Look, you aren’t getting any Pappy… Or, how I learned to stop worrying and enjoy the tedium of American whiskey. Part 4 of 4

**my editor is getting a mani-pedi, this is going to be a rough cut**

What should you buy if you are the ballingest baller that ever wasted money in a liquor store?  Obviously, the stuff below, but, I know you are reading this from 1 of 2 distinct points of view:

1.  I have money, sell it to me now!

2. How can American whisky be worth so much?

For the first camp, I’d say, “Slow down Mr. Baller.  Learn a little something and you’ll enjoy that whiskey like it’s worth $200 a bottle, plus you’ll learn to enjoy $30 bottles like they’re worth $100.”

For the second camp, I’d say, “These whiskies are actually cheap; considering what they go through.”  The story alone on any of them is likely worth the price tag.  But enjoy the chart below, and understand that a barrel gets taxed every year it isn’t bottled, and every barrel needs to turn a profit.

Barrel 1 is 220 bottles, Barrel 2 is 200 bottles, Barrel 3 is 130 bottles, Barrel 4 is 60 bottles

This, my friends, is the Angel’s Share of water and/or booze that evaporates as bourbon ages.

I just did some back of the coaster math on this one and while I’m not confident to publish it here: But, here’s my thinking …

1. After paying taxes on all of the whiskey that has evaporated
2. And on all of the whiskey that is still in that barrel upon which must be paid every year it’s still in the barrel
3. Plus, the time value of money, the money value of time,  the chance of the barrel drying up (very real!) or the Rickhouse burning down (also very real!)
4. That all told, making old whiskey is a terrible investment.  I’d say that they make less on these barrels percentage wise, that anything else.  Artesian lightbulb factories are sooner to turn a profit.  These barrels are created out of love.

That said, let’s get back to role playing:

It’s the beautiful holiday season, a time of year that we can drink with our friends, families and even our enemies.  You have gone to the store and asked for a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle 15yr, you are prepared to spend between $60-$100 on American whiskey only to find out you can’t get this gift for your father in-law, boss, poker group, husband, wife or more likely, yourself.  What do you do with that searing hot money in your pocket?  First off, give a couple bucks to the bum looking for booze, you were going to spend it on booze, even though it’s morally objectionable to most everyone and it’s never going to be tax deductible. but after that, choose your destiny:

1. Big Lots o’ Whiskey
2. Unknown Underdogs
3. Hometown Heroes
4. Next Year’s Pappy

You rolled a “4” and got “Next Year’s Pappy.”

High West 21yr, gentle spice aromas, delicate on the palate, toasted vanilla

The fun thing about High West 21yr, is that even though the bottling was done three years ago, the hype lives on due to the hit-and-miss nature of finding it sitting innocently on a shelf. Meaning it has all been sold from the distillery, and has been scattered to the wind of retail shelves – mostly still found in states that have government controlled liquor stores.  Rye exploded a few years back and since, the rye that actually has age has become more and more rare.  There are more 2 year old ryes on the market than I can keep track of, but as soon as you crest 10 years, the rye market dries right up.  This little gem is amazing at 21 years.  Not that you should look for traits like this in whiskey, but you could drink a pint of this just as easily as a pint of beer.  ”SMOOOOOTH” is a  word that idiots use for spirits, but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t apply here.  While this whiskey still tastes like rye, it tastes like a rye that is going to meet his in-laws for the first time.  Everything has been toned down but in a way like a crisp french cuffed shirt pulled down over sleeve tattoos. $200 is is a steal

Pro Tip: There are no 750ml bottles left our there, however there are many 375ml bottles to be found.

everyone is alway a winner here, but Weller is the diplomat of the bunch

William Larue Weller 2012 Limited Edition is the whiskey that everyone wants to drink even though it is the least sought after of the Buffalo Trace antique collection.  Always a single barrel, it will change a bit year to year. But remember, it’s that wheat that sweet bourbon drinkers love & the wheat in this makes this Weller the baby softest cask strength imaginable. Drink it right out of the bottle. It’s a dram of grandma’s pumpkin pie.  The antique collection comes out annually, and you generally have to be on a list, and no one is ever fighting over the Weller, but they should be. $100 is great, $150 is a bit much

see how it glows?

I have loved every bourbon from the Parker’s collection, but when I heard that there was going to be a 27 year old, I guffawed, GUFFAW!  Basically, this thing is a candy bar after you add water to it.  Think of it as a Milky Way bar style bourbon bottled at 129 proof. Take a sip, hold it it your mouth for 10 seconds, swallow, exhale, think and punch anybody that interrupts your meditation. How can bourbon live that long? Well, I still don’t know, but Heaven Hill found a way.  Heaven Hill even says on their website, it’s “something only Heaven Hill could offer.”  Understand that creating bourbons this old (on a mass scale) is something that only the most prolific distillers could do.  You’d basically have to be distilling for at least 30 years to have enough money to embark on a project like this and in another 30 years until you’d be able to start trying it out to taste and to attempt a business model.  Since it has taken one human’s entire lifetime to create this bottle, paying less than $200 is the moral equivalent of you actually robbing Heaven Hill.

To wrap it up with a simple note, the best whiskey is shared whiskey.  If you are gifted a whiskey, offer to open it up on the spot, regardless of locale.  Enjoy whatever you end up with this holiday too, hopefully these last 4 days will show you what went into those whiskies.

cheers

Look, you aren’t getting any Pappy… Or, how I learned to stop worrying and enjoy the tedium of American whiskey. Part 3 of 4

Today’s lesson to prevent bourbon zombie-ism is about the distillers in your hometown. Yesterday I discussed often overlooked bottles you could enjoy instead of the Pappy Van Winkle you aren’t getting. 2 day ago I tackled cheap bottles you need to know. Let’s continue:

Look, I haven’t “arrived” yet, so I know the strident sting of the backhanded compliment.  Unfortunately, that is what I have to dole out to micro distillers, your “hometown heroes.”  Many of them aren’t quite there yet, because whiskey ain’t easy, some (most) of them should go back to their day job right now.  But how about instead we highlight some that are innovating and redefining whiskey?  You can say:

 “I remember when you didn’t have to be on a waiting list for this.”

thanks to Kirkland, Moore & Adlard

Unlike the list you need to be on to get Pappy, these you can get by driving up to the distillery.

Let’s role play:

It’s the beautiful holiday season, a time of year that we can drink with our friends, families and even our enemies.  You have gone to the store and asked for a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle 15yr, you are prepared to spend between $60-$100 on American whiskey only to find out you can’t get this gift for your father in-law, boss, poker group, husband, wife or more likely, yourself.  What do you do with that searing hot money in your pocket?  First off, give a couple bucks to Sandy relief, it was worse than you think it was, and it’s probably tax deductible. but after that, choose your destiny:

1. Big Lots o’ Whiskey
2. Unknown Underdogs
3. Hometown Heroes
4. Next Year’s Pappy

You rolled a “3” and got “Hometown Heroes.”

“Oh you’re a micro distiller? “

May I kindly offer,

“I DON’T GIVE A FUCK”

Being a micro distiller means you aren’t rich enough to buy a better distiller, or that you aren’t good enough to be a macro distiller and that you want ME to PAY YOU for YOU to learn.* Now there are many exceptions, this is the micro distiller’s burden.  Here are 3 that proved me wrong .

the more you drink of these, the faster their new stuff will get released

Woodinville Whiskey, man, these guys, before I even say anything about it, check out this quote from their website:

Forget everything you thought you knew about whiskey—like where it’s made and how “small batch” is defined. Whiskey drinkers’ best days are still ahead of them, and there are new chapters to be written in the story that is whiskey. With pen in hand, we’re here to do our part. 

YEAH, LET’S DO NEW SHIT!  Anyway, I believe this across all whisky from scotch to bourbon to Japan right now.  Distillers are innovating, experimenting and blazing new trails.  Woodinville Whiskey is likely one of the larger bourbon distilleries outside of Kentucky and Indiana.  And you’ll still find people that think  “only Bourbon County can make bourbon, “ I call those people “map-less.”  Not much is available from Brett & Orlin right now, but every time I get a sample of the countless barrels they are racking up, I’m happy.  They currently have 2 micro barreled expressions out.  When will the full sized whisky be out?  When it’s ready.

always swing for the fences

Balcones  Brimstone  Smoked Blue Corn Whiskey is actually a real thing, and you should try it even though I personally do not like it. What can I say, it’s an eponym, it’s aged smoked corn whiskey and that’s what it tastes like.

Hop on this metaphor and take a ride with me:  The film Southland Tales by Richard Kelly was not good.  Richard wrote & directed Donnie Darko and followed in with the “hated by everyone” Southland Tales.  But here is what really happened: while Southland Tales wasn’t good, it was: brave, bold, creative and demonstrated great potential.  It was failure better than most people’s weak, safe & restrained “airplane movies.”  Brimstone isn’t a failure, it just isn’t my favorite, but it is changing whiskey and how we think of it.  I expect that that distiller Chip Tate will someday kick my ass with an awesome bottle of whiskey.  Or perhaps, do it more literally, with his fists, if he doesn’t understand this metaphor.

America, here is your bench mark for American single malt

St George Single Malt is an American single malt.  It isn’t a bourbon, rye, or a blend and it sure ain’t scotch; it’s 100% malted barley.  It is currently on it’s 12th bottling released from St George and had you asked me 6 years ago if America could make single malt, I would have said,

“No.”

When what I should have said was,

“Not yet.”

They have been bottling for 12 years and consistently getting better. This is a great whiskey now. It’s nutty & fruity with a touch of smoke.  It has a complex barrel story and you can taste it.  It has maturity now and I look forward to every release getting even better.

Tomorrow we’ll wrap up with actually talking about other expensive American whiskies.

*I’d rather buy bonds in your distillery while you practice.   And I’m serious, I’ll give you $100 for a bottle or 2 in 10 years before $30 for some shit you bottle to pay investors.

Look, you aren’t getting any Pappy… Or, how I learned to stop worrying and enjoy the tedium of American whiskey. Part 2 of 4

Yesterday I was arguing that Pappy might not be what you think it is and/or that you don’t know what it is. And that there are awesome cheap alternatives. Many people thought I was saying that Pappy is not good but I would counter:

I never said they weren’t good, or that I didn’t needs the precious…

However, it can’t be purchased, let’s move on.  Better yet, let’s role play:

It’s the beautiful holiday season, a time of year that we can drink with our friends, families and even our enemies.  You have gone to the store and asked for a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle 15yr, you are prepared to spend between $60-$100 on American whiskey only to find out you can’t get this gift for your father in-law, boss, poker group, husband, wife or more likely, yourself.  What do you do with that searing hot money in your pocket?  First off, give a couple bucks to that homeless newspaper, probably tax deductible. but after that, choose your destiny:

1. Big Lots o’ Whiskey
2. Unknown Underdogs
3. Hometown Heroes
4. Next Year’s Pappy

You rolled a “2” and got “Unknown Underdogs.”

Here are 3 that even crafty whisky breathed bartenders forget about.  In general, they are all still at that amazing price point we enjoyed yesterday, but these are a bit harder to find.

you don’t always need rye

Buffalo Trace’s Old Weller Antique 107 just sounds good, just sounds like something stenciled on an old wooden crate; it sounds dusty.  It isn’t really.  They say that William L Weller was one of the first bourbon men to use wheat instead of rye in the mashbill, something we call a “wheated bourbon” these days, yet in his day (1850′s) it would have been some new fangled skullduggery.  “Wheated bourbon?” you might ask, well, you already love it, one you likely know is Maker’s Mark, a nice sweet n’ easy bourbon.  Think of Weller 107 as a Maker’s that is high enough proof to growl loud because the 107 stands for “107 proof.”  But behind that high proof roar, you find lion so tame and sophisticated that he could bake scones for a tea party. Less than $30

this is what mature bourbon should taste like

KBD’s Pure Kentucky XO is old.  How old?  Nothing going into this bourbon is less than 10 years old.  The “XO” is a reference to cognac and  the Willett family’s French orgins.  With an industry average of 4 years being good for bourbon that 10 year minimum really means something.  Also, mark my words “3 YEAR OLD BOURBON IS THE NEW GIN.”  By which I mean, the young bourbon market is exploding and you can’t swing a cat* without hitting a case of 3 year old bourbon; just like micro distilled gin was 3 years back.  But back to XO, it’s got the sweetness from that well aged whiskey but the spice that Weller left out is back here because this bourbon has rye in it too.  XO drinks a like Harrison Ford, mature, strong & mellow (yes, this is a man crush) but even at an old age, could kick your ass. $40 generally, $35 if you’re lucky.

Everything Wild Turkey does is great – respect the bird

Wild Turkey’s Jimmy Russel’s 10 yr Bourbon is what carried me in this year’s Bohrer family billiard tournament.  I hadn’t drank one in years until I saw it in the little sports bar we play in every Thanksgiving.  I enjoyed it so much that after making one tricky shot, I flew the bird at my dad with both hands and 1 boot on the table.  That being said, Russel’s 10 yr is more reserved.   It is a best of, it’s bourbon flavored bourbon, a little spicy but not too spicy, a little sweet but not too sweet, a little nutty…nutty enough to fly the bird to your dad.  Don’t confuse this with Russell’s 6 yr which is the rye (but is also awesome)$45 ish

Hey, Uncle Greg, you still having nightmares about my winning bank shot?

Tomorrow we’ll talk on these micro distillers or “Hometown Heroes.”

*Please understand I use “figures of speech,” and “metaphors,” I don’t actually swing cats, but I look forward to your angry comments.

Look, you aren’t getting any Pappy… Or, how I learned to stop worrying and enjoy the tedium of American whiskey. Part 1 of 4

Look, asshole, shithead, you vacuous status whore, Pappy Van Winkle doesn’t matter.  I don’t really feel bad about letting that cat out of a burlap sack because YOU AREN’T GETTING ANY PAPPY! But I’ll help you deal with that loss, and grow as a drinker.

Santa? Is that you?

First, let me offer, “you don’t know what Pappy is anyway.” Were you pining for the 10yr, 13yr, 15yr, 20yr, 23yr bourbon or the rye?  America’s infatuation with Pappy is like a 10 year old boy’s infatuation with bikini clad women on Ferraris.  A doubly accurate simile because much like a 10 year old boy, if you got “it”, you wouldn’t know what to do with it. Who make this Pappy stuff anyway? What is the mashbill? Isn’t Pappy what Chuck Bass drinks on Gossip Girl?*

According to a quick internet search, roughly 1/3 of the Internet’s boobs have been pressed up against a red Ferrari.**

But let me not deride Pappy too much, it’s great, but what you are over-paying for is three fold 1) The basics of supply & demand 2) mystery 3) it will always be better than anything in a plastic bottle.  Instead of being informative, I’m not going to answer any of the above posed questions & mysteries.  You should ask the imaginary distillery that doesn’t make Pappy to answer those questions.  Just post mark those envelopes to: “Pappy ‘guy on the bottle’ Van Winkle” care of Buffalo Trace Distillery’s Marketing Department, and I’m sure at the end of the day, he’ll write you back; just as soon as he is done shooting pool with Johnny Walker, Sailor Jerry, and Captain Morgan.

Enough of what you can’t get, let’s talk about what you can get.  Let’s role play:

It’s the beautiful holiday season, a time of year that we can drink with our friends, families and even our enemies.  You have gone to the store and asked for a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle 15yr, you are prepared to spend between $60-$100 on American whiskey only to find out you can’t get this gift for your father in-law, boss, poker group, husband, wife or more likely, yourself.  What do you do with that searing hot money in your pocket?  First off, give a couple bucks to that bell ringing Salvation Army guy, probably tax deductible.  But after that, choose your destiny:

1. Big Lots o’ Whiskey
2. Unknown Underdogs
3. Hometown Heroes
4. Next Year’s Pappy

You rolled a “1” and got “Big Lots o’ Whiskey.” Meaning buy all that follow.  Did you know that in America, we are really good at bourbon? Did you know that in many ways, “good” can be defined as “efficient economies of scale?”  And it is by that definition that three of America’s greatest bourbons are overlooked daily in pedestrian grocery stores.  Jim Beam 8 year (now called Jim Beam Black Double Aged which is a great new label but stupid marketing campaign), Evan William’s Single Barrel and Willett Pot Still: at $20, $30 & $40 respectively are three of the best values in bourbon, and prime examples of  how bigger is better.  Why?  Jim Beam makes more bourbon than anyone else, and when they let a few of those barrels age an extra 4 years (oh…double) they really hit a sweet spot in bourbon, figuratively and literally.  8 years is when a bourbon is quite mature and the caramelized sugars from the wood are very evident but have yet to develop any harsh tannins.  Jim Beam 8yr is a perfect balance that I’d be content to have as my only bourbon, but at that price, I’d be inclined to over-indulge for $20 a bottle.

I am cool enough to know, this is great everyday/morning/noon & night bourbon

Evan William’s Single Barrel is a similar story but refined and slightly more exclusive.  Made at Heaven Hill, this is a 10 year old single barrel project, which true believers will remember means, “not blended with any other barrel.”  All of the contents of each barrel are individually labeled and bottled.  Moreover, each barrel is hand selected by Heaven Hill’s master distillers and imbibers Parker & Craig Beam.  Did you know that everyone in Kentucky is a close-knit family?  It is one of the many reasons those people are so nice to each other.  Every year Evan William’s Single Barrel is different and every year you get more than your money’s worth for $30.

It’s just Evan Willaims – turned up to 11

Willett Pot Still leads the bourbon market in “coolest bottle,” but what is it other than just a pretty face?  Well, it’s a really pretty face, this is a bottle that impresses both idiots and connoisseurs.  Willett Pot Still, made by Kentucky Bourbon Distillers  is a younger single barrel bourbon.  There is no age statement on the bottle, but judging by the barrel’s yield (hand written on each bottle) the bourn is between 4 & 7 years old.  Seems like a big gap, but the Kulsveens (Willett family decedents) that are picking each barrel just pick the barrel when it’s ready.  And if that “ready when I say so “ attitude doesn’t impress people, the bottle and $40 price tag will.

This is what a “pot still” looks like. Like being able to change a tire, recognizing a pot still is a life skill.

So instead of buying that *one* $100 bottle of bourbon, why not buy all 3 of these?

Tune in tomorrow for the next chapter of Unknown Underdogs.

*Yeah, I live with and love a woman, Gossip Girl is often on TV, I know who Chuck Bass is and what he drinks.

**Most tasteful photo I could find

The Best Shots You’ve Never Tried: A book I wrote

I did not pick the title, authors rarely do.

The Best Shots You’ve Never Tried can be purchase here.

Esquire magazine calls it, “Re-Giftable.” 

Good Reads says, “Sturdy binding.”

Imbibe declares, “Mailer Daemon Error!”

Did you know that it is very difficult to write a book about shots and have it taken seriously? To remedy this, I undertook two hours of research for every page in the book just so I could distill all that hard-earned learnin’ into a few jokes. More than a cocktail book, it is a joke book with a metaphorical dash of bitters and a chaser of oh-no-I-learned-something.

The book is split into 6 chapters:

1. Miniature Classics
These are sweetened and shrunk versions of classic cocktails.

2. Bangers & Slammers
An homage to slammers (think tequila) & bangers (think Harvey).

3. Farmer’s Market
I hit the market weekly, it’s simple.

4. Holidays
From The Ide’s of March to Talk Like a Pirate Day, I have the year covered.

5. Dessert & After Dinner
Pousse Cafes & Sweet Stuff.

6. Shots of Last Resort
Stuff you can made with left overs from your fridge.

While the book itself is small and easy to ridicule (come at me, bro) I’d like to point out the multitude of successes it accomplished. I was offered this job as a mercenary based on my frankly scatological blog and the following writing sample:

So I was all “I’m going to write a book with bitter flavors and inside jokes.”           And they were like “OK.”

I am a tiny, backwards Manhattan.

Apparently there is a need for this type of book, at least the good people at Adams Media think so, as well as the folks at Urban Outfitters and Sam’s Club. You should ask for it at your local retailer, which would be great for me, small business and for the general hilarity of the title.

Every page does however have some useful information for the up and coming or home bar tender. Here are a two:

MATH!?!?

&

but history and geography are OK

To wrap it up, please buy this book. Take any of these recipes, make a batch and force them on your friends. And while many people gave me ideas for this book, I have to send out a deep apology to Jacob Briars. Unfortunately, the combination of pickle juice and Canadian whisky called the “Nickelback” that he offered, was vetoed, most unjustly, by the editors.

Bartenders that have been pissing me off lately: Slothy Joe

Over the past year I’ve been traveling almost nonstop, and of course, drinking to match. And while I’ve been able to quaff cocktails in the world’s finest establishments, I’ve also been disappointed plenty, too. Some of the bartenders I’ve been running into lately have made me visbly angry.

I was sitting around with my editor this morning and she brought up a quote from this article,

“…if your job wasn’t performed by a cat or a boa constrictor in a Richard Scarry book I’m not sure I believe it’s necessary.”

And it got me inspired to draw a few of these comedic frustrations into silly cartoons.  They are anthropomorphic little expressions about how everyone has faults but me:

Now he lives in the islands, fishes the pilins
And drinks his green label each day
Writing his memoirs, losin his hearin
But he don’t care what most people say

Slothy Joe is awesome in that Lebowski way.  He has a Jimmy Buffet bootleg from ’82 that he really wants you to hear some time.  Slothy Joe ain’t moving too fast.

I really like Slothy Joe.  I like him for the same reason I like drinking a pint in a dark bar on a sunny afternoon, I like him the same way I like to wear the same shirt 2 days in a row; I’m on vacation right? Fuck it.

Slothy Joe’s aloha shirt collection is the only thing in his life untouched by the, “fuck it attitude.”  And he has some epic hibiscus prints in his closet.  Slothy Joe even knows all of  the tropical drinks to back up his wardrobe. He can make you a Zombie, a Donga Punch or a Tropical Itch.  He knows the Diki Diki, remembers the Jungle Bird and can make a Suffering Bastard (both ways). But Slothy Joe Isn’t called, “savant Joe,” because he can remember a lot of drinks, they call him Slothy Joe because he ain’t working too hard to make the drinks he remembers.  Instead he wistfully remembers the drinks of yesterday while using off brand light or “gold” rum to make everything.

Slothy Joe takes the path of least resistance, always.  He uses a blender for everything, instead of shaking any drink, even if not on crushed ice.  Slothy Joe makes blended Old Fashioneds.  Though he works in the tropics but fresh fruit is always passed up for canned.  Pre bottled sour mix makes bigger drinks faster than squeezing a lime.  Any recipe Slothy Joe could attempt is now likened to sculpting Michelangelo’s David out of mashed potatoes.

But none of this is really Slothy Joe’s fault.  When he started working in that beach front hotel he just wanted a cool job making fun drinks watching long sunsets scored to Aja by Steely Dan.  But F&B managers, Hotel owners and the general miasma of the service industry whittled the job down to the nothingness it is now.  Sorry Slothy Joe, no more Cocktails & Dreams, just hearing loss from using a blender too much.

Next: The Goat

*Coined by Nathan Webber as a term for assholes that put amaro in everything

In case you’re wondering: I drew this with an app called Paper 53, after I had dinner next to a guy named Georg who made this app that delightfully allows me to scribble little amusing cartoons. Georg is a great guy to talk to about schnapps, and he sure can intuitively digitize a creative process.

Bartenders that have been pissing me off lately: Clive, the Fox

Over the past year I’ve been traveling almost nonstop, and of course, drinking to match. And while I’ve been able to quaff cocktails in the world’s finest establishments, I’ve also been disappointed plenty, too. Some of the bartenders I’ve been running into lately have made me visbly angry.

I was sitting around with my editor this morning and she brought up a quote from this article,

“…if your job wasn’t performed by a cat or a boa constrictor in a Richard Scarry book I’m not sure I believe it’s necessary.”

And it got me inspired to draw a few of these comedic frustrations into silly cartoons.  They are anthropomorphic little expressions about how everyone has faults but me:

Clive isn’t a sly fox, he is a slick fuck.

Clive has one thing down about being cool, “don’t try too hard.” Clive might be asleep right now. He was bone luging before Intsagram ever  existed.  Bartender? More like “Amartender.* ” What is Clive’s deal you ask?

“Oh, you don’t know?”

Clive is the hipster bartender and his fixe bike is locked up out in front of the bar. Every drink that he makes has an Italian amaro in it. The worse the amaro, the more he uses it. Amaro di S. Maria, I’m talking to you.

“I’m really into amaros right now”

Clive has a signature move and it’s his lean. Most bartenders lean towards a guest to see what they would like to drink.  Clive leans away from the guest and employing a pressure-free sales technique. This casual nature ensures that you’ll get your cocktail…eventually… when he notices you.  Young bartenders: leaning forward is attentive and empathic, whereas learning back equals,

“I’m sooo hungover right now.”

Clive has forgotten how to shake a drink.  Clive has forgotten how to muddle a drink.  And without Amaro Nonino, Clive has forgotten how to make a drink.  I’ve got news for you Clive, If you mix Amaro Nonino with coffee grounds and rotten lamb curry it still makes a good cocktail. Why? because Amaro Nonino is ambrosia and it is doing the heavy lifting, not you.

Ramazzotti is certainly Clive’s other crutch and sometimes he walks with a Fernet Branca pimp cane.  With 5 other amaros mixed shittily with 5 other base spirits he’ll write a cocktail list,

“Ripped off from Imbibe,”

And a cocktail list that a surly, angry, pirate like myself will enjoy yet also a cocktail list that will ensure a new generation’s fear of whiskey and gin.  In that way, Clive, you are to blame for the increased sales of Whipped Cream Vodka.

Thanks Clive.

Next: The Sloth

*Coined by Nathan Webber as a term for assholes that put amaro in everything

In case you’re wondering: I drew this with an app called Paper 53, after I had dinner next to a guy named Georg who made this app that delightfully allows me to scribble little amusing cartoons. Georg is a great guy to talk to about schnapps, and he sure can intuitively digitize a creative process.

Bartenders that have been pissing me off lately: Bart, The Rhino

Over the past year I’ve been traveling almost nonstop, and of course, drinking to match. And while I’ve been able to quaff cocktails in the world’s finest establishments, I’ve also been disappointed plenty, too. Some of the bartenders I’ve been running into lately have made me visbly angry.

I was sitting around with my editor this morning and she brought up a quote from this article,

“…if your job wasn’t performed by a cat or a boa constrictor in a Richard Scarry book I’m not sure I believe it’s necessary.”

And it got me inspired to draw a few of these comedic frustrations into silly cartoons.  They are anthropomorphic little expressions about how everyone has faults but me:

Bart the shitty Rhino caterer, he doen’t even have the thumbs to be all thumbs.

Hey Bart, here is an idea – after the wedding/ during the retirement party/ whatever the fucking occasion that got you hired – we want to drink, so how about you open a couple bottles *before* we walk up to your bar.

Or do you think I enjoy watching someone slowly open a bottle of gin, then look for vermouth, then open the can of olives, then fumble around for an ice scoop and when that isn’t even in place, use a pint glass to fish out the pillow ice, all to then utter:

“You wanted a vodka martini right?”

Bart, you have one job, it’s called emptying bottles and the only way you can do it wrong is to do it slowly: well, mission accomplished.  Bart left his branded plastic “Gallo” wine key in his other pants, can he borrow yours?  A wine key is the only tool in life he needs to get a paycheck other than the wrinkle free dockers he sports. Not all of us can make it to the dry cleaner, but I know you did not wash that shirt since Ari’s bar mitzvah.  Come to mention it, that bow tie is not tied at a jaunty angle, it’s a clip-on, you can at least wear it straight.

Occasionally he gets a bit creative, like the time he combined the bride and groom’s name and added the suffix, “tini,” for the signature cocktail.  Bart, I know that is just a cosmo.   He told his boss that Canadian whisky and bourbon are similar enough to only serve Crown Royal.  Bart only pours 1.25 oz of liquor a time and refuses to pour doubles. God forbid my plastic cup had a little extra fun.

But I really feel bad for Bart.  It’s not easy to tend bar off of a card table, outside, in August, facing West at sunset. It’s a bitch to be a catering bartender. And it’s doubly hard when you aren’t even a bartender.  It’s OK, I know you are just doing this gig until you get a call back from that sitcom about the 6 Rhinos trying to make their way in NYC: Rhino Friends.  Bart, buddy, sincerely, I wish a punch bowl could replace you too. But no, someone insisted on hiring your clumsy Rhino feet to ineptly open my Heinekin,and Bart, I didn’t even want a Heineken.  Heinekin is what you drink in airports when your only other option is Bud Light.  Go home Bart.

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Next: The Fox

In case you’re wondering: I drew this with an app called Paper 53, after I had dinner next to a guy named Georg who made this app that delightfully allows me to scribble little amusing cartoons. Georg is a great guy to talk to about schnapps, and he sure can intuitively digitize a creative process.

Bartenders that have been pissing me off lately: Camus, The Old Dog

Over the past year I’ve been traveling almost nonstop, and of course, drinking to match. And while I’ve been able to quaff cocktails in the world’s finest establishments, I’ve also been disappointed plenty, too. Some of the bartenders I’ve been running into lately have made me visbly angry.

I was sitting around with my editor this morning and she brought up a quote from this article,

“…if your job wasn’t performed by a cat or a boa constrictor in a Richard Scarry book I’m not sure I believe it’s necessary.”

And it got me inspired to draw a few of these comedic frustrations into silly cartoons.  They are anthropomorphic little expressions about how everyone has faults but me:

Camus the bartender, in all black not because he is an existentialist, but because he he doesn’t care about anything.

This guy is a bit older and asking him to shake a drink with two hands is madness.  He shakes a cocktail like he is languidly jerking off.  He says he is too busy to shake with two hands but his other paw, more often than not, lies limp at his side.  Camus won’t measure anything and he loves sour mix.  He wears all black because he works in a shitty corporate restaurant that thinks it’s actually still an acceptable way for a server to dress.  Every piece of fruit in his garnish bowl has one weak little zest cut from it as to ensure that he both A: wastes maximum fruit and B: never properly garnishes a drink.  He spends most of his shift pouring beer and the second-least-expensive-wine on the glass pour menu.

Camus isn’t all bad, he is a little rough around the edges, but that’s a good thing for a bartender.  Camus has a good quick joke for you while you are waiting for a table and he is often nice enough to card your wife.

It might surprise you to learn that there is more than meets the eye here. He has a secret that not many know: CAMUS MAKES BANK.  The corporate shitbox he works for, you know, the one you love the chicken wings from but won’t admit that you ever go to, pays him benefits and a good wage.  He also gets tipped out by every  21 year old communications major that serves his beers on the floor, he works 4 days a week, pulls rent in a shift and a half, and he wants you to come see his blues rock band this weekend, he’ll put you on the list.

Camus isn’t a shithead, he is just lazy.  And isn’t it everyone’s right to be lazy?  Not if you sell me a $16 (+tax) Manhattan; I expect fresh vermouth (god help me if you tell me you use Vya or some likewise ex-trendy shit), a chilled class, a stirred drink and I want it faster than the amount of time it takes the cook to microwave the wings.  Camus, shrugs his shoulders, and shakes my manhattan and forgets the bitters.  I simply suggest, that were Camus to try a bit, he might not hate life, and if nothing else, I could get a better drink.

Blues Rock is the worst musical genre.

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Next: The Rhino

In case you’re wondering: I drew this with an app called Paper 53, after I had dinner next to a guy named Georg who made this app that delightfully allows me to scribble little amusing cartoons. Georg is a great guy to talk to about schnapps, and he sure can intuitively digitize a creative process.

Bartenders that have been pissing me off lately: Timothy, The Peacock

Over the past year I’ve been traveling almost nonstop, and of course, drinking to match.  And while I’ve been able to quaff cocktails in the world’s finest establishments, I’ve also been disappointed plenty, too. Some of the bartenders I’ve been running into lately have made me visbly angry.

I was sitting around with my editor this morning and she brought up a quote from this article,

“…if your job wasn’t performed by a cat or a boa constrictor in a Richard Scarry book I’m not sure I believe it’s necessary.”

And it got me inspired to draw a few of these comedic frustrations into silly cartoons.  They are anthropomorphic little expressions about how everyone has faults but me:

Timothy wants you to look at him, look at his fancy shit, is that a full windsor? Fuck, that is fancy.

First off, TIMOTHY, I’d rather call you Tim.  Because last week, I knew a great bar back named Tim, now I know this Brooks Brothers asshole named Timothy. Timothy has a 4 foot long mixing spoon with a nonsensical trident at the end, it will surely put his eye out one day.

Timothy is very concerned with authenticity. Mexican Coca-Cola? Timothy uses Ecuadorian Coke with cacao.  He must bear the burden of barrel aging his own barrels. He only uses the miniature glassware. He puts a flamed orange zest on everything, even the napkins, but his favorite garnish is the disapproving glare.  If it isn’t pre-prohibition, Timothy isn’t interested.  50% of his drink menu has a dash of Absinthe, 50% has an egg in it, and most of those cocktails also include Carpano Antica. If you don’t like his cocktails then you obviously haven’t read the 10 year old NYT article hailing the resurgence of the speakeasy. He works in a bar called the “Bullshit” Social, the “Something” Volstead or the 23rd “I could give a fuck.” AND, Timothy doesn’t carry Midori because it has artificial coloring but has a Campari stain on almost all of his ties.

Dear Timothy, the folly of excitement is no crime but pride is a sin. You are young and full of piss & something acidic. I’d like to offer perspective from mothers everywhere: Your parents are not proud of you for being a bartender. 

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Next: The Old Dog

In case you’re wondering: I drew this with an app called Paper 53, after I had dinner next to a guy named Georg who made this app that delightfully allows me to scribble little amusing cartoons. Georg is a great guy to talk to about schnapps, and he sure can intuitively digitize a creative process.