The Adventures of a 35yo (Alcohol) Virgin

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hit counter At 35 years old, I had never tasted, tried or drank an alcoholic drink of any kind. During 2012 that all changes drink by drink and you get to enjoy the results post by post.

Permalink Peroni & LimonchelloPart 1 of 3S+J Wedding WeekendWe begin waaaaay back last week on Thursday at a Rehearsal dinner at Maggiano’s Little Italy in Beachwood, Ohio.  Joe and I had just drove in from DC back to our birthplaces of Ohio, because let’s face it, free food and booze were offered.Otherwise, we avoid Ohio pretty thoroughly. Who said that?!Ok ok, that and it was an event to end all events, a kick-off to a celebration of the highest order of awesome: it was the wedding of my fantastic friend Shana and the all too deserving Jason. And this, my friends and readers, if you knew them the way I know them, was going to be epic.And it was.But let’s start a little further back even than last Thursday. Let’s start a bit back in 2004. For you see, I have found that I’m this strange collector of amazing people. Typically from work or a social affair, I find interesting people, fall fast in love with their brains and processes, become quick friends and stay that way for life.I have lots of examples of this phenomena—hell, many of you reading this know this well. But one day, I met my match. Fuck that, that’s a lie. Shana bests me in this category, time and time again. If I was a collector, I’m toying with thimbles and she’s counting classic cars. And she’ll roll her eyes and deny it, but we both know better.Shana is easy to describe, hard to define. Oddly, the same can be said for Jason, but more about him later.  Shana is magnetic, bubbly, genius, whip-smart, savvy, cutting, cunning, beautiful, funny, classy, sassy and adorably crass.  She’s sweet, thoughtful, kind, would take a bullet—but not a verbal beatdown—for anyone and knows how to love deeply.So when we met, you could almost literally see the social sparks. In another setting perhaps, we might have been advisories, but thankfully on this planet, we’re not. We were instant friends. We were both working for a progressive, intense youth-based non-profit. One of those, hold-on-to-your-seats-lets-hope-this-year-doesn’t-kill-us-wow-where-did-the-year-go non-profits. And then she left. And then I left. But we stayed close and she became my good friend and confidant in many ways. And then one day in 2010 a bit of my life fell out below me—unexpectedly—and Shana was amazingly there to help pick up the pieces, and over time allowed me to help pick up a few for her. But I still owe her more, and always will.  And for 8 months we became closer than ever, working together day in and day out.And some might take credit for bringing Shana to Cleveland. Some might take credit for getting her to sign-up for J-Date. Oh hell, some might even take credit for birthing her (I’m looking at your Janet). But I get to take credit (some, a little) for getting her to give herself—and Jason—a fair shot and go out on a few dates with her now current Husband.I mean, I wasn’t ON any of the dates. I just like to think I played even a tiny part. But I could be crazy. As always. It’s my resting mode. So, that’s briefly how Shana and I met and fell in friend-love. Flash forward to last Thursday and here were Joe and I fresh from the road at an Italian restaurant to kick-off the weekend-long celebration that became known as #WeddingWeekend.It had been well mentioned that Shana and Jason were going to toy with my liver by making sure I had more firstdrinks with them during their nuptials than I’d had done before. And they were not fucking around.On night one we started with a Peroni Nastro Azzurro, a classic, common Italian beer. The beer was ok. Sweet, highly carbonated, musky, tart and strangely, darkly yeasty. It has tea-like tannins with a sweet brown bread finish.  The alcohol flavor in the beer was pretty pronounced and only yelled louder as it warmed. It was alright. The finish was damn nice, but the front flavors were, well, no unpleasant, but not as delicious as I would have liked. The dinner was amazing, course after course, plate after plate of tasty Italian salads, pasta and proteins. And then the dessert was what can only be described as ice cream sliders made with vanilla bean ice cream stuffed between homemade baked profiteroles smothered in hot fudge and whipped cream. I kid you not when I tell you that when the giant platefulls rounded the corner into the room, our table literally erupted into applause. Literally.Oh, but we were not done yet. As everyone was leaving for the night—many on one of the dozen chartered shuttles Shana procured for the weekend like a logistical champ—she pulled me aside and asked if I wanted to do a shot of Limonchello with her. I said yes, she ordered several rounds for a table of folks and down then went (photo above).Lemon Pledge anyone? No no, it wasn’t that bad, but it did haunt me with that notion. It was a lemon-flavored punch in the throat and sinuses. Tangy, sweet, strong and bold. Much like the hostess herself.  I appreciated the flavor and punch, but it wouldn’t be a drink I’d frequent, honestly. And I’m a lemon fan.It was a fun evening and joy was shared by all, as were a few tears at Shana and Jason’s thank yous to everyone and their families to kick-off the festivities. And this was only the beginning. All in all, I had 8 firstdrinks and 10 all together in 4 days. More about that situation later, I promise. You’ll just have to wait for them over the next few days. So stay tuned. They’re coming. The Shana & Jason #WeddingWeekend was only getting started. My poor, poor liver.Cheers, Ben PS: Shout out to Donna and Joel for hosting such a wonderful rehearsal dinner. The drinks and food were a wonderful gift from them and it was appreciated by everyone. So much so, I’ve almost completely forgotten how Joel sat an entire 3 feet from the table banging his chair into my back every 2 minutes. Almost.
Permalink Margarita (on the rocks w/ salt)Ah the final firstdrink during my Ohio visit home. (One of at least 2-3 more visits I’m sure this year on the Adventure)So I had been waiting to have this drink since the beginning, I’m glad to get it in earlier than later. A drink with my and Joe’s Great Aunt Peggy.Aunt Peggy is the kinda aunt they make movies about. Movies where silver haired women dye themselves fire engine red, randomly buy a cherry convertible and drive cross country in search of adventure, younger men and the perfect BLT. Regrettably, I didn’t get to meet Aunt Peggy when Uncle Dan was still living. While there are a spectrum if thought around how he would have accepted and delt with Joe’s and my relationship, the stories I’m told always make him sound like a really cool and great guy.Since his passing, Aunt Peggy has stayed committed to living, adventure, and thoroughly enjoying life. She was one of the first family members of Joe’s that I met. And she was quick to welcome me with no question, no raised eyebrow. I knew the first time I met her that she loved Joey very much and because he loved me, she did the same immediately. It was a really cool moment in my life to see that kind of love in Joe’s life, in his family. It continued to affirm my faith in our relationship at the time. (woah, this is getting deep, right?)Anyway, to say Aunt Peggy is fun is an understatement. She’s sassy, sometimes bratty, highly opinionated, is well educated, well read, and travels the world sucessfully. We lived with her for a brief period of time before we bought our home in Ohio and while she and I grew even closer, we also drove each other crazy sometimes.I’d like to think it’s because she and I are kinda alike. But probably too because a 30+ year old and a 70+ 39++ year old will see differently from time to time.But I love that crazy lady. And she loves me. And she also loves her margaritas. She does this cute/funny thing when you even mention one to her. “Hey Aunt Peggy, did you have a margarita with dinner last night out with the ladies?”First, she’ll make this little tight flapping noise with her lips like she’s hungry and savoring something delicious. Then, she’ll usually say, “Mmmm, mmmm, mar-ga-ri-taaaas. Yes indeed. Yum! I love’em!” Adorable. So it was at the end of our trip and we had already had a long visit in just such a sort time, but we decided to close our Easter Sunday with a visit to a local steakhouse to have some dinner—it’s the Midwest, so we choose Outback. And while there, we made sure to grab a margarita. One the rocks. Always rimmed with salt.Even without first licking the salted rim, the drink was sorta salty on it’s own. I think I thought the drink was going to really punched up with lime, but the lime was more a back note, stronger in the finish than the actual drink. It was sweet, super tangy, with almost a hit of honey. The tequila had some solid bite to it and it certainly sticks in your sinuses. The drink is cool and refreshing but the background—maybe from the alcohol—was kinda earthy, with a nice plant like quality that was more pleasant than off-putting. I made sure to have a few sips from the rim, getting some salt. I’d be lying if I said it was my preference. The salt dulls the lime, kicks the alcohol up a few notches and almost stings going down in a way that just kept me wincing.And kept Aunt Peggy amused. Over 8+ years now since getting to know Aunt Peggy, I’ve noticed a few of her ticks, habits and behavior patterns. She sometimes likes to be fully engaged, and sometimes she likes to fain interest—but by watching quietly, unassumingly. If you’re not paying attention, you’d think she’s almost ignoring you.But she’s not.I could watch her quietly watching me drink the drink. My subtle—and not so *cough cough* subtle—enjoyment of the drink was highly amusing to her. “So kid, what did ya think?”“I liked it. I think I thought I was going to love it. But I really liked it.”“Well, if you have enough of them they start to like you back, so be careful.” I laughed at that and she laughed with me. “I love them so they tend to love me.”“Is that a fair warning for me?”“Nope, it’s just life I guess.” And at that she really laughed it up. And so did Joe and I. So Cheers to Aunt Peggy. We are blessed to have her in our lives. And she always puts up with us. It’s pretty win-win, I would think. Damn, I love that woman. And I really like that my little drinking Adventure is allowing me to share some pretty great moment with people I love. It’s fun to align a drink, an experience with people I care about so deeply. So when don’t have the luxury to be directly with them, I can still share a moment with them over a drink. Aunt Peggy, when I’m really missing you, I’ll reach for a small margarita on the rocks with salt. And there you’ll be.Unless you finally take the leap and get an iPhone or iPad. And then we’ll just Facetime. Margarita or no margarita. (but probably with a margarita…)Cheers, BenPS: And that caps off my recent Ohio visit. Next up, I just had 3 crafted drinks last night at a special pop-up summer menu preview at 918 F Street with Founding Farmers here in DC. I’ll be writing about that for tomorrow’s post. Be looking for that one…
Permalink JägermeisterOh man, where the hell do I begin?  I love my husband’s family. To make a long gay story short, it took a few years before I was successfully a part of of his family—attending weddings, gatherings, holidays and any other event a family does together. It was not anyone’s fault, it was complicated. But it’s all in the past now and has been for about 4 wonderful years.Let me set the stage: Joe’s the baby boy of the oldest sibling from a very Catholic family of 8. That makes 7 sets of active, engaged aunts and uncles, 5-6 of which we see pretty frequently. Lots of cousins, spouses, in-laws. It’s a pretty large, loving family.I often joke that I am the closest thing this family has to a black/jewish/disabled family member—you know the one that’s decidedly different. And to be fair, that’s completely inappropriate. I’m way worse than any of those examples for this family.Oh, it’s not the “gay thing”. They don’t really seem to care about that. It’s my weird, dark sense of humor and my mouthy mouth. Poor Joe’s mother and grandmother, they’re always finishing my sentences with “Oh, Ben…” and “Now Ben…” and “You’re terrible…”And for the most part, I’m pretty well behaved around them. What they mostly get is the stuff I can’t seem to control. For you see, I have this weird brain-to-mouth connection problem.My brain thinks something terrible/inappropriate/dark&twisted and my mouth says “Say no more, I’m on it…” and BAM! It goes out unchecked.  Often funny, but rather unchecked.I’ve suffered with this all my life. I should really start a charity.Ok, back to my point. While there are certainly darker-horse family members who wildly appreciate my verbal stylings and sometimes contribute their own wealth of madness, for the most part Joe’s family is pretty kind and lovely and sedate. Oh sure, I will hear the occasional teenage war stories. You can’t be one of 8 siblings growing up in the 60’s & 70’s and not have some great adventures, but time does tame the wild beasts.So when Joe’s youngest Aunt Beth excitedly asked me “Oh my gosh, are you having one of your new drinks?” with wild wide eyes and this crazy look of anticipation? I didn’t know what to expect.Now, don’t get me wrong. Several folks in Joe’s family like to have their fair share of drinks. Mixed, wines, beers: they’re not Amish. But I was not expecting her to bring out a fully chilled bottle of Jäger. And I was certainty not expecting her to bring out shot glasses. On Easter.In that very moment I was simultaneously happy, shocked, amused, proud and at one with the universe. One of my very favorite things in life is to be surprised/amused by something I would have never anticipated. A dog that speaks, polite urban youth, Diet Dr. Pepper tasking like regular Dr. Pepper… you get the point.So this was pretty badass and I was pretty pleased. And while I’m sure people were poised to be amused by my anticipated reaction to Jäger, I was aware that it tasted like black licorice. And I just happen to LOVE black licorice. Oh, Jäger. Of course it has this thick, sweet strap of black licorice but with hints of leather and burnt cola. Its intense with it’s rich sting of alcohol and coats your throat nicely. There is this almost lemon cola finish that’s sticky sweet.It’s tasty, strong, robust. I understand why one might think that a virgin would shudder at it’s taste, but for me it was everything I hoped for and then some. And I appreciated the black boot kick to my sinuses. I was very happy and I’m looking foward to future Jägermeister based cocktails and drinks. The family was pleased. While I could tell they wanted me to flinch—and I did, I am human—they were excited I liked it. It made me even more normal to them. And their contribution to the Adventure made them more normal for me.Not that there were problems before with normalcy, but now I can officially say—with only a little irony—that alcohol brought me even closer to my catholic in-law family. In moderation of course. Like any visit with me, always in moderation.Cheers, BenPS: My first sets of Ohio-based firstdrink Adventures is about to come to a close with tomorrow’s final post: a margarita with our Aunt Peggy. I’d been looking forward to that drink for a while. You should be too. Until then…
Permalink Strawberry Frozen Daiquiri There are a handful of drinks that I’ve always wanted to try even when I didn’t care about alcohol. I’ve had my fair share of virgin frozen daiquiris in my day—and they were always delicious—and so I always wondered if adding alcohol would make then better.Yes, a thousand times YES!! Hey, is it weird that I always associate Mexican food and frozen daiquiris? Even more than margaritas, I think. I’m not sure why. But I do. So of course, the first chance I had to get into a Mexican restaurant back on our trip to Ohio, I knew exactly what I was going to be drinking. Joe and I are blessed to have lots of amazing friends. So many in fact, that it’s often difficult to see very many of them when we travel back to Ohio for any reason. I’m not bragging. Yes I am. But I suppose this is really a “good problem” in the big picture, but it’s very real and often very frustrating all the same. Initially we didn’t think we’d be able to visit any friends on our trip this past weekend, but we were able to sock away some time to get in a double visit with our good friends Matt & Meagan and Stacy & Matt.  Two completely different Matts, FYI. Just to be clear.And when we’re back in Ohio there are always several local restaurants we like to/need to/must visit. Getting some solid, cheap Mexican food is always toward the top of the list. I’m sure I could find something good in the burbs, but we haven’t found the right mix of good, cheap and all-you-can-eat chips & salsa (yet). So we decided to meet up with everyone at El Campesino in the Canton area. Sadly, the food and service were a bit lacking from the last time we where there—almost 2+ years ago—but they still serve gigantic cheap drinks. So all’s well with the universe.Basically, in case you didn’t know, a frozen daiquiri is just juice, ice and rum. Oh that rum. I ordered a strawberry daiquiri—mainly because they didn’t have raspberry on the menu. It was just crazy delicious. Fake strawberry flavor, but I didn’t mind. You could taste the fruitiness and the rum mingling nicely. They play well together, I’m learning. Its a pretty simple drink. The rum has adds nice hum to the mix and gives the drink a solid finish that’s clean and crisp. Its cold, refreshing, enjoyable. And much like the drink, the visit was great. We really miss those guys. We don’t get to see them much and we’re trying to get them to travel to DC to come visit (cough, cough). Pardon me. No seriously, get your asses out here. (cough)I’m promising them that if when they come out, they get to pick any of my firstdrinks while they’re visiting. If that isn’t tempting enough, I don’t know what is, am I right?Yep, I’m right. (no matter what Joe attests…)Cheers to you and good friends, BenPS: Bonus side note: if you look at the photo of my drink above, you’ll see an adorable little cameo of Matt & Meagan’s beautiful daughter, Mia. She’s another reason we love to see them—she’s growing up so quick!
Permalink Baileys Irish Cream (on the rocks)There is something you need to know about my Mom. She can sometimes tell you an entire story from start to finish, with high levels of detail, and it will all be a joke. She’s pulling your leg. She’s famous for that.Or sometimes she’ll be talking about “Susan” and at the end of the story—complete with a description of “Susan’s” hair, nails and sweater, she’ll stop just before the end and say “Oh, wait, it was Lauren. Not Susan. Anyway…” It’s not like it happens every conversation. But it happens enough that it happens. (Love you Mom.)So after having an Anchor Steam beer with my step-dad earlier in the evening—to mixed personal reviews: love my step-dad, hate his beer choice—it was getting late in the evening and I was starting to think about heading to bed.My Mom was cleaning up the kitchen and I came in to see her when I remembered, “Oh hey, did you really want to be on the Adventure? Did you have a drink in mind?”“Oh yes!” My Mom excitedly replied. “Hold on, I’m going to go get it.” She stepped away and came back to the kitchen with a bottle of Bailey’s Irish Cream. I’ve had my eye on Bailey’s for some time now. I’ve had a few non-alcoholic items in the past that was flavored like Baileys, so I knew I’d like it in it’s purist form. “Mmmm, I love this stuff. I need to remember how to make the drink. It’s Baileys and cream. I just can’t remember the ratio.”Ten minutes in with my Mom on the computer and me on my iPhone, we still couldn’t find a proper recipe for “Bailey’s Irish Cream and Cream”. …Shhh, shhh. Don’t get ahead of me. I’m telling a story.“We don’t need a recipe, Mom. I can just drink it over ice and throw some cream on it.”“No, now, there is a recipe. Just wait a minute. I’ve had this drink a dozen times. I just need to find it.  Normally David makes it for me, but he’s gone to bed.” 10 more minutes later, she settled on just pouring the Bailey’s over ice and we added a few splashes of half-n-half in the drink. “You can add more than a few splashes.” I was admiring the drink when she stopped me and started laughing. “Oh wait. You know what? It’s Kahlua I’m thinking of. Not Baileys. Kahlua and cream. That’s what I like to drink.”I laughed back. “Do you have any Kahlua?” She went to check. No. “Do you want me to still drink this? Do you even like Bailey’s?” “Oh sure, I love the whiskey flavor. But I was thinking Kahlua.” “That explains the lack of recipe.”“And why you probably didn’t need the cream.”“Well, it’s almost 11:30pm. It’s just like a really rich late-night dessert.”“Exactly.”She tried a sip, “Yeah, no, that’s good stuff. A little rich, but reallllly good. You’ll like it.”She was right. Bailey’s is like someone launched a MilkyWay candy bar through a whiskey cloud and then it rained this rich, creamy, milky, delicious nectar. It has this sting of whiskey—more than you’d think—but it finishes with a buttery, nutty, cream flavor. Its the kind drink that’s cold but warms you. Coats your tongue like a hug. It’s grown up milk, kiddo. It’s grown up milk. If you didn’t know, Baileys is a mix of Irish dairy cream, Irish whiskey, a secret mix of spirits and a touch of chocolate.My Mom is a mix of Native American descent, with the canning, knitting and creative skills of an Amish woman and the mind of a… well what would you get if you mixed a savvy politician, magician, comedian and surgeon together? Well, whatever that is, you’d get my Mom. With a dash of wild color and tone deafness. Point being, the drink pales in comparison to my Mom.  And it was a damn great drink.So, here’s the deal Mom: I’m saving Kahlua for the next time I’m in town and we’re visiting. No, don’t argue, I am. That is unless you were mistaken. And it’s your sister Laura that like Kahlua. You were thinking of something else. What was that? Damn. You were just talking about it the other day. Crap. Oh well, it’ll come to you, I’m sure. (please don’t kill me, I’m your baby boy…)Cheers & Love, BenPS: 2 down, 3 to go. 3 very fun drinks with some friends and family are coming up next. And you especially don’t want to miss the drink I had on Easter. I might just start a new tradition. It ain’t classy, but it’ll work.