drinking

ESCORIHUELA 1884 RESERVADO SYRAH (2009)

The house was feeling downright funereal, and wine seemed in order. One of my visitors had urged an Argentine malbec upon me recently. No objections here, so I hustled my mum out the door to fetch one.

She really took her bloody time. I had to distract myself by reading the news, which filled me with paranoia and dread—especially this item, http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2011/11/05/MN3V1LOKC9.DTL, about an asteroid that will barely (bearly) miss us next Tuesday. If only I’d been able to contact my miserable parent to exhort her to get three or four bottles so we could have a properly apocalyptic evening.

Unfortunately restraint ruled the day, and she returned with one wine bottle, and not a malbec (she was not to be, seemingly, commanded by a 7-inch ursine alcoholic) but a syrah, albeit from Argentina as per my instructions. Fair enough.

Scientists tell us very casually that asteroids skirt our atmosphere by mere hundreds of thousands of miles every decade or so. OMG, people. I had no idea. I thought the main threats to my life were young children bent on torture. I thought I might get accidentally beheaded one day maybe, or lose an eye. But here we have massive rocks the size of city blocks careening toward us with a frequency I couldn’t have imagined.

I asked my friend Scarybear if he knew about such things. He told me to chill out and added that I am a “retard.”

So when the wine came back I was relieved. I just had to endure some DTs throughout dinner/bedtime and we were on.

The 1884 RESERVADO syrah (2009) had a real cork, something I hadn’t seen in a while, and of course yet another reminder of my limitations vis a vis dexterity.

Perhaps my favorite aspect of this wine was that it was perfect out of the gate. No need to decant—my tremors bowed instantly to this supple, intensely violet, complex syrah.

As the wine opened up it revealed ripe black fruit, hints of mocha and vanilla, and lovely, balanced tannins. Aged in French and American oak for eight months, this wine lingers on the tongue with an unforgettable intensity.

And at $16.99 it’s an absolute steal: the sort of wine I RECOMMEND buying by the case—the sort of wine I’ll be hitting Santa up for this Christmas.

By the time we finished this bottle I didn’t even care about that stupid asteroid. But I’m still preoccupied with my thumblessness. Find me an invention so I can open bottles, people, and I’ll be yours forever.

KILLER BEE Dark Honey Ale

My Fellow Inebriates,

For a bear, anything with “honey” on the label is an instant sell. My dad actually picked this beer out for me, which surprised me so much that my fur is still standing on end. He said since I was being pretty consistent about writing reviews, it was time I had something off the beaten path.

It’s true that bears love honey. My friend Scarybear claims that when he’s in the wild he sticks his paw right into any old hive he finds, pulls out globs of honey, and devours it bees and all.

(This is as stupid an image as I can conjure in my furry head, given that the Scarybear I know spends hours on the couch watching reruns of Stargate and begging his humans to order pizza.)

That aside, when beer and honey intersect, alcoholic bears get excited. The Tin Whistle Brewing Company, in business since 1995, specializes in English-style pale ales, and KILLER BEE Dark Honey Ale is crafted with four types of specialty honey.

Only I can’t taste honey in it. Swirled in a glass, KILLER BEE wafts cocoa and molasses up front, with toffee following. First sips are roasty, toasty, malty with chocolate predominating but not cloying. There’s almost a peatiness to it, an earthy, deep quality that hints of an Islay whisky. Think deep, sonorous tones if you’re into musical analogy.

KILLER BEE is almost stoutish but not quite. (It’s almost a lot of things, including honey-flavored.) While the mouthfeel is full, it’s surprisingly crisp. Initially the carbonation struck me as low, but a few sips convinced me that the Tin Whistle people really hit it on the money.

I am really freaking scared of killer bees, and I totally admire Tin Whistle for courting them so dangerously with this dark, intriguing offering. At 6% alcohol, KILLER BEE is boozy and warming—the perfect sipper while sitting on the couch watching TV. But the flavors are so dessert-like that one’s enough—you need to have something else ready to drink when you’re done with your KILLER BEE. I RECOMMEND it more as a curiosity than as a beer for pounding.

ASTROLIQUOR for Nov. 4-10

My Fellow Inebriates,

Here’s your booze horoscope:

Tensions at home may be too much for you at the moment, Aries, so here’s a temporary escape hatch:

  • 1 oz gin (check out my BEEFEATER review)
  • 1 oz cream of coconut
  • 1 cup frozen strawberries

Blend with a cup of ice, then garnish with one mint sprig. I know this is kind of a silly drink for you, Aries, but you have some bad shit going on and you need busy work to distract you. Count to ten while blending, and make sure the lid is on.

You’ve been spending a lot of time in your own head, Taurus, developing your emotional side. You’ve realized you need to spend at least as much time on personal pursuits such as drinking as you do on work. So pop some champagne, funnel some pear liqueur into it and take it outside for a nice aimless walk.

This week features real estate and efforts to focus on business, Gemini, so you’ll have to drink a little more to relax. Here’s a start:

  • 1 oz rum (check out my Appleton review)
  • 1/2 oz black sambuca
  • 1 tsp cherry brandy
  • 1/2 oz lemon juice

Often plagued by memory dropouts, Cancers get upset easily and need sweet, comforting drinks. Try mixing apple juice and cognac in a 2:1 ratio, seven or eight times, then practice finding things that are missing. Sometimes I look for my genitals this way.

This week people are boring the crap out of you, Leo, and a few drinks may be required to make them more tolerable. Your patience is thin so get a trained bartender to make you several of these:

  • 2 oz watermelon liqueur
  • 1 oz Blue Curacao
  • 1 oz Stoli cranberry vodka
  • 4 oz sweet-and-sour mix
  • 2 oz Sprite

Put a cherry on top and pound a bunch of these. People should start to seem more interesting.

Virgo gets some bad news this week related to a friend’s health. You’ll need to get messed up with something so bizarre that it prevents you from thinking. Here’s my best suggestion:

  • 1 oz anisette
  • 1.5 oz Kahlua
  • 1/2 cup pineapple juice

You’re welcome.

This is the week to descend on a friend, Libra, bearing tequila and tabasco. Knock it back and get naked.

Take it easy and call in sick, Scorpio—chill with a some strawberry cream liqueur and cinnamon schnapps. Sounds gross perhaps, but if you mix them in an even ratio, you’ll become nicer.

Sagittarius, your spending has been out of control, so it’s time to scavenge through your liquor cabinet and make do with what’s there. How about mixing equal parts vodka and schnapps with whatever juice you have in the fridge? Failing that, go to the bar and mooch.

You have turbulent feelings this week, Capricorn, and it’s your job to bury them so they don’t bother others. Combine melon liqueur, Curacao and pineapple juice, then pound it. You’ll get sick before you get drunk, which will keep you out of people’s way.

You’ll receive an answer to one of your complaint letters this week, Aquarius, and you’ll be happy for a minute, but then you’ll realize the motherf#cker didn’t address your complaint, and then you’ll start drinking in anger. You’re frustrated, so here’s something elaborate to keep you from going out on a rampage:

  • 1 oz rum
  • 3/4 oz EACH dry and sweet vermouth
  • 1/2 tsp cherry liqueur
  • 1/4 cup orange juice
  • 1 tbsp lime juice

Pisces, you need to start thinking about looking for a job. Give it a try, then come back home and mix up some gin, triple sec and Blue Curacao. Add some lemon and bitters, and soon it won’t matter whether you’re employed or not.