What's the Best Cheap Wine

THE BEST CHEAP WINE IS CK MONDAVI

The first time I heard the term Sommelier, was at a place called Club 33, a hidden club at Disneyland. His name was Pierre and he suffered me as a buser who asked too many questions. I learned more about drinks there than I would anywhere else.

I'd find out how to make drinks at the bar from a magical bartender named Lee, and I'd make them for my friends at home. But Pierre was more about wine and Cognac of course. He'd let us try a little bit each day to train us on what we were serving. And at the end of the night, if guests had left bottles not quite empty, we'd help ourselves to their leftovers. It was a great way to learn about wine.

Pierre was from some famous steakhouse in Texas, but he didn't have a Texas accent. He had a very posh American accent; he never said "y'all," but sometimes "you all." And I liked him a lot because he seemed to know everything I didn't but wasn't a manager and didn't lord it over me. My managers there were nice enough, but it was only the second time I'd worked in a real restaurant, and since we were all pretty young, they had a lot to do with training us; they had to be really hands-on.

So one day, I went to the supermarket and saw a bottle of Mondavi,and I bought it because I thought wow, this is the house wine at Club 33. This is really good stuff and it's on sale. I brought it home and shared it with my roommates and went on and on about how good this wine was and regaled them with all the things I knew.

They were sufficiently impressed.

I went into work the next day proud of my accomplishment and told Pierre. He looked at me sideways and asked which Mondavi I'd bought, and when I told him, he burst out laughing in my face.

Apparently CK Mondavi was the cheapest, bottom-of-the-line wine I could have bought. I didn't know anything about how much a bottle should cost or anything.

It took a while for the burn of that embarrassment to cool down--YEARS! I had to leave America a year later, travel the world, and come back to America, before I thought it was safe to drink ANYTHING from Mondavi again. But when there were hard times and I was broke as hell, I drank CK and let it remind me of a simpler, less weltschmerzy time.

CK Mondavi is available in a 1.5 L bottle for around $10.00, and it tastes as good as it did before I knew any better.

At the time this story took place, CK (Charles Krug) was owned by Peter Mondavi, who studied oenology at Berkeley. The vineyard was known mostly for mid-range affordable wine, and still is. Up the street about six miles, Robert Mondavi, Peter's brash brother who'd been forced out of the family business due to sibling rivalry, was busy making premium wine and using his family name and penchant for marketing (he and his brother both studied econ and business at Stanford)  to build an empire. In 1997, the brothers weren't talking except in court.

If you didn't know who Robert Mondavi was, he's the guy who really put Napa Valley on the map. He's also the reason why Americans (and now consequently most of the world) refer to wines by their varietal rather than their region names. For example a Beaujolais is a type of wine that refers to a very specific region. You'd have to know what grapes grow in that region to really know what grapes are in your Beaujolais-Villages (mostly Gamay).

Mondavi hated that because he wanted to grow whatever he wanted in Napa. He wanted the consumer to know what a Napa Cab tasted like versus a Cab from anywhere else, but he also wanted to grow Chard and even Sauvignon (Fume) Blanc blah blah blah. This isn't as controversial today as it once was. And many places were too far in to back up and do it like the Americans. Most people don't know what's in a glass of Champagne, for example. And most mortals don't have the faculties to remember every Italian grape varietal.

Anyway, he changed the global landscape and language of wine. And you can buy entry to that rich history for little more than the change in your pocket, and if you want to fly first class, Mondavi's got you covered there too with much pricier options.

Lee's blog »
In 2008, I ran into Lee at the Claremont in Oakland, and he remembered me 10 years later.

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Last bit of Mondavi history I think is kind of important to mention:

A lot of people think of Robert Mondavi as a symbol of everything that's wrong with globalization, and they might be right. But I think it's much more interesting than just this current generation. Cesare Mondavi, the family patriarch, was an Italian immigrant who ran a fruit packing business that shipped grapes to the east coast during prohibition for illegal wine-making.

I don't think it's a stretch to say he was a mafioso bootlegger. Cesare was just really, really smart. He didn't run booze; he ran grapes. He put warnings on the grapes that essentially told people how not to make wine so that people could reverse the instructions and make wine at home. He dealt a lot with a company called Beringer in St Helena, CA, shipping "raisin cakes" and sacrament wine. Later he'd buy a vineyard named Charles Krug basically next door to Beringer, and plant the seed of global wine domination.

If they had been Irish instead of Italian, they'd probably have followed fellow-bootlegger Joe Kennedy into politics.

These powerful dynasties are not exclusively American, but the prohibition of alcohol certainly helped. I wonder what families we'll be talking about in 50 years who made their fortunes in the illegal drug trade.

What's the Best Whiskey Chaser?

WHO INVENTED THE JAMESON PICKLEBACK SHOT?
Guest blog by Kanna Smith

My mom and I may not have gotten along when I was younger, but boy do things change. After an exhausting December day filled with obligations, we decided to grab a drink.

I’d never done shots with my mom before, and she was long past her shot days, and I wasn’t taking no for an answer.

After all, “Jameson and good decisions” was my life motto.

I might be less than classy after six or seven shots, but I’m the best version of myself with a little Irish in me. So we were off to the Hermosa Saloon.

Little did I know that it would end with me giving this tiny woman a piggyback ride on our trek home.

Like everyone’s favorite party-harty man-whore, Jameson is everywhere —loved by many and despised by those he fucked over (the weak). And those people are easily coaxed back to Jame-o with a simple pickleback.

If you're going to be an asshole who orders a chaser, try pickle juice. The judgmental stare of a bartender seems to soften when you request a pickleback.

Though she was hesitant, my mom is a drinking champion. It was pretty impressive to watch a 5’3” 105 pound woman toss back shots the way she did. I finally knew where I got it from. One shot turned to two, two shots turned to three, and three shots turned into forcing the bartender to join in our fun.

Like most nights that end in mornings hunched over toilets regretting every life-choice ever
made, we’d had no intention of getting so wrecked.

Between the shots, we mended a once-broken relationship. Picklebacks helped.

Who knew that brine would cut the burn of alcohol and the past? A goddamned genius.

Piggybacks after Picklebacks

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Legend has it an old lady with gold teeth walked into the Bushwick Country Club one night and asked for multiple shots and chasers of brine. The bartender liked it so much, he coined the term "pickleback" back in 2006.

Mostly people in NYC shot pickle brine behind Old Crow Bourbon. Salt changes the PH and seems to lessen the burn of ethanol. Alcohol burn whilst doing many shots can lead to sore throats and worse hangovers.

I like to think it's Las Vegas's obsession with Jameson Irish Whiskey is what propelled the pickleback to international notoriety.

Homophobia at Bulleit

WHY I DON'T BUY BULLEIT BOURBON ANYMORE

I was on the Bulleit train from almost the beginning. I love their rye and their bourbon and drank them often, as I'm addicted to Manhattans for half the year, and I don't mind a Boulevardier when I'm feeling saucy. But now I've officially disembarked.

For better or worse, America went with capitalism, and the only way for that to work is for consumers to vote for the world they want with their dollars.

That's why I'll never go to a Hobby Lobby and why I haven't drunk a drop of Bulleit Bourbon for almost six months now. 

The story goes that Tom Bulleit's daughter Hollis Bulleit made the brand the powerhouse it is through dogged ambassadorship but was pushed out when her sexual orientation became public. I guess it shouldn't surprise anyone that a Kentucky-based family's patriarch is a homophobe; homophobia and racism are rampant down south unfortunately. But I don't care that I'm not surprised, and I'm not going to support a brand that I know is anti-gay.

There are other great bourbons at the same price point anyway.

There's a Slate article about how family businesses are more susceptible to such problems. It makes me think of Marxist notions to abolish the family unit. I don't understand how people spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with racist/homophobic family members. If the world is going to be a better place tomorrow, eye-rolling isn't enough; pillory your grandparents if you have to.

Diageo owns Bulleit and Johnnie Walker and countless other brands. As a consumer, it's hard to pillory Diageo. Remember when Dove was running ads about all women being beautiful while Axe was running ads about all women being sex toys? Unilever owns both brands and didn't care how anyone felt about that if you kept buying their products. That's just how branding works and why Diageo is so powerful (and also dangerous).

For now I'm drinking Buffalo Trace and Gentleman Jack, owned by Sazerac and Brown-Forman, respectively, both of whom have probably had similar issues in their histories. . . but what else am I supposed to do?

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When I was living in Virginia, my ex-in-laws were horribly racist, sexist, and homophobic. The father of the family would proudly declare himself one from time to time. When his daughter was dating a black dude Big Daddy announced his intention to "tie him to the back of his truck and drive down a dirt road." When his daughter pointed out that her father had expected her brother to marry a Chinese girl, he proclaimed "I'm a racist and a sexist."

When you talk like that you deserve to lose your brand—you're a nazi. Nazi's, contrary to Trump's view, are the enemy because they threaten peace and hinder progress toward equality.

My ex-wife often sided with her parents. That drove a rift in our relationship. It was the thing we fought about the most, and it eventually tore apart our marriage. I thought I had to tolerate it until we had the chance to move far away from her ancestral home. But when that became a real possibility, it became clear she would never be out from under their influence.

And I'll never take that train again.

What Should I Buy for My Bourbon Drinker

If you watch the video above, you might get why I like this bourbon so much. Anyone who thinks Tito's is handmade should take a look. I don't have a personal romantic story to go along with this except I drink it a lot with friends. This bourbon comes with its own story. This is the real deal. This is old-school American craftsmanship at its best, but you get to put it in your mouth and consume it! You can't say that about fancy cars, Jerry Seinfeld!

First up, you see. You see the barrel-shaped bottle with its parchment like wrapping. On closer look, you can see where someone has handwritten where the juice in this thing comes from. And there's a little horse on top with letter by its back leg.

Next is the smell. You can smell that barrel. You can smell Kentucky! You can smell the bluegrass on the morning after a thunderstorm. There's a tiny bit of smoke from where lightning struck the night before.

Then the taste. You can taste the summer humidity. You can taste the sweating pipes in old barns. You can taste the dust settling at dusk as the fireflies start their nightly fandango. The freshly cut trees.

It's a magical drink, and it's not the same for everyone. You see, a single barrel means each batch is slightly different and will never happen exactly the same way again. Now, there's something to be said about the incredible talent some masters possess to create the same bottle over and over again, year in and year out, but there's also something worthwhile knowing that after you're done with some Blanton's bottles, that's it: a unique experience you'll never track back down.

If you're at a bar, if they have it, a dram of this will run you between $23 and $55. I knew a bar that sold it at $15, and I drank all they had. I know a cigar lounge that sells it at $23 here in Vegas, and when they see me coming, they pour it before I sit down. I go there a lot for the bourbon.

A colleague asked me before Christmas what he should get for his friend who is a bourbon-drinker, and this is what I suggested. He went with the easier-to-find Angel's Envy, which is a fine bourbon. But if you want to make someone feel special. . . or better yet, make yourself feel special, buy a bottle of Blanton's.

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A short word about the horses:

When I worked at MGM Grand, I helped work a bar called Whiskey Down. Some bartenders there collected the stoppers because they spell BLANTON'S when you collect them all. You can even buy barrel staves with pre-carved holes into which collectors might insert and display these stoppers.

I'm not a big collector of things, but I have a few of these stoppers, and now I feel like a schmuck not having collected them. I've got a couple N's that are different from one another, which means to me they change these horses fairly frequently, adding to that uniqueness. They're small and easy to forget about in a drawer. Maybe when I get a few more, I'll buy one of those staves. I just found one on Amazon I want:

Flaming Margarita

Working at abar means you get to try out some cool things you find on the internet. I found a flaming margarita on the web, and I just had to try it. Of course, legend has it that flaming drinks are against the law in Clark County (Las Vegas), so I can't serve these, but they're still pretty cool. 

I made a normal Cadillac and peeled the rind of a lemon and lime and poured 151 Cruzan Rum in there and lit it on fire. Don't put a straw in there, because you'll melt it!

This is something like 1.75 Azunia Reposado, .75 Triple Sec, fresh sweet & sour, and .5 - .75 Grand Marnier. I can't actually remember the exact measurements, but this isn't really a post about cadillac margaritas. It's about lighting shit on fire!

Also, I think it's ridiculous we aren't allowed to serve flaming drinks in Las Vegas. Plus, I keep looking for the law online and can't seem to find it. I don't actually believe it's illegal.

Dunk the fruit before you sip, and the rum gives the margarita a nice float of woody sweetness and fire. Not just something for the eyes, it really gives the drink a little something extra that I like.

I guess I could have used a high-gravity tequila, but I thought the rum would be a nice touch especially with the Grand Marnier float already in there. They mixed nicely, and I highly recommend this version for quiet nights with friends, far away from the long arm of the law.

Thrillist Wrote an Article. I'm in it, and there's a Cartoon of Me, too!

That's me next to Li'l Jon. He used to like to stop by the Lobby Bar at MGM Grand after his sets at Hakkasan to drink tequila; maybe he still does. I don't know anymore because I don't work there anymore. I miss it a lot sometimes, and this article makes me see it all with rosy glasses. It's also really cool to be mentioned in an article like this. It was a long time coming, and I wish I'd been there long enough to print it out and frame it on our wall.

Casey Childers spent a whole 24-hour period in our bar. He saw a lot. It was a slow day, so I wish he'd seen how crazy it got, but he saw enough. He talks about a lot of my team, and it was an honor to work with them.

Check it out.

Geeks Who Drink at Beerhaus

We've been doing Geeks Who Drink quiz night at Beerhaus for a few weeks now, and I think it's pretty awesome. Summer is generally the slowest time in Vegas, so to have locals show up week after week is really cool and really helpful because Beerhaus looks better when there are people in it.

We do Trivia from 8 - 10 every Tuesday night. There are prizes. Beer!

Also, Micky the quizmaster does a little blog recap I like.

Last week, we had 11 teams. The goal is 18 so Micky can get an assistant. I think we're the only one on the strip doing a trivia night like this, so I hope it continues to grow as strip-dwellers hear about it. 

Proof

I read a book called Proof: The Science of Booze. I happen to love science and drinks, so when I found out about it, I couldn't resist a trip to the library.

The book goes from yeast to fermentation, to distillation, to tasting and smelling, and ends with a hangover. Although, for some reason Adam Rogers refuses to use an article when writing "hangover," which made me wonder what the proper way of using that word really is.

It's a cleverly constructed project that somehow manages to spice up some pretty dry material with some pretty witty fun. It's like a conversation with your favorite nerd about everyone's favorite drug. Plus, there are Star Trek references.

Rogers travels the world with microbe hunters and yeast cultivators and booze hounds, which is one of my favorite things about the power of beverage: its ability to connect with people and places across time and space with the simplest of gestures. And I've said for some time that we are in the scientific era of beverage in which we'll eventually develop the ability to crack the magical codes of aging and the effects of every congener. So I loved this book.

The adventures of a scientific reporter are enviable, and I wish I knew Adam so that I could have a drink with him and nerd out about Single Malt Scotch and Romulan Ale.

I Found 52 Bottles of Belle Epoque

My boss gave me our dead stock list and said, "see what you can do with this, bud." It was divided into liquor/beer/etc., and I went straight for wine. One of my favorite bottles of Champagne jumped out at me: Perrier-Jouët Belle Epoque. And you know what? 2004! 2004 was the first year they started painting the bottles since 1902!!!

I couldn't believe it. I wanted to just open a bottle and drink it. If this were my spot, I'd take one home and drink it alone and take pictures. I still got to taste it, and holy crap. It's 2015 now. So, it's about 10.5 years old, I'd say. That's about the perfect amount of age on a bottle of Champagne, and I have to say, this juice has done well. I mean, this is kept in MGM Grand's cooler, which is perfectly maintained.

Toasty almondy, appley gold, and just a touch of lees to make you know it's been done the old-fashioned way. This is an elegant lady the rougher beasts of this breathing world won't appreciate, but if you've got any finesse, any passing grace, you'll notice the subtle curves in her bubbly mouth. And the outside of the bottle is nice, too. It's hand-painted, designed by a famous Japanese artist, and inspired by Art Nouveau, which is one of my personal favorites when it comes to architecture and design.

Essentially, I found a treasure. I put it in the Mansion bar at MGM Grand a few days ago, and we've sold a couple bottles. I priced it at a seriously low cost because I was really excited about sharing it: $283. That's a steal... like, really.

Anyway, it's my dream that someone will come into the Mansion bar, find it through the high-roller casino, and ask for this very special bottle. Keep the bottle, take it home with you and put it on a shelf. It's special.

Check this out ↯

Ellis Island

Ellis Island is a brewery in Vegas, but who cares? They're not winning any awards any time soon; so what? They're selling their brews for $2.00, and some guy who sounds exactly like R. Kelly is on stage singing Karaoke.

A couple guys sit with me at the bar. They're in Vegas from Colorado to tell resorts if lightning would ever strike the hotel ten times all at once. "No. Well, maybe in ten thousand years. Mostly we tell them what'll happen when the biggest flood Vegas has ever seen comes around." They tell me which properties are safest when Noah's deluge comes round, but the conversation starts and ends with talk of zombie apocalypse. "But we're nice guys; we're not all doom and gloom."

One of the guys sings. it's almost closing time. The lady who sang Amy Winehouse perfectly when I first arrived can hardly stand on stage now. R. Kelly can't read the words on the teleprompter. Things fall apart. The center cannot hold.

It's a great crowd. People carry crooners through the choruses, the Karaoke jockey cranks the back up vocals during the verses. There's no shame to be spotted. A group of black ladies gets up and tries to sing Pussy Cat Dolls.

Last call lumbers in like a Lazarus Bukowski because I thought this place was 24. Most of us shuffle out and find our way to the buffet, which is about to open. I make a quick lap of the casino instead and take in the decor and study their brewery through the glass for a few minutes. I've got to keep moving.

I've had a great time, but I'm in no mood to loiter in the light. There's entropy in the air, and I'm starting to think there's an apocalypse afoot. But isn't there always?

Dino's Lounge

Some people think my life is fancy. It is pretty glamorous. But I also love 24-hour dive bars if they have character. I don't like going to some random shit hole, mind you, but if there's a place boasting character and history, I'm probably totally into it. Dino's is one of those places.

I rolled in there in a suit at 3;30 in the morning. It's across the street from a collection of seedy strip joints and sleazy motels that give the northern part of the Boulevard its reputation. Dino's parking lot is the kind of place where you shouldn't be surprised to find me dead one day.

Inside is everything you want out of a place claiming to be "THE LAST NEIGHBORHOOD BAR IN LAS VEGAS." From the spotty neon to the light-bulb-eyed taxidermy to the signs promising events, to the ceiling tiles painted by local artists, there's plenty for your eyes to drink. The only people in the bar were a couple who'd just moved here from Wyoming or something. They wanted to know how to get casino jobs. I told them to stay drug free.

The bartender told me his name was Ryder. I said bartender's choice, and he said Jame-o. This town's relationship with Jameson is zombie-like. I ended up doing some Jame-o shots with Ryder between Dry Manhattans. Turned out Ryder used to live with one of my cocktail servers. He's perfect at the job. He cares about his room and his customers and seems to know everyone in town. I don't know why he's on Grave, but I'm glad he is because at 5 AM, having a bartender like him is a good thing.

A lady comes in wearing a sexed up costume. She works at one of the sexy-waitress-PBR-slinging-rock-n-roll bars. She and Ryder declare their undying affection for one another.Everyone's happy to be alive in a world where the sun is a dying star. In a good bar, it's always 10 PM. At Dino's who gives a shit? It's dark and the world outside is a shambles.

Cops come in and ask for a guy. He's not in here; it's just Ryder and me who have dicks now. We all give each other looks because the cops being in the parking lot means we're staying for a couple more rounds. Ryder knows how to talk to them, and they're nice to him. They say there's a report of a girl getting dragged unwillingly into a car in the parking lot.The name they want came off a license plate check. The girls says she saw the car when she came in, but it's gone now.

I end up leaving at dawnish promising to return. I probably will soon. I like this place. This is my neighborhood.

Atomic Cocktails

I was really excited about this one. One of the bartenders at Herbs & Rye suggested it as an after-hours spot (they're open until 4), and I love Herbs & Rye, so why wouldn't I love this suggestion?

I went to their website and read about how they found an old safe and how they totally retrofitted everything and how people used to watch the atomic testing from the roof. I was amped.

I walked from the top of Fremont and when I got past El Cortez, there was a fleeting moment when I thought maybe I'm getting too old to just be walking into bad parts of town, and I chuckled to myself. This isn't really the bad part of town, but it is very close, and I've seen worse. It does get darker quickly once you get past the Container Park, though. If I were smaller or a woman, I wouldn't want to walk it.

Once in the door I took in the atmosphere, which is a retro, low-light, very Vegas feel... still in love. I recognize the very bartender who recommended me come here sitting at the far end. I recognize a tourist I'd met the night before. I say hi to both. I sit down. A guy with a beard asks me what I want. Then everything kind of started sucking. I got into conversations with a couple people at the bar about cars, and that was cool, and there was a lady bartender there who seemed to be on her shit, but this bearded guy was far too douchey for the vibe at Atomic Cocktails. Dude rubbed me the wrong way.

I'm not the biggest stickler, especially in Vegas, especially after midnight. But this was my day off, so it was probably only around 7 or 8, and this place came pretty highly recommended. So, to have a douchey bartender is just unacceptable and puts a damper on what was otherwise a good beverage adventure. Plus, his cocktails sucked. I can drink a shitty cocktail from a friendly bartender or a great one from a dick hole, but when you're a prick serving me crappy cocktails, I'd rather just go to a local beer bar and save my money.

I'll probably go back some day and try not to sit in this guy's section because I really liked the feel of the room, but not for a bit. My days off are too few to be sold garbage drinks by a guy whose beard is his most interesting attribute.

The tourist and I went to Le Thai and Downtown Cocktail Room.

Aces & Ales

I heard Aces & Ales was one of the best craft beer bars in Las Vegas, so I went, and it's true.

It's got fire pits and great tables, it's really dark inside, and there are video poker games on the bar. They play good music, and the service is fantastic. Tons of TVs. Plus, free wifi so I could use Untappd to log all the beers I drank. Actually had to get a DD on this adventure because I planned on doing some serious drinking. It pays to have a cool friend who's Mormon (Thanks for driving, L).

The thing I liked most about this place was the staff. Two ladies were working the bar, and they were excellently friendly. I ordered the first couple beers on my own, but then I asked if there was something on the list I just had to try. She then revealed herself to be a wonderful guide and in possession of Cicerone-level beer knowledge. I love it when someone is really into what they do. You'd think that'd be an easy thing in beer, but a lot of times craft beer people can be snobby and aloof. Not at Aces & Ales; she was excited to share and happy to serve. When I got my bill I had to double check the prices because I thought it was light. But their pricing structure is very simple and cheaper than I expected, which is always nice.

Overall, a very pleasant experience. I can't wait to go back.

This was at the Tenaya location (there are two).

The Dry Manhattan

I love a Dry Manhattan, especially this time of year. A long time ago, I read somewhere it was Frank Sinatra's favorite drink, and Jack Daniels was his favorite whiskey (he was buried with a bottle of it). So, I decided to give it a try, fell in love, and now I always drink it with Jack. And I drink it in a rocks glass because it seems like that's how Frankie would take it, too.

How I make a Dry Manhattan at home:

1. If I have a jigger, I fill it up heavy and let a bit more slosh over into the glass. If I don't have a jigger, I just pour heavy, maybe I count to two.
2. I put a dollop of dry vermouth in it (about the same amount I put in my Martinis)
3. I splash Angostura aromatic bitters in.
4. I drop in a grip of ice.
5. NO GARNISH.

I take it with no fruit because I hate the Maraschino cherries most bars use in America. If it's the real-deal ones that really swank bars sometimes have, I'll go for it, but I hate the candy ones. I usually don't have cherries on-hand at home either.
Sometimes I use a shaker, but it isn't really necessary. The ice drop seems to work fine, and I swirl it around a bit.

This is the only thing I drink with Jack Daniels. I don't have anything against Jack Daniels, but that cardboardy background kind of brings together the bitters and vermouth and lingers a little so that you want to take another slug. Sinatra must have said that at some point.

The Manhattan is the sonnet of the cocktail world. The best bartenders stick to the confines of the form but nonetheless express great creativity with it, like the boundaries 14 lines represent.

There are a ton of variations, including one with Fernet-Branca, one of my favorite things on the planet. But my Dry Manhattan is inspired by Frank Sinatra, and there's nothing fancy about it, and I love it.

Anyway, it's kind of my go-to winter drink, and I'm drinking one right now.

The Velveteen Rabbit on First Friday.

I'd been wanting to check out the Velveteen Rabbit for a bit.


On First Fridays Art Walk in Las Vegas, there are hot air balloon rides, probably a hundred or so booths, and at least as many food trucks. The arts district here is a fantastic place that couldn't help but remind me of all the Fridays I spent wandering Oakland for Art Murmur. There was a disproportionate amount of street art, spray paint stuff, but other than that, it was great. There were artists doing live paintings, fire workers doing their thing, and more live music than you know what to do with. Also, there were a few art cars on display that I'm sure are cast offs from past Burning Man festivals. First Fridays was great. I wish there were some poetry someplace. . . if there was, I didn't see it.

Bar stands were there, too. You could even text a number and a tequila rep would appear and buy you a drink. And there were mobile ATMs everywhere, too. All and all, just a wonderfully organized event.

There are even free shuttles from Fremont Street. So I went to the container park, got on a double-decker bus, and arrived right at the entrance of the walk. When I was done wandering, I came back to where the bus had dropped me off, and I found out it'd be a few minutes before the next shuttle arrived, and what did I see as I spun around looking for a way to fill my time?! The Velveteen Rabbit! I'd been meaning to get in there, and now was the perfect time!

The blue neon sign is a great clue as to what goes on in there. It's the arts district's mixology bar, replete with elegant DIY lighting, jiggers aplenty, a thick, unpolished bar, and knowledgeable barkeeps that keep things interesting. Super friendly and patient service is what I observed.

I started with one of their seasonal cocktails, asking the bartender what his favorite was. When he suggested one with peach schnapps and mescal, I was slightly apprehensive, but the smokiness balanced by the mellow sweetness was a welcome delight. Then I had a Hank-panky. When you order a drink with Fernet-Branca, "the bartender's handshake," it lets your new friend know you're not just some fuck who doesn't know what he's doing. It was perfect. Then I said one of my favorite things to say: Bartender's choice.

Remember the Maine

He made me a Remember the Maine. I had never had one before, and that's what I love about doing things this way. A new adventure in beverage! In fact, READ THIS ABOUT REMEMBER THE MAINE! It was one of this bartender's favorite classic cocktails, and we got into a pretty awesome conversation about what is great about life in the booze world.

Sidecar

My publisher texted me I should order a Sidecar because he was drinking one in Virginia. So I did, and it was transcendent. One of the bartenders said he went through a long spell when all he drank was Sidecars. I don't often go for them, but I was glad I did that night.

They also have a great beer selection. The tap markers are mannequin hands. A guy next to me was having a hard time trying to decide what to have, and I convinced him to get the Brown from Tenaya Creek. I told him not to sample it, but just get a pint and that if he didn't like it, I'd buy him a round. He loved it. Then he showed me naked pictures of girls he met on Tinder. Girls on Tinder don't send me naked pictures. It cracked me up because what else are you supposed to do in this crazy world where in the span of ten minutes you can have a history lesson taught by a cocktail made in 1933 about a ship exploding in 1898 and then have a guy show you nude photos of a faceless woman on a space age phone after discussing the merit of supporting your local brewery in a city that defies all probability every day?

Tenaya Creek

I went to Tenaya Creek. It's the second oldest brewery in Las Vegas (15 years). They've won a couple medals at GABF, and it's clear why: their beer is pretty delicious. Their taproom had video poker at every stool, and everyone, patrons and service, was really friendly. I ended up getting in conversations with a few people and even a famous doctor who was in town on holiday.

  

Video poker installed at almost every seat, and they have pinball too. I put 50 cents in their Lord of the Rings machine and played for 40 minutes. I dug their wrought iron flight-holding thing that looked like a sculpture.

They've got a few flagships including a fantastic Brown (not too sweet, a little nutty) and a Pale Ale you could write home about if you wanted to make your mom happy--she doesn't hear from you enough! But they also had a bunch of seasonals that were really quite impressive in that there were five of them and they were all kind of epic. The seasonal that stood out for me was the DIPA and their Barley Wine.

 

Someone ordered a Cosmo, and I asked the bartender if they got much call for that sort of thing. She said a lot of people come for the atmosphere even if they aren't beer people, and I can see why: it's a really chill place with friendly locals. Who wouldn't like that?

BLVD Cocktail Company

I went out with a showgirl. The first time we went out, we met at the BLVD Cocktail Company. It was busy and loud, but actually a perfect place. I don't really like the LINQ very much, it reminds me too much of Downtown Disney or the Irvine Spectrum, but this place is worth checking out.

The reason I wanted to go out with this particular showgirl, despite my personal ban on all women who dance for a living, was the way she talked about Boulevardiers (there were tons of other things actually, but this was the thing that caught my attention and really won me over). And what better place to get a Boulevardier than BLVD? We showed up at 12:30 AM. Live music. Packed.

BLVD makes their Boulevardiers with a chocolate bitters that really rounds out the rye in a way that makes it sinfully delicious and smooth. Garnished with a cherry, it's a treat.

My first round was a Dry Manhattan made to perfection and served by a lovely model/cocktail waitress who was very attentive.

At one point, we had an uninvited guest. His name was Phil. I thought he was with my date at first, but it turned out he was just a passing reveler. He drunkenly complimented us, saying I have an awesome shirt and that we look like a great couple. Then he disappeared into the night, leaving a $10 beer on our tab. Our model/cocktail waitress happily deleted it.

I hope to visit this place again soon. 

I went on a second date with the showgirl. It was even better than the first. Then it fell apart. Personal ban: back on.