vodka

Are there boy/girl drinks? And where do bears fit in?

My Fellow Inebriates,

I got some new tasting notes from my friend Michael:

With Michael's bear Gustav. Can you "own" a bear? Whose outfit is sillier?

right now i am tasting a white russian. it is creamy and girlish but slightly strong and very bearly. tooodles liquor store bear

One of the first things to go when you’re drinking any quantity of vodka is punctuation. Add some Kahlua and you can say bye-bye to your caps as well. Michael’s notes are my very favorite kind—when you are three sheets to the wind you can be totally honest.

The White Russian didn’t originate in Russia; but it contains vodka, hence the name. Add cream to a Black Russian and there you have it.

There are dozens of variations on this drink but the classic method is to pour vodka and Kahlua over ice cubes and then add half-and-half. It’s totally, totally, totally yummy.

Michael mentioned that the drink is “girlish,” which raises the question: Are there “girl” drinks and “boy” drinks?

Here at LBHQ we don’t go in for gender stereotypes so much as we do massive, unspecific overgeneralizations. To put it more honestly, I’m freaking scared that someone will hunt me down if I start spouting off about which spirits I like to wear a dress while drinking (and there are some). So instead here’s a sampling of personality traits and drinks to match.

White Russian, fave drink of "the Dude" Lebowski. Drinking makes us all better people.

BEER—You’re down to earth and easy to please. Sometimes you leave appliances in your yard.

COOLERS—You’re underage. Or maybe a sugar junkie.

BLENDER DRINKS—You like drama in your relationships. You also like loud, mechanical whirring sounds.

COCKTAILS—You’re purposeful and know what you want. To you, blender-drink fans are your bitches.

WHITE WINE—You’re optimistic but sometimes insecure. You’d like to be a nudist but you don’t know how.

RED WINE—You’re classic and confident but not very street-smart. For instance, you wouldn’t know how to shiv someone with a broken bottle.

SHOTS—You don’t like wasting time. Ideally you’d like to get naked right now.

CRYSTAL HEAD—Vodka for the End of Days

My Fellow Inebriates,

Have you ever woken up with a surprise in your bed? Typically I wake up with all sorts of things in my bed, but my favorite discovery this week was a bear-sized bottle of CRYSTAL HEAD VODKA.

What’s interesting about vodka connoisseurs is the value they place on the spirit being without taste. The most prized vodkas taste like nothing and disappear without a trace into mixers such as tonic and orange juice. This is what makes vodka so dangerous. You keep tasting your hi-ball to see if you can taste the vodka, and if you can’t, you add more. Next thing you know…well, you know.

I wondered whether CRYSTAL HEAD, a brainchild of “invisible world” enthusiast Dan Ackroyd, would impart that throat-parching edginess that is the hallmark of cheaper vodkas, or whether, with its sizeable price tag, it would be a bit more refined. My mouth is already furry inside, so I’m fairly forgiving of vodkas that evaporate one’s saliva, but I still wanted to see where this peculiar skull would land on the vodka spectrum.

The best test is the straight sip, so I sat up in bed and got to it.

"Now, if only someone would hollow me out and fill me up with vodka."

The skull-shaped bottle references the great mystery of the 13 crystal skulls from ancient legend. Many believe there is a connection between the skulls and the upcoming End of Days. Each of the 13 skulls carries a distinct type of knowledge, and together the posse form a repository of unimaginable power that will be unleashed in the Apocalypse.

So obviously CRYSTAL HEAD vodka makes a powerful breakfast.

The smell is neutral, perhaps a little citrus despite the advertised lack of citrus oil in the vodka’s production. The first sip is sharp—not as smooth as expected, but it settles down in the mouth, finishing in an almost imperceptible vanilla sweetness. The mouthfeel is jagged and edgy, amplified by an acetone quality that seems to magnify with each sip.

I decided to lurch downstairs with my freaky skull and try a lemonade mixer. The kids asked me what was doing with their lemonade, and I told them I was making it extra yummy.

Filtered through Herkimer diamonds. Can you even do that?

But it wasn’t. Far from disappearing into the lemonade, CRYSTAL HEAD seemed to crackle through it like with chemical harshness, that acetone taste redoubling in spikes that hurt my teeth. I loved it. It was the best way to wake up ever, and I’m grateful to my (yes, my) wonderful friend Pixie for a mind-altering taste trip that absolutely launched me out of my comfort zone. Drink up, people, the end of the world is coming sooner than you think.

()wned! by CALIFORNIA CULT CLASSICS 2010 CHARDONNAY

My Fellow Inebriates,

California Cult Classics new label

I got my paws on something very special this week—something that probably should have been saved for a special occasion. But a new booze arrival is impossible to resist after the sort of liquor drought we’ve been suffering at LBHQ. I couldn’t help it—the bottle was urging me, speaking to me, singing to me—and once the voices in my head chimed in I couldn’t help it. I pestered my parents to get out that big bottle-opening thingie and save us from sobriety.

The bottle in question contained a 2010 chardonnay bottled at California Cult Classics, an elite North Vancouver outfit where oenophiles, celebrities, and Vancouver Canucks convene to produce and enjoy wine made from extremely select Napa Valley grapes and painstakingly crafted to a world-class standard. Ahhhh!

You cannot find CCC wine in your neighborhood liquor store; it is strictly for personal consumption and not for resale. CCC members plunk down $10,000 to embark on a two-year wine-making journey, at the end of which they walk away with 288 bottles of vino so exquisite as to make them weep with joy. At approximately $35 per bottle, CCC wine compares favorably with wine that retails for $150 in stores. It is not something alcoholics, or alcoholic bears for that matter, usually invest in.

So how on earth did I acquire it?

Well, my dad knows a lovely person named Pixie, who read my lament about our near-bare liquor cabinet, and asked him to take me some wine and vodka.

So how would you interpret that, my peeps? I think she meant these gifts were just for me, don’t you? Predictably, my parents thought they were included, and since they have thumbs that enabled them to extract the special Sardinian Ganau cork from the wine bottle, they did open it and freeload off me.

Not my granny but she could be yours

I felt a particular urgency to drink this chardonnay because that varietal was the favorite of my granny who died last month. I was afraid that if we left it in the house she would come back from the dead as a zombie and look for it.

And so we poured it.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! A heady tropical aroma wafted to my nose with knee-weakening significance—this is not a wine to be messed with. At full refrigeration it was almost too cold to appreciate fully, and I had to battle some mean-ass DTs while I waited for it to hit optimal temperature.

People talk about chardonnays being buttery, and sometimes I think those people are full of crap, but I kid you not, friends, this chardonnay is buttery. Buttery and creamy, rich with vanilla, sensuous and transporting. This is not a wine to swill absentmindedly while you play Farmville. This wine will make you weak at the knees. Full-bodied and subtly oaked, it beckons from the glass, tantalizing, urging, promising, fulfilling. This wine OWNED me, people.

I can’t imagine I’d be very welcome at California Cult Classics in North Vancouver. It’s a very pristine winery, and bears have been known to host at least 30 types of parasites, including “coccidian protozoans, flukes, tapeworms, intestinal roundworms, lungworms, filarial worms, lice, fleas, ticks, and mites.” I don’t think the CCC people would let me add the yeast to the fermentation tank.

A better bet might be getting to know Pixie. Between you and me, I can’t stop thinking about her. Maybe she would let me ride to California Cult Classics in her purse. That’s how my friend Scarybear went to see Avatar.

I’m going to stalk Pixie from afar for a while and see what happens.