Minnesota Street – downtown Bend, Oregon
photo by Brad Goettemoeller

To my blog readers:

I would first like to apologize for the lack of posts – I could offer up one of many excuses, but at the end of the day, it all comes down to time and I spent the summer visiting friends and family and moving a large household that had been settled for nearly a decade. Today I started law school, and I have the sneaking suspicion that my posts will remain few and far between as I have my nose jammed in case law rather than cases of Scotch or vodka. But I know I will always be tempted by intoxicating ingredients and I have full intent on finishing the Jerry Thomas Project – it might take my lifetime, but Jerry and I have something special now that I’m not willing to give up on.

Otherwise, I have walked away from an invigorating career as a bar chef for this new challenge of life. I will no longer write a snarky cocktail column for the local rag, but rather dry research-laden scholarly text for the law review. On that note – here’s my last column for The Source. For the meantime, please enjoy the archives on the blog and check back from time to time, as I cannot help but guess that I will be inspired by all of the fruit growing around me (just on this one block there are hazelnuts, blackberries, apples, and pears) and from time to time, I will set the kitchen up and see WJD – What Would Jerry (Thomas) Do?

The Jerry Thomas Project
Pre-Prohibition Measurements
Cocktail Recipes
The Source Columns

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Last Call

Last night was my final bartending gig in Bend, Oregon. And so appropriate that it was smack dab in the middle of Minnesota – a street filled with bars whose history and mine are woven together with blood, sweat, and tears. I have worked in almost every bar on that street, some for years others for days.

It is on this street where life has thrown me some its greatest joys and oddest curve balls. It is on this street where I met many of my closest friends by working night after night together, learning what makes this town tick. It is on this street where I won the most awards and it is the place where I really became a connoisseur of spirits and learned how to mix delicate cocktails. But it is also on this street where I was fired, for no apparent reason. In retrospect, it is laughable as my boss later turned out to be using a fake name in order steal many a man’s money in what was a short-lived ponzi scheme.

Years later it is on this street I would fight for my livelihood and eventually have to threaten a slander case against a Bulgarian illegal who ran around this town on a high-horse with a stolen identity later to be found that of a murdered three-year-old. It is on this street where I used to hide in the shadows and kiss my lover and it is in the same shadows where I’ve pulled drunks off the wall to save the building from their urine. Ah, Minnesota Street, you’ll always have a place in my heart.

Minnesota Melt-Down

A little bit of this
A little bit of that
Shake it all together
And well, that’s that

This was first Published in The Source Weekly

There’s no doubt that there were disagreements this past week about what the better man drinks, Jameson or Bushmills. It is a timeless argument, which merits some attention, as it is rare that a Jameson drinker will toss back a Bushmills and I have never seen a Bushmills connoisseur toast with a Jameson. Grey Goose drinkers will drink Ketel One, and Crown Royal drinkers will drink Pendleton – but the Irish whiskey drinker always stays in his brand.

Supposedly it is because Bushmills is the Protestant whiskey, as the company sits in the heart of Northern Ireland and its production (perhaps the oldest commercial distillery in the world) was first licensed by King James I. Yes, the same one that loved the Bible so much that he had a new translation published under his reign. The Jameson distillery sits in the south of Ireland in the heart of Catholic Country, it however wasn’t first licensed by the Pope – and right there the religious argument starts to lose some credence.

The best selling Irish whiskey in Ireland is Powers, and the average Irishman wouldn’t have a clue what you are talking about if you tell them of this Jameson/Bushmills debacle. Supposedly America is this grand mixing pot – but instead the arrival of Irish whiskey showcased another way of shoving ourselves into castes. Honestly, it should be a moot point, as both distilleries are owned by two gigantic corporations, Bushmills by the largest liquor company in the world, the English-based Diageo and Jameson by the second-largest liquor company in the world, the French-based Pernod-Ricard.

Regardless of which Irish whiskey is your claim to fame, everyone does love a good Irish Coffee. Most likely the Irish Coffee was invented in the 1940s by Joseph Sheridan, the chef at Foynes in the Shannon Airport in Dublin. The story goes that when Joe was asked to make a warm drink for a group of cold passengers from a Pan Am flying boat, he put some good Irish whiskey into their coffee. A guest approached the chef and thanked him for the brilliant coffee and asked Joe if he used Brazilian Coffee. Joe smiled and jokingly answered, “No, that was Irish Coffee!”

Irish Coffee (The Sheridan Recipe)

Warm a stemmed whiskey goblet
Add two ounces of Irish whiskey
Add a teaspoon of brown sugar
Fill with good black coffee

Top with lightly aerated heavy whipping cream

This was first Published in The Source Weekly

- Columbine Quillen

As the all-knowing tiny voice spouts out, “Side effects may include: irritable bowel syndrome, thyroid disorders, and severe headaches.” You cannot help but ask yourself, “What kind of junk food are the pharmaceutical companies trying to jam down my throat this week?” The sad thing is, we’ve fallen for it before and we actually feel good about it.

I was surprised to find that my beloved Coca Cola wasn’t created as a tasty libation to sip with hamburgers and Mexican food, but rather as a tonic to cure fatigue and stimulate the nerves. Pemberton, a former surgeon turned chemist, developed Coke in 1886 in a cutting edge analytical laboratory and then spent twenty years marketing his nerve tonic as a cure-all before he recognized the soda fountains were selling more as candied water than he was as a doctor.

Does this mean that the sodas of the future will be remnants of our favorite prescriptions of today and our grandchildren will be hooked on Effexor, Zocor, and Abilify not because they got a prescription on their 35th birthday, but rather because it is the soft drink of their childhood. My guess is that only one of the above will rise to the challenge of world domination – might the one with the best name win.

Rum and Coke

The Rum and Coke has contending stories as to its history, but it is known that it was created in 1900 in Cuba. American Troops introduced Coca Cola to Cuba during the Spanish American War. At that point in time, rum and cokes were considered exotic, as Coke was an interesting potion containing both coca leaves and cola nuts.

2 ounces of white rum
3 ounces Coca Cola

add ice and enjoy

This was first Published in The Source Weekly

- Columbine Quillen

Every person who has ever found themselves buying three “beef” chalupas after a rough night has a theory as to how their liver deceived them. The schoolyard chant, “Beer before liquor, never sicker; liquor before beer, never fear” might be best left in the Kappa Kappa Delta House. If you’ve been drinking vodka all night, is it suicidal to have a scotch as a nightcap? Is your liver really so devious that it considers a long island iced tea a complete insult and as such will get you back the next day.

No one knows for sure, but I do know this. Your liver’s not that smart – I’ve tried doing the crossword with mine and it still can’t come up with a three-letter word for feline. Sure effervescent drinks are known to sneak their way quickly to the blood stream by using their bubbles to trick your tummy. Brown liquor has more congeners (that’s why it tastes so good) and a couple of scientists believe they might lead to hangovers. But overall, your liver is just doing its job, which is removing the poisons from all the crap you ingest. It doesn’t stop and decide that since you switched from white wine to red that it’s going to stop processing at the same rate and thus leave you with a headache that gives you the impression that your house is sidled up next to a freight train station.

I’ve done years of research and I’ve come to this conclusion. The key to success isn’t what you are drinking and in what order, it is: not drinking until the sun comes up when you’ve started at noon, tossing back an H20 or four or five while waiting for your next Manhattan to arrive, and sleeping a good night’s rest. If you follow those simple rules, you might just start saying, “Gin, tequila, vodka, and rum – whatever the order, it still equals fun!”

Long Island Iced Tea

Robert Butt developed the Long Island in 1976 at the Oak Beach Inn in Hampton Bays, Long Island.

1 ounce dark Jamaican rum (Butt insisted on dark rum, as it gave the drink its color)
1 ounce gin
1 ounce vodka
1/2 ounce triple sec
1/2 ounce lemon juice
one splash of Coke

Build in a pint glass. Add ice, straw, and a lemon garnish.

This was first Published in The Source Weekly

In a world where Reidel Crystal uses science to create tulip-shaped fish bowls perfected to enjoy the delicacies of an Oregon Pinot and sexy hour-glass stemware flawlessly crafted so that neat spirits can scintillate one’s palate, one must wonder why the coveted glass of the cocktail lounge isn’t one of these modern day marvels – but rather a glass purportedly created as a replication of Marie Antoinette’s perky A cup.

The coupe glass, a small round bowl on a long stem (a necessity to serve champagne throughout most of the 60’s) has made a serious comeback since it was created in 1663. The triangular cocktail glass that infiltrated the American psyche and created martini bars in even the dankest of towns might soon have to take the backseat to a glass created for smaller cocktails with more booze, less mixer, and bitters.

It is the revival of the great American cocktail that is bringing this small goblet back into fashion. Mango basil margaritas shaken up with chili verde spicy salt move over as the cocktails that fill the coupe glasses are typically made of strong whiskey, cognac, dark rum, and bitters. Flavored vodkas almost never have a home in the coupe glass – as they don’t carry the respect needed to pull off the great-grandfather of the stemware collection. It is a fine glass made for sipping. It is sophisticated and timeless. It is not the vial for pink cosmopolitans and Sex in the City, but rather brown cocktails doused with absinthe and 100-year-old sherry.

Seventh Regiment Cavalry Punch

The history of this cocktail is not entirely known, but it is believed to be in honor of the Seventh Regiment during the battle of Little Big Horn in 1876.

1 ounce brandy
1 ounce sherry
1 dash of sugar
1 splash lemon juice
1 splash raspberry syrup
one dash of dark Jamaican rum

Shake with ice and strain into a coupe glass.

This was first Published in The Source Weekly

About this time of year, I question why bears get to be the hibernators of the great animal kingdom. Wouldn’t we all be a lot more charming if right after Christmas we had one deep yawn that led immediately to four months of solitude and rest? We’d no doubt awake with a vigor that could only be explained by months of slumber, relaxation, and absolutely no stress.

But for the meantime, are you not what you imbibe? And as most human beings can’t go more than a day without a visit to the restroom – hibernating appears to be out of the question. But ingesting a tonic that’s been sleeping for years on end might just do the trick. There’s a lot of good that can come from sipping a fine bourbon on a frosty night. It will warm you all the way down to the soul with complex flavors of sweet vanilla and caramel that develop from distilled corn juice snoozing away in oak barrels for so long that if the whiskey were a child, by the time it escaped from the barrel it could have a license to drive.

Bourbon is for those who understand patience and that good things come to those who can wait. It is not for the faint of heart and you can never turn a Malibu and Pineapple drinker into a whiskey drinker – as bourbon is not about bubble gum pop and pink race cars – it is about enduring and enjoying the fruits of one’s labors.

Tempered Temperance

2 ounces of the finest bourbon you have in the cabinet
drink it neat (without ice)

This was first Published in The Source Weekly

- Columbine Quillen

Divine Destiny

Here in the Northern Hemisphere, the new year falls on the bleakest coldest and often times the most depressing time of the year.  Christmas cheer regularly feels commercial and contrived, and even if you have the most beautiful holiday ever – the next day you start agonizing about how you are going to pay for it all.  In a country that is fumbling with an anguished economy and a government that at times seems to have absolutely no interest in anything except for petty antics; it is easy to start losing hope, especially when the sun sets before you’ve even come home from work.

But there is something about the prospect of a new year, a chance to wipe the slate clean.  It begins with the excitement and anticipation of a brilliant party, an evening out when you never feel out of place wearing your most sparkly and glittery outfit.  It’s a night when you kiss strangers on the lips and it doesn’t matter how difficult your day is, because all you can see is the hope of the future.

It is a night filled with champagne and glee, it is spent with your friends – a refreshing break after the holidays spent with the in-laws.  It is a night when lovers propose to one another and friends sing drunken versions of Auld Lang Syne.  There are no costumes or props, it’s just people enjoying one another for the last time that year wishing, thinking, and hoping for a brighter future.  And for that, it might just be the most beautiful night of the year.

Divine Destiny

6 ounces of your favorite sparkling rosé
With a cherry on top

Halloween is no doubt the best American holiday. It is impossible to explainto anyone of our passion to wear panties in public with little ears over our eyebrows and platform high-heeled shoes on what is typically the first snowy night of the year. Children love it as it means costumes, parties, and of course plenty of free candy. Adults love it because it means getting to escape who they really are, drink until they are silly, and hide behind a sexier more tawdry version of themselves. Nothing is sacred on Halloween night, even Big Bird has been turned into a trampy female transvestite for the sake of having the snarky outfit of the evening.

But something magical happens when the bar is only lit by jack-o-lanterns, pirate booty coins are spraying down from above, and a nine-foot werewolf is dancing with an exotic pulsating pink-glowing jellyfish. The crowd begins moving as one and energy is transcended from one Teletubby to another. It is a night when Sarah Palin slips Barack Obama the tongue and Flo The Progressive Insurance Girl gets felt up by The Gecko.

Time stops and all one can feel is the reverb of bass resonating through their soul. It is a small escape from their unpaid property tax bills and all the other woes and ills that go along with having to face life without a mask on.

Divine Delusion

“Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting,
Lizard’s leg, and howlet’s wing,”

Add ice, stir, and just make sure to put it in a really pretty glass.

There are three distinct sub-sects of menu readers that delve from the mainstream. These are people who regard the menu differently than other people, who take it and show a distinct part of their persona by the way they handle a simple piece of paper with food descriptions and prices.

The Tosser never looks at the menu. The moment a menu comes into eyesight of a Tosser, he will pick it up and throw it to his side. Typically he will now start squinting at the beer taps and the shelves and even when told that there is a list right next to him – he will pick up the paper but soon again toss it to his side. Perhaps the Tosser just doesn’t want anyone to know he’s illiterate.

The Keeper won’t ever let the menu go. Even when the check comes, The Keeper insists that the menu must reside either under their butt or on the table under all of their dirty plates and glasses. The Keeper is sure that they have the last menu in the restaurant and that if they were to let the menu go for even a heart beat – it would certainly never be replaced and they would be lacking the golden key to get warm food and frosty drink delivered to them.

The Jotter uses the menu as her personal notebook, writing notes on it that typically have nothing to do with the menu. The Jotter typically dines alone lost in thought, doodling and scribbling all over the menu. When asked, The Jotter often claims to be a screenplay writer or a songwriter, which if you haven’t learned yet is code for, “I am unemployed and my parents are rich.”

Cocktail de jour – no menu needed

2 parts vodka
4 parts soda

After a recent viewing of a Taco Bell commercial where beautiful young women put Taco Bell Bacon Chalupa Clubs in their handbags to bait men, I could not help but wonder what is it with these guys in Taco Bell Town that aren’t attracted to Perfect 10 bodies, flowing silky hair, and gorgeous faces but rather to stale cured pork belly. But even more I wondered – what is in these gigantic handbags that flood the bar each weekend? For the most part – all one needs is an ID and a credit card, two small items that will fit snugly in a myriad of places: a pocket, the side of a bra, or inside one’s shoe. Most of these handbags are large enough to house a bowling ball, a Chihuahua, and a copy of Ken Follet’s Pillars of the Earth.

So what is in these bags? My x-ray vision unfortunately comes and goes, but since it seems to only come tacked between the dream where the restaurant is going down in flames and one guy just wants some ketchup and the other dream where I show up to work naked – I decided it would just be easier to ask. Surprisingly, most women didn’t know what they were toting around. But once they started digging, the goods got ever interesting: beef jerky, men’s cotton underwear, rolling papers, a stapler, staples, a screwdriver, hot sauce, a hair straightener, numerous eye lash curlers, parking tickets, every size and shape of tampon imaginable, books, condoms, hand sanitizer, and in one case – another purse.

In a world where summer shorts barely cover the buttocks and summer tank tops allow for plenty of cleavage – it is the one last secret of the girl. And for that, I’d like to cheers the little black bag of, “It’s really none of your business.”

Bacon Bloody Mary

2 ounces of bacon-infused vodka
4 ounces of your favorite bloody mix

- Columbine Quillen
I am a mixologist bartender and this is my blog.