I'm trying to fill out my mixed beverage repertoire, so I'm not just an ignorant lush.
Seven and Seven: I could write tomes about this drink. I have it on lock-down.
Vodka Martini: So far, tastes like ass. Possibilities include too much or not enough shaking, too much vodka, or Noilly Prat dry vermouth may taste like shit. I tend to think that it's not that the Smirnoff triple distilled vodka tastes like shit since...
Vodka and Tonic: Light and refreshing. Like alcoholic water, in that the flavor is so muted, and it's mistakingly clear.
Gibson: Not a bad start. Using miniature white onions as a garnish may be a mistake (it's too easy to swallow), but the flavoring is essential. I eagerly anticipate mastering this drink. I used Bombay Sapphire with Martini and Rossi, stirred with a chopstick. I would have a proper cocktail stir, but my only opportunity to acquire one was at Bed Bath and Beyond, which only carried insulting novelty cocktail stirrers.
Gin and Tonic: Like the vodka and tonic, yet flavorful. Not sweet, a little bitter, still miles behind the Seven and Seven.
Got a little of the "get that white motherfucker out of our store" vibe in the local Korean market. My first mistake: deciding to patronize the local Korean market. The daikon I picked up was pickled ("This-ah side is Japanese. This-ah side is Korean. You want-ah Japanese?" "Yes, daikon, Japanese." "I don't know what you want eet for"). On top of that, they would only take cash or check, both of which I don't carry, so I had to drive to the ATM five blocks away ("I only have five dollars. Can I leave this and come back?" "Yeeees, you-ah can-ah come back." "Okay, I'll come right back.") Fuck the daikon, I just need a decent source of soba noodles. There's more Asian markets in this city; I'll find a better one. Next week, when I'm back in the 434, I'll check the Asian market on Emmett; if they have some dried soba, I'll just buy a bunch of that.
I still need to get my ass down to the Sake Club in Georgetown to get a bottle of Takara Shochu. It's been so long, I don't remember if that was $30 or $40. That bottle was the best alcohol I've ever drank.
I've discovered two related problems: one, my apartment offers very little for entertainment, aside from drinking in excess; two, my living room windows overlook the beltway. I often have the urge to go driving, drunk, for the sake of driving drunk. Of course, the related reasons that I don't succumb to the urger are: one, this late, there's little open, which leaves few destinations; two, I'm drunk, so, regardless of my ability to drive drunk, wherever I arrive, I'll be drunk, and make a fool of myself.
However: the closest Sheetz is shit, so I could make an ass of myself, buy a plate of grande nachoz, and come back here in time to sleep before working tomorrow...
Oh, it's fucking on.
Seven and Seven: I could write tomes about this drink. I have it on lock-down.
Vodka Martini: So far, tastes like ass. Possibilities include too much or not enough shaking, too much vodka, or Noilly Prat dry vermouth may taste like shit. I tend to think that it's not that the Smirnoff triple distilled vodka tastes like shit since...
Vodka and Tonic: Light and refreshing. Like alcoholic water, in that the flavor is so muted, and it's mistakingly clear.
Gibson: Not a bad start. Using miniature white onions as a garnish may be a mistake (it's too easy to swallow), but the flavoring is essential. I eagerly anticipate mastering this drink. I used Bombay Sapphire with Martini and Rossi, stirred with a chopstick. I would have a proper cocktail stir, but my only opportunity to acquire one was at Bed Bath and Beyond, which only carried insulting novelty cocktail stirrers.
Gin and Tonic: Like the vodka and tonic, yet flavorful. Not sweet, a little bitter, still miles behind the Seven and Seven.
Got a little of the "get that white motherfucker out of our store" vibe in the local Korean market. My first mistake: deciding to patronize the local Korean market. The daikon I picked up was pickled ("This-ah side is Japanese. This-ah side is Korean. You want-ah Japanese?" "Yes, daikon, Japanese." "I don't know what you want eet for"). On top of that, they would only take cash or check, both of which I don't carry, so I had to drive to the ATM five blocks away ("I only have five dollars. Can I leave this and come back?" "Yeeees, you-ah can-ah come back." "Okay, I'll come right back.") Fuck the daikon, I just need a decent source of soba noodles. There's more Asian markets in this city; I'll find a better one. Next week, when I'm back in the 434, I'll check the Asian market on Emmett; if they have some dried soba, I'll just buy a bunch of that.
I still need to get my ass down to the Sake Club in Georgetown to get a bottle of Takara Shochu. It's been so long, I don't remember if that was $30 or $40. That bottle was the best alcohol I've ever drank.
I've discovered two related problems: one, my apartment offers very little for entertainment, aside from drinking in excess; two, my living room windows overlook the beltway. I often have the urge to go driving, drunk, for the sake of driving drunk. Of course, the related reasons that I don't succumb to the urger are: one, this late, there's little open, which leaves few destinations; two, I'm drunk, so, regardless of my ability to drive drunk, wherever I arrive, I'll be drunk, and make a fool of myself.
However: the closest Sheetz is shit, so I could make an ass of myself, buy a plate of grande nachoz, and come back here in time to sleep before working tomorrow...
Oh, it's fucking on.