double bottle of the "pink stuff" was, I suppose testament to how much he liked me.  It goes without saying that now, if I even smell White Zin, it turns my stomach.  But, I have no regrets because it served an important purpose for me, for it was my "gateway" wine.  The day, at age 24, that I walked into Chateau Maison Blanche near St. Émilion, I, and my palate, were changed forever. It was an experience I will never forget. If someone had poured me that same glass of Bordeaux at my apartment in Gainesville, it would certainly not have cast the spell on my taste buds, as it did in that rustic tasting room.  It was a bewitching combination of elements. It was smelling the cavernous cellar on the tour, that earthy smell laced with fermented grapes. And the tour guide passionately talking about the 1990 vintage and finally, me tasting. I was forever changed at that moment. It taught me that so much of our taste is informed by our mood, our expectations, the light, the smells around us.

  After that experience I banished my White Zin days from my memory! How could I have been so gauche?!?   Later that same summer, I met a friend after class one day in Paris. Upon his recommendation, we drank a bottle of Tavel Rosé at a cafe at the base of some domed building that now escapes me in name. It was dusk and the air was balmy. The light was playing on the table and the wine was beautiful in that Prussian blue, late-day light. The Tavel was slightly sour and tart and had a dry, wet rock flavor lurking towards the end that somehow matched the light. I was transported.

And so I kept the "pink stuff" in my wine repertoire and have long enjoyed the beauty of Rosé, especially in Spring, when you get the gift of a warm afternoon. I have not, however, enjoyed the condescending glares I receive at restaurants when I have a glass of what my dining neighbors decide is certainly White Zin in front of me. Being from Alabama originally, as I am, I have really had my fun with this scenario. I can resurrect the back-woods version of my remaining southern lilt and successfully complete the horror of my judge-EEE-ass neighbors. So much fun. I love watching their sanctimonious smiles as they deem themselves superior, while drinking an overly-oaked Pinot Noir that frankly, makes me throw up in my mouth a little. I digress. 

In case you don't know and are wondering, the color in wine all comes from the skins, so to make Rosé, they simply let the juice sit on the skins for a time until they get the pink color in the wine.

  If you haven't already fallen in love, PLEASE try Rosé. there are Portuguese ones, and Spanish ones and French ones, OH MY! There are beautiful ones from the Anderson Valley, the list goes on. The Portuguese one shown in the photo on the left has a hint of fizz which makes it supremely refreshing. The wine on the right is a Spanish Bobol (pronounced BOW-bull) which is a Spanish grape I discovered a few summers ago at a wine tasting in Berkeley. After that tasting, I came home and my favorite wine guy at Trader Joes, Marty, had ordered a Bobol for under $10 and it was/is fantastic. I paired it with tangy goat cheese and berries. Heaven.

I will share my favorite memory of a glass o' pink and then I will relieve you of my loquacious ramblings to go buy some pink wine and make your own memories!   When I was 18 weeks pregnant I found out I was having a girl. I was visiting my friends in Philadelphia and my friend Lizzie served, for a before-dinner toast, Rosé Champagne in tiny pink crystal glasses. Although I could only have a few sips, it was a perfect, lovely gesture and a beautiful moment I will cherish for always.

CHEERS!

Barbera

Barbera d'Asti & Barbera d'Alba

 

Grape:      Barbera

Country:   Italy

Region:    Piemonte (Piedmont)

Barbera is widely planted in many regions of Italy, but I am focusing on Asti & Alba (2 towns/regions within Piedmont). Barbera is believed to be indigenous to Piemonte (Italian for Piedmont & pronounced Pee-uh-MON TAY). See Map Below

And so it begins, my quest to make you love Italian wine as much as I do.  Yes, I live in California and I so enjoy going to Napa & Sonoma. However, given the choice on a Tuesday at the grocery store, I will always reach for an Italian bottle to go with dinner. 

Italian wine does not always appeal to the typical American palate, primarily because, I believe Americans have been long bombarded with bottles of overly-jammy Australian wines and/or California oak bombs. Clearly there are appealing and beautifully crafted wines from almost every wine region in the world, so don't get your panties in a bunch if you love your California Cabernet or your Australian Shiraz.  I just want to focus on the virtues of branching out, the virtues of Italian wine, and for today, the endearing simplicity of Barbera in particular.

The Italians have been drinking wine for centuries. They drink it every day and with their meals. Because of this, Italian wine has more acidity than some may be used to. However, when you consider the balanced fruit, the bright acidity and the restrained use of old oak, you have a wine that happily dances on your palate after your big bite of pasta and that crusty bread drenched in olive oil.

 My favorite producers of all Piemonte wines are Produttori and Vietti. They use traditional wine-making techniques and I am always delighted with any bottle of either.  Note: Vietti makes a Barbera from Asti & from Alba.  Few things disappoint me more that when a producer changes their wine making style to fit an American palate, trading what makes Barbera, and other Italian grapes so charming for an overly-oaked bastardization. The bottle I photographed this morning is a $5 bottle from Trader Joe's that I am excited to try tonight with my shrimp vodka sauce pasta. So there. You certainly can't assume me a snob if I am excited about a $5.99 Barbera!

Admittedly, Barbera can sometimes be thin and uninteresting, but more often, I find it to be an approachable, easy drinking wine with berry fruit on the front and comforting earthy tones on the finish.  And the worst bottle of Barbera I have ever tried was leagues above other inexpensive wines.  Barbera is a fun wine to add to your repertoire. I have never subscribed to the notion of repeatedly drinking the same 3 or 4 bottles of "favorite" wines over and over.  My motto: if a wine looks weird, unfamiliar or something I have never tried, it goes in the cart!  If I hate it, no big loss.  I just add guava nectar, fruit slices and Pelligrino to it and it becomes Sangria. If, however, I happen to enjoy or even love it, I have a new interesting wine friend that I would have never discovered if I had played it safe every time I drank wine. 

Buy a Barbera from Asti and Alba and compare. Typically, and again there is great variation, Asti is somewhat lighter in style while Alba can be a little fleshier. Try different price points, put them in brown bags and do a blind tasting with a group of friends. Get crazy and throw a Barbera from Lombardy in  the mix, just for shits & giggles. 

CIAO & SALUTE!

The Dorchester

The Dorchester (makes 2 to 3 drinks)

4 oz Beefeater Gin
3 oz Luxardo Maraschino
juice of 2 limes
juice of 1 large pink grapefruit

Pour all of the above into an ice-filled shaker, pour up in glass of choice, garnish with lime slice

This drink is at the top of the Slanted Door's cocktail list. The Slanted Door is a Vietnamese restaurant in San Francisco's Ferry Building at the base of the Bay Bridge. The restaurant is known for its' inventive fare and drinks. This drink is nothing like I have ever tasted. It is clean, bright, fresh and so interesting. If you go to the Slanted Door, order this drink with the Grapefruit Jicama Salad. Perfection.

The Dorchester is a famous 30's hotel in London's posh Mayfair district.  President Eisenhower set up there in 1944 during WW II, the literati drank there and celebrities still frequent the hotel. Allegedly, the Martini and the Manhattan were created there by their notorious barman, Harry Craddock.

CHEERS!

Sidecar

"Crush Car"

2 oz           VSOP Brandy (I used Raynal that I bought at Trader Joe's)
1 oz           Triple Sec (I used Patron Citronage)
2 oz           Simple Syrup
1 1/2 oz     Fresh lemon juice

Pour all of the ingredients into a shaker with crushed ice, shake and serve up (no ice) with a lemon wheel
(makes 1 drink)


Several years ago on our anniversary, my husband and I dined at CRUSH, a small, dark, charming restaurant in San Francisco. Clearly, I slipped the printed cocktail menu in my purse.  After lunch today, some five years later,  my husband wanted an afternoon cocktail.  I fished out our stash of "stolen" menus and chose this because he has, much my to my delight, grown to love all brown liquors. As an aside, when we were dating and first married, he ordered Cosmos, Madrases & Bay Breezes.  Naturally, his sexual orientation was up for debate among my friends, because of his drink preferences.  I later concluded  it was a mixture of his much-younger-than-me age and his California existence.

When we dined at Crush, years ago,  he ordered their "Crushmopolitan" but today I made him the "Crush Car" (Sidecar) and he, and his "big-boy" palate, LOVED IT!  I experimented with the recipe and let me stress that this exact recipe listed above was far superior, any slight variation on the amounts strangely made a totally different-tasting concoction!

CHEERS!

As for the history of the Sidecar, there are a few versions. One version says that it was developed in a Parisian bistro during World War I by a friend who rode to the favorite bar in the sidecar of a motorcycle. Which bar this was is left to speculation, but is popularly thought to be Harry's New York Bar.  Another claim to the Sidecar invention attributes Frank Meier who worked at the Paris Ritz.
The next story moves to Buck's Club in London. In his 1922 book Harry's ABC of Mixing Cocktails, Harry MacElhone credits the drink to Pat MacGarry, one of the great bartenders of the day. This was also backed up in Robert Vermeire's 1922 Cocktails and How to Mix Them.

Whichever theory is correct will remain a matter of debate and opinion. One thing that is agreed upon is that the Sidecar is a classic sour drink. Sours were quite popular during the golden age of cocktails in the early 1900's.

Salty Dog

My Go-To Drink has always been a Salty Dog

The old school traditional Salty Dog was made with Gin. While I have grown to love Gin, I prefer Vodka in this drink, which is what you would typically get if you order this in a bar.

fill tall thin glass with crushed ice

add 3 oz vodka

add 7 oz of fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice

The fresh juice is KEY to this drink's sublime flavor, I use a mixture of sour & Ruby Red. You can use Gin if you don't care for vodka

Pour drink in a larger glass or shaker

rim original tall thin glass with grapefruit piece & dip in a tray of Maldon salt (Kosher works perfectly fine as well)

Pour drink back into rimmed glass and garnish with grapefruit pieces. 

Drink with Straw

You can also make this drink in a shaker with ice and drink up (no ice)

Jazz this drink up with a top off of Grapefruit Soda!

Although this is indeed delicious as a summer drink, I make it in January & February because the grapefruit trees produce fruit here in the Central Valley this time of year.  I now look so forward to my: 

"It's Winter-but Spring-is-coming Salty Dogs!"

When we were in our early 20's, my dear friend April & I took a trip from Florida to New York on Amtrak. We still have so many memories from that trip we took over 20 years ago.  The flirty Firefighters in our train car, the freezing snow whipping about as we tried to gallery hop. We even went to the top of the World Trade Center and I still have our photos and a ticket stub from that day. It makes me teary when I look at us on top of those towers.  Another stark, lighter, funnier memory is our night out for drinks in the village with some friends. When I ordered a Salty Dog, our waitress, who had the most delicious Brooklyn accent, returned to the table, slapped down her 4-inch bedazzled acrylic nails on the table and told me: "Honey, your gonna have to EEE-laborate on that SAUL-tee Dow-ug"

I still use that accent when announcing that I am making this drink!

(luckily my husband finds this mildly charming).

CHEERS!