Friday was, as predicted, a long damn day. But once it was over, Brian offered to come meet me at the High Desert Market to share some dinner and a piece of their lovely baked goods, which also saved me from having to walk all the way home. Needless to say, I appreciated his willingness to scrape the cats off of his afternoon-napping self and come down, but I think I appreciated even more the fact that he offered.

Later that night, I decided to try the Kirkland Signature Tequila we'd decided to try on our last Costco trip. (Some of you will remember that I've never been a fan of tequila, but it was silver tequila, which I'd had at least not-awful experiences with before, and I figured it'd be something to review on the Rebel Bartender if I ever get around to updating it again. Plus, at $20 for a 1.75L bottle, it was a hard bargain to pass up.) Verdict: Surprisingly pleasant. Still had that tequila burn, but none of the puke-in-the-back-of-the-throat aftertaste I generally associate with the stuff. And it makes a damn fine margarita. The weirdest bit, though, was when I tried a little bit of it straight with some of the gourmet caramel corn we'd picked up at the market earlier. The two went together well enough to work as hors d'oeuvres at a fancy liquor tasting. o.O

Saturday Brian and I went to see The Hunger Games again. Verdict: Still a very good adaptation, definitely a lot more pleasant to watch when you're not in the neckbreaker seats. (I don't normally mind sitting up front but with all the shakycam I got seriously seasick a few times.) I'm a little sorry about some of the aspects of the story that got short shrift (Haymitch's alcoholism especially comes across as a Quirky Character Trait rather than a perfectly understandable response to year after year of mentoring children who just go off to die in the arena), but the excellent casting and well-paced screenplay make up for a lot of the deficiencies. (And I'm still wondering exactly what they're planning to do with the basically-unfilmable third book.) I also went to the local discount shop in search of margarita glasses; while that quest was unsuccessful, I found some lovely unusually-shaped (and surprisingly sturdy) red wine glasses for a killer price ($10/dozen). Considering that we can't seem to keep even a set of six matching wineglasses intact for longer than a month, I was on that deal faster than you could say "Sangiovese".

Now it's Sunday, and I'm back at work. But hey, extra cash. Plus we're interviewing folks this upcoming week in hopes of having a few more workers in the stable. Fingers crossed we have a good batch this time around...

It's been an odd week. Busy, what with work and Zumba and Thanksgiving shopping and such. I got ahead on my writing, then fell behind again. Also, mood-swing city. Spent about half a day practically flying, then another half a day slowly deflating into, if not quite the depths of despair, at least its antechamber. And then I got tired of my pity-party, especially as I didn't have any Jim Beam Black to keep me company.

So what did I do to break out of the depression? I went to Sierra Vista and ate steak, along with Brian (who'd just finished an incredibly long work-project involving working over the weekend). Then he obligingly ferried me all over town looking for a copy of Moulin Rouge, because despite having a mixed reaction to it the first (and only) time I saw it nearly a decade ago, the thought of a high-flying Parisian period/modern musical mashup fantasy seemed like exactly what I needed.*

Appropriately enough, while we watched the movie I finally got around to trying a bit of the bottle of absinthe that my friend Janae brought me back from France. While (after performing La Louche) it was perfectly pleasant to drink, I was somewhat disappointed that I didn't experience any of absinthe's much-vaunted mind-expanding effects. However, once I ran the back label of the bottle through FreeTranslation.com, I learned that this particular type had been neutered "in accordance with regulations", with the additional psychoactive chemicals that supposedly come from the botanicals removed. So I suppose I'll have to hope someone gets me a bottle of the real stuff for Christmas.

Tomorrow (supposedly) the contractors are coming to fix our ceiling - the swamp cooler sprung a leak a couple of months ago, and the landlord and property-management company seem to be have had a bit of a time finding someone reliable to come out here and fix it (which, in all fairness, hasn't been helped by Brian's and my travel schedules). So, since I'm going to be stuck at home all day, I figure I might as well see if I can catch up on my writing.

Wish me luck, folks...



*Updated reaction upon second, ten-years-later viewing: Much more enjoyable when you're [a] not in a jaded, cynical period of your life, [b] watching it on a proper home theater in high definition with surround sound, and [c] somewhat familiar with Baz Luhrmann's caffienated-weasel-on-cocaine editing style so you don't spend all your time going "What the fucking FUCK?" Also, "El Tango De Roxanne" is still possibly one of my favorite musical numbers ever.

Hello, everyone. I'd like to introduce you to The Rebel Bartender. She looks a lot like me. Sounds a lot like me too. But look at that professional blog design! And the quality of the writing! Nope, couldn't be me. I'm way too goofy to ever do something that serious.

She would like me to tell you, however, that she's branching out into Twitter as well, so you can follow her posts and ask her questions there. She may even begin a regular advice feature if there seems a demand.

And, for the Facebook-enabled, I'll be posting links for her there as well. Because I'm a nice person like that.

Here's hoping the stars are favorable for a new venture. I have a feeling she'd really like to see this succeed.

Four degrees this morning, and not much warmer during the day. Just about everyone in town has frozen pipes, and several mains have burst. I suppose I can understand the thinking - if you're building in the desert, it doesn't really make sense to spend a lot of time properly burying/insulating your water line. But still, given the places I've lived, I can't help but be amazed at how everything here just falls apart after one particularly cold night. (Not even any snow, fer chrissakes. Also, I feel the need to point out that in Juneau it's been forty degrees and raining the last couple of days. How is that fair?)

Needless to say, our nearly-century-old house was in the "frozen pipes" category. At the recommendation of the landlord, we tried pouring boiling water over the exposed parts of our pipe line, but only managed to burst our meter, which then proceeded to spew water all over the place. The technician was kind enough to come out and fix it at eight o'clock at night in single-digit weather - I'll have to write the company a nice thank-you email.

Meantime, we're getting by with the usual Alaska dry-cabin methods. The landlord lives right up the way from us and managed to get the faucet in his workshop unfrozen, so we've been hauling five-gallon buckets of water down and using them. Washing one's hair in a bucket of water isn't exactly convenient, but it sure beats the alternative, and at least it was warm. And given that parts of the county are having gas outages (apparently the colder-than-average weather is putting strain on the interstate pipeline - gee, who would've guessed?), I'm just grateful that we still have electricity and heat. I comfort myself that, come June and 95-degree weather, this will all seem long ago and far away.

In that same positive spirit, I finally got around to uploading some more pictures for my Why I Love Bisbee album, featuring some entertaining finds from the various antique/consignment shops around town. The Sperry-UNIVAC Zippo in particular struck me as something that would be of interest to certain persons on my friendslist.

And since it seemed like the kind of day that deserved a ( Not Safe For Mum ) book to relax with, I decided to oblige:

( Picture and drink recipe below. Mothers may consider themselves advised. )

I'm also trying to decide if a blog post I made critiquing a movie a couple years back might be something I could turn in to a story. Not sure yet - at the very least, I have a fair amount of reading up to do on 80s culture - but it's a thought.

I've actually got a few drinking-related subjects to expound upon, but given morning time constraints, I'll start with the most dramatic:


Citrus Vodka Smackdown!

vs.

All right, so any fight between two flavored vodkas is far likelier to be a prissy slapfight than a proper balls-to-the-wall smackdown. Still, I've been experimenting with citrus vodka quite a bit lately - not in the least due to the lemon drop kick I've been on. On the advice of several blogs, I've been using Skyy Citrus, but it didn't seem quite right to just take their word for it - and, having acquired a multipack of flavored vodka samples from Costco, I decided to see how what is possibly the world's most-advertised brand stands up to the skinny blue bottle.

In a word, not very well. To begin with, the aroma of the Absolut is significantly harsher. Part of this can possibly be attributed to the higher alcohol content (Absolut's flavored vodkas are all the full-strength 80 proof), but there's a distinct medicinal quality that's present in the flavor as well. (Having tried plain Absolut as well as several other flavors at this point, I believe I can safely say this is a problem across the entire line - perhaps the developers wanted an appropriate flavor to fit with their signature Swedish medicine-bottle shape?) There's a definite citrus flavor, true, but it's a fairly uninteresting one with little complexity.

The Skyy citrus, on the other hand, has a much more pleasant flavor and is far silkier on the tongue. There's some vodka burn, true, but it doesn't crop up until much later, giving you time to appreciate the complexity of its citrus flavors. Skyy's made a name for their flavored vodkas by claiming to use all-natural ingredients; I can't tell you if the same is true for Absolut, but I can say that, between these two flavors at least, the latter tastes much more artificial.

But since neither of these vodkas are designed to be consumed neat, it only seemed fair to make them each into a drink where their properties would be on best display. So I mixed up two lemon drops, and Brian, in the name of scientific rigor, helped me drink them (poor him).

The results? While not quite as dramatic as with the straight-up vodka, there's still a distinct difference between the two, mostly in the finish. Absolut's harshness pretty much disappears into the drink, but the single-note citrus character definitely shows up after you swallow. Similarly, Skyy's complexity of aroma really shows to advantage at the end, and makes Skyy the undisputed champion, at least in this matchup.

Winner:

I talked to my mother today, and she mentioned that she was wondering if I was all right because I hadn't posted anything in my blog recently. So, just to be perverse, I figure that I'll write an entry regarding her absolute favorite subject - my adventures in mixology!

Actually, there's not a lot going on in that arena right now. I don't have too many friends around to mix cocktails for, and I'm only just starting to rebuild my liquor collection after giving it all away to our Juneau friends when we moved. I did, however, find myself with a craving for a lemon drop the other day, and a spare lemon with which to make it - so I did, and it was delicious. And then I promptly managed to lose the card that had the recipe on it (yes, Mum, I have a recipe box for drinks), so I've been meaning to go searching for another one.

Tonight, I gave this one a go, because it looked like it was written by people who were at least as anal-retentive about their drink quality as I am. (I especially liked the lemon sugar idea, and have made up a batch to keep around.) However, I had to make a couple of substitutions, as I have no citrus-flavored vodka, so the actual drink came out a bit differently.

Now, a lesson for those of you who aren't familiar with drink ingredients - flavored vodkas (or rums, or cognacs, or what have you) are generally about 10 proof less (5% less alcohol by volume) than the straight versions, although whether this is to make room for the flavoring or simply out of tradition is not in my pay grade. Suffice it to say, substituting straight vodka for flavored vodka without adjusting the amount accordingly makes for a rather, shall we say...strong drink. Enough that the flavor of the vodka becomes apparent, which tends to be A Bad Thing where cocktails are concerned, unless you find the phrase "jet fuel" mouthwatering.

But still, I couldn't help but giggle at the concept of lemon-flavored jet fuel. Perhaps it would fuel Green Arrow's nemesis' vehicle? "Quick! To the LemonMobile!"

I find myself wondering if, now that we've decided to leave, Juneau's decided to shower us with as much of its awe-inspiring weather as it can muster. Literally. This is the third huge rainstorm in as many days. Usually they're fairly short-lived, or only over one spot, but we just drove all the way downtown, had dinner, and came all the way back, and the whole time it was pelting down rain along the entire way.

Audi with heated seats for the win. (Not that I'm going to mind not needing those in the future.)

It was a quiet weekend, for all the general stress caused by the premonition of large-scale upsets. Friday night I had a lot of nervous energy, but an evening spent dancing and chatting with Andy helped quite a bit. Saturday we mostly hung around the house (the awful weather did nothing to encourage us to do otherwise), and I did a lot of cleaning. Sunday I got the grocery shopping done and we did laundry, which is always something of a mammoth task as both Brian and I tend to put it off until we're essentially laundering our entire wardrobes at once. I think (as my mother used to warn me would happen when I was younger and hated housework, and I never believed) the cleaning helped me stay calm and centered, which was a nice feeling to have. (Sadly, it doesn't seem to have lasted, as last night I was having a lot of trouble sleeping. Hopefully that won't be the case tonight as well - tea and bath ahoy!)

I don't think I ever got around to mentioning on here that about a week before getting married, Monica introduced me to a friend of hers at the Viking - a real, live Scotsman named Franky (he was even wearing a kilt when we met). He works on one of the cruise ships that shows up here once a week, and he's quite a sweetheart, so he and Brian and I have taken to hanging out on Sundays when he's in port. Last week he invited us for a meal aboard the ship, and holy crow - they feed you like royalty on those boats. I had some lovely roast lamb, Brian had a seven-ounce filet mignon (and that was the petite cut), and Franky had a ribeye that very nearly overflowed his plate. The side dishes were impressive, too; the asparagus was perfectly cooked with a rich butter sauce, and the sauteed mushrooms divine.

One of the things that I noticed really made the meal for me, however, was the presentation. I don't just mean the way it looked (although each dish was quite artistically designed and I applaud them for it), but the fact that each course was just the right size. The soup course was a tiny cup of a very rich and tasty bisque; the beefsteak-tomato salad I ordered was three (large) slices of tomato with vinegarette and associated garnish; the main course varied from medium to huge (depending on what you ordered) with side dishes that were just the right size to savor without filling up on them; and the dessert, while perhaps a bit larger than I would have picked, was delicious enough to be worth making the extra room for. I hadn't even realized how much the general restaurant trend of "serve gigantic portions rather than lowering prices" irks me until I sat down at a place that did it right - I can't tell you how lovely it was to be able to enjoy each course without wondering where I was going to find room for the next, and to be pleasantly full at the end of the meal without feeling like I was going to burst. (I suppose I can see the advantage of the gigantic-portion view from a marketing standpoint, but really, I would think that they would make more on the appetizers and desserts they could sell to a non-overstuffed clientele than the measly few dollars extra they can charge for a huge plate.)

Incidentally, I would be remiss in my praise if I didn't also describe the apéritif I ordered from the bar. Given the size of the cocktail selection, I couldn't very well let the opportunity to try something completely new slip by, so I ordered something called a "Starboard Peach Martini", which, according to the menu, was made from Grey Goose L'Orange, creme de peaches, pink grapefruit juice, and passion fruit syrup. It was quite possibly the girliest drink I have ever ordered at a bar, but here's the thing - it was excellent. Sweet, yes, but far from cloying or overpowering; fruity, but not artificially so; not harsh or boozy tasting at all; and a pleasant orange-pink color. Combine that with the uber-classy presentation - in a single-serving shaker, poured over a sugared orange peel - and I didn't feel like I was in Juneau anymore. (The most complicated cocktail I've ever ordered at the Viking was a cosmopolitan, which got me well vodka topped with that lethal red mix...served in a beer glass. Seriously.) Once we're settled down again I'm going to have to track down some of those ingredients and see if I can divine the magic behind it.

We're having Franky over here for dinner next week; we'll have to make him something super-nice in return. Fortunately he's one of the least judgmental people I've ever met (I can see why he and Monica get along), so as long as we have some good beer and something reasonably delicious on the menu I have a feeling he'll enjoy himself just as much as we did.