The Adventures of a 35yo (Alcohol) Virgin

hit counter
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 Smirnoff Ice Raspberry BurstThe Final 10 Adventures“The Sibling”With my drinking Adventure coming to a close, it was time to kick off my final ten drinks with my oldest sister, Elizabeth. She’s been a huge fan of the blog and of this project since the very beginning and it had basically been a year since we’d seen each other so sharing a drink over the Thanksgiving weekend was basically going to be both the first and last chance during the year this was going to happen.And so, I bring you… my first drink of Smirnoff Ice Raspberry Burst. Yep. I got my ice’ on. We both just wanted something delicious and fun. We were in a great mood, it was the Saturday after Thanksgiving and it was the evening at a dinner of chili dogs, baked beans and mac&cheese. Wine just didn’t seem right.If you’ll indulge me, let me back it up about 33 years. It was 1979 and I was loving life. I was 2, milk and gas were super cheap, politics were simple… and then she came along. Mess’n everything up and stuff. My stupid sister. I mean, yeah, she was cute and tiny and sweet, and she made me the big brother of the house, but that’s not the point. I mean we had a dog.  I was kinda like a big brother to him, so she was kinda unnecessary. I mean, right? Right.So when life hands you lemons, as they say. So flash forward a couple of years, parents divorce, aunts move in, life gets a little more complicated and it brings my sister and I closer together because in a weird way we only had each other. We learned to cope together and it forever bonded us.Life is sometimes a funny mix of circles. Through the years my sister and I kept falling in and out of friendship, in and out of circles within our lives. Elementary school to high school, college to post-college, in our early 20’s and now in our mid 30’s. We had some rocky years and some great years. In the past decade, we’ve both had exciting, significant changes in our lives and we’ve grown together through them.We’ve both gotten married, we’ve both purchased homes, we’ve both moved out of state and started a series of new personal, educational and career adventures. So much in common, but as my mom likes to point out: Elizabeth beat me to starting a family. However, I still swear my 2 cats are like children minus the back-talk, midnight feedings and diaper changes. All in due time… all in due time…So in a way, my sister is my original best friend, good times and bad, happy times and sad, she’s always been there. So—without a very doubt—she needed to join me on the Adventure. Like most of my family, my sister has always been an avid, unquestioning supporter of my lack of drinking. I never needed to explain anything to her. She was always just cool as hell. Just like when I started this blog, she was super supportive, totally cool about it, big fan.And so it was time for our drink. “What do you want to drink?”“I don’t care, something tasty. Something fun.”“Oh my god, I have some Smirnoff Ice! I have one left!”“Oh yes, this is happening yes! We can share!”Like I said, hotdogs and beans. I poured my sister about an inch worth in her mason jar and enjoyed the rest of the bottle myself. You know, I was totally surprised by this drink. It virtually didn’t have even a hint of alcohol. It tasted like a watery raspberry snowcone. It was pretty badass. I could have drank an entire 6pack and not blinked. It was thirst quenching, highly sweet, nicely fresh and a hint of citrus tartness that really made it quite summery on this cold, post-Thanksgiving Saturday. Would I buy another again? Not proudly, but yeah, probably. Why lie. It was like my first Mike’s Hard Lemonade, super tasty and thereby super re-drinkable.My sister mentioned that the Mango and Raspberry flavors were the best. And I have no doubt. In fact, I’m sure that when my sister, brother-in-law and niece come visit DC this spring, I’ll have at least one 6pack stocked in the fridge.  Get ready, Elizabeth.So cheers to my once yucky, often bratty, and now awesome sister and original best friend, Elizabeth. This drink wasn’t just with you, but for you. Love & Cheers,Ben
Permalink

Final 10, a preview

Holy crap! The final 10 drinks on the Adventure have been decided! I’ve reached out to just about everyone and barring any changes in the wind or travels, I present to you in no particular order (but the final drink, #1)…

10. The Author & The Artist-  sharing a drink (or two) with two of my good high school buddies, one a famous author friend and the other a local artist and country lady.

09. The Roommate - sharing a drink with my first college roommate, who tried many many times to get me to drink.

08. The Sibling - sharing a drink with my sister, my original best friend.

07. The Co-Worker - sharing a drink with a former co-worker, and deep-thinking, fun loving DC friend.

06. The Co-Hosts - sharing a final drink with the No Call No Show drinking DC podcast boys for another riveting installment of comedic conversation.

05. The Sweetness - sharing a drink with one of the sweetest, kindest, funniest friends I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.

04. The Father - sharing a drink with my father, the man from whose loins I was borne.

03. The Buddy Crush - sharing a drink with a good buddy who I used to have a major crush on back before we were both happily married men.

02. The Mystery Guest - sharing a drink with someone that will even be a mystery to me until the moment it happens.

01.  The Husband - sharing my final drink for the blog with my husband & best friend; it’s a repeat, but of the finest of qualities to say goodbye to the Adventure.

I hope you’ll join me for the final 10 posts; the drinking countdown begins this Thanksgiving. It’s going to be quite the crazy bubbly wrap-up. I think I’m actually going to welcome getting a little buzzed from some of these upcoming posts, no lie.

Cheers,
Ben

Permalink

checking in, thinking, drinking and being late to my own party…

…Basically, this is a long ass title to express that I’m 6 drinks behind on the blog and to let you know they’re coming. They are. I swear.

Joe and I moved to DC to expand our lives, make more money, do exciting new things, make new friends, explore more of this country, and enjoy a better life. This past week we had something exciting going on every. single. night. with friends, fun and family. In fact, we didn’t make it home from one event or another before 11pm every night. It was insane.

Note: these are not complaints.

We’re cooking for friends, attending concerts, running charity happy hours, having date nights, traveling with new friends to river cottages… seriously, absolutely no complaints. This is the life of lives.

But it’s having an affect on my blogging. Not my drinking, mind you. But certainly my blogging. And I’m going to repair this problem this week, trust that. I have 6 drinks to share… some awesome classics and modern classics. You won’t want to miss them. But in the meantime, I need to fucking sleep. Do you sleep? I miss sleep. Oh, to dream to sleep. sleeeeep. (I miss you)

So tonight you get an apology, I get to sleep and tomorrow you get a post on some disgustingly sweet wine and a concert. Thanks for your patience. And brace for impact, the blogs are coming…

Cheers, Ben

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 Rosso WineI don’t pretend to fully know or understand wine. I think that… wait. Let me start over. Ok, ok, hold on. You know how like, there are all these different kinds of water? Spring, purified, mineral, sparkling, artisan, well, tap, bottled… the list goes on and on. And for the most part, I feel like if you put a bottle of most of these in front of the average guy, he basically couldn’t tell the difference.I’m kinda like this with red wine. And having types like Rosso isn’t helping. In this case—thanks to a little help from my twitter wino friends @WineNovice1 and @WineHarlots—I was able to figure out the mystery of my wine with dinner.Apparently, Trentatre Rosso is a two-buck-chuck red wine blend from Trader Joe’s. Trentatre means “33” and Rosso means “red” in Italian. I know, fancy. If it was water, it would be like a Deer Park Reserve, probably.Anyway, we were over at the cousins having this amazing vegetarian dinner of salad, beet, beans & rice burgers, tater-tots a brussel sprouts. No really, I understand that I may have just mentioned 2 if not 3 vegetables you don’t like, I get it. I do. But it was delicious. You have to just trust me.So I wanted to have a bit of wine with dinner, and since we were eating really red, faux red meat, we knew a red wine would work. Well, that and all we had in the house was red. So, yep. Destiny? Sure.Ok, so about that not understanding wine thing. Maybe it was just the suggestion of a “blend” of red wines, but I seriously thought the Rosso was this weird mix of all the red I’d had before.Off the top, the smell of the wine was strong, bold and really oaky. It had this heavy sent of alcohol and grapes.  The taste, however as a 5 where the smell was a 10, oddly. That’s not a bad thing. The flavor was richly grape, slightly oaky and a touch sweet. It wasn’t as dry as the scent implied, but it was dry enough to give it some depth. I could kinda taste some berry and some tobacco, and some spices, but it would be there and then quickly disappear. I liked it, I didn’t love it. It was kinda confusing.It really was like this weird mix of Malbec, Merlot and Pinot Noir. And yes, maybe those are some of the only red I’ve ever had. And yes, like I said, maybe wine alludes me in this “I feel like a virgin every time I drink it” kinda way. I know, I know, I think I need some education. I feel like I’m starting to get beers. And I feel like I’m mastering the mixed drink. But wine is messing with me. And yes, this is kind of a cry for help. I want to become more wine-savvy. And I’m fully open to suggestions and advice. So feel free to send them my way. I’d love to be more cultured and learned on the subject.  I want to grow an appreciation, develop some cooth. Plus, I hear that if you go tasting, you get to spit wine in buckets! I mean, that’s like really gross and kinda cool and so I’m totally down for that. I bet I’d be really good at the distance spitting. If that’s part of the thing. So, feel free to send me any info or suggestions here or you can leave messages on my facebook, twitter or pinterest accounts. Just don’t leave me a wino vino virgin. Please, never that.Cheers, BenPS: DC is pretty gross and rainy these days, but it’s supposed to be amazingly fantastic weather on Thursday. Which is pretty awesome since this Thursday is the last spring Yappy Hour before our summer Yappy Hour extravaganza!  Don’t miss out.
Permalink A true conversation I had a family member on my husband’s side of the family. Later that day, they apologized and followed it up with “but deep down, I bet she’s still not thrilled.” and then patted me on the shoulder. It was actually adorable.What to read more True Stories on my Adventure? Check them out by clicking here.
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 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.
Permalink Anchor Steam Beer. I want to tell you a story. Many moons ago, my mom married a really great man named David. He was this cool guy who we knew from church and he was smart and played like a million instruments and made my mom really happy. I could regale you with dozens of stories about David, but today I’m just going to share one specifically. It is an inside family joke that in the early days, David was called Mr. No Opinion. While it doesn’t quite roll off the tongue, the nickname was because he would always default to my Mom when we had a larger decision to make or a request or just generally wanted/demanded/whined about something as teens often do. Truth is, he and my Mom probably discussed every detail behind closed doors before delivering a decision, but to our observation, David never threw in a peep. And to be fair we were not always the easiest teens to put up with, poor guy. I cannot quite pinpoint the exact moment the flood gates finally opened and David became more forthright in speaking his mind, but I can tell you this: once they were open, they never fully closed. Now, I’m not saying that he blew up and just started opinionating all over the place like a crazy person. Not at all. Not that he couldn’t have. Not that we certainly didn’t provide him more than enough ammo.  But over the years he’s become a really important source of coaching, counseling and friendship. Thankfully, he’s become the kinda guy you want to approach, the kinda guy whose opinion you value and are always grateful for. He’s no longer Mr. No Opinion, he’s a friend, a confidant, a really amazing Father. He’s been there for some great days and for some terrible days. He’s a great listener and he’s fair and thoughtful, kind and authentic. It is a rare instance that I don’t value his opinions, advice and counsel. I really mean that, really rare. So very rare in fact. Which is why having to report that his favorite beer was so terrible hurts a little. But, as you know, I call them like I drink them. And it was unpleasant. I love you David, please remember that. First off, the Anchor Steam was far more carbonated than a typical beer. Bitter and musky, the alcohol flavor was really sharp.  So sharp it overwhelmed the beer in a weird dark and strange way, greatly over-powering the drink. There were notes of malt and deep brown bread that I wanted to like, but the alcohol was kicking my sinuses too hard to enjoy anything else.  The beer is a micro-brew from San Francisco, CA and unlike the city, is devoid of any sweetness. It’s full bodied, with slight orange notes and a green apple skin like finish. All in all, its not my taste in beer. In David’s defense, perhaps my dislike of the beer is an indication of my beer virginity; my inexperience preventing me from understanding it successfully. Or, perhaps I just don’t like it plain and simple. Because it wasn’t very good. At all. Oh, David. I’m sorry. You had the taste required to fall in love with my mom, my sister and I, but clearly you used your will-power up. I feel responsible. Maybe if Elizabeth didn’t dye her hair every other week, or we swore less, or I didn’t hit that plain clothed cop and his wife on their motorcycle when you were teaching me to drive you’d have more energy to enjoy better beers. Maybe. But I guess we’ll never know. I guess we’ll never know. But I love you man. Good, bad and no opinions—I appreciate them all. And I’m giving you at least one more drink to choose on the Adventure. You deserve that much. As do my taste buds. And who knows, maybe I’ll take a Mr. No Opinion approach to that drink. …but probably not. You know me better than that. Sorry. For that and all the grey hair. Cheers, Ben PS: All this week I’ll be releasing drink blogs from my weekend in Ohio where I had drinks with everyone from my very own Mom to my Great Aunt Peggy. You do not want to miss this week. It’s going to be entertaining, I promise.