Tenth Musee

Last night I met up with Daniel and Richard for a cocktail at Laurel Restaurant and Bar on, naturally, Laurel Street.  The website said they were open nightly at 5pm and they had happy hour on Sundays. The reviews on  Yelp were encouraging, too. It looked so adorable and I was really looking forward to checking it out.

So, we get there and it’s closed. But not “hey, we’re closed for a private party” or “due to the economy, we’re now closed on Sundays”. Just… closed. The “dark, silent, not answering the phone” kind of closed. Very odd.  We decided to go to another place down the street in Little Italy called The Glass Door, which was at the top of the Porto Villa hotel.  Lovely little place, but still pretty new. Great view of the bay and sunset, but the martini glasses were those kind without the stem — just this big clunky chunky glass. It kind of takes away from the martini-drinking experience if you ask me, but the martini itself did that in spades. It was way too ‘dirty’ and mine had large bits of olive floating in it. I declared, “Mine’s got flotsam!” I don’t know if Richard was so lucky to get chunks in his drink. Daniel smartly ordered an appletini which was apparently good.

We decided to go over to Bing Crosby’s where the blue-hairs were hoppin’ last night!  It was wall-to-wall Geritol, but they were having so much fun it was more like American Bandstand. There was a guy playing Nat King Cole on the piano and singing when we came in. But then he kicked on a backup track and played along to My Heart Will Go On with a soprano sax. I swear, I thought my ear drums were going to burst from my ears. It was like a Kenny G singalong.

The man was talented, don’t get me wrong, but there was something really cruise-shippy about his whole schtick. After that he busted out an alto sax and played along to At Last. And then it was Robert Plant and the Honeydrippers version of Sea of Love.  Lots of Billy Joel and then came the Creedence Clearwater Revival.    Seriously?

The place is called Bing Crosby’s, for pete’s sake. I don’t deny the man had chutzpah and clearly was a gifted musician, but it felt more like one of those dueling pianos places instead of a fine dining lounge.  But the crowd was salivating over him. Some old guy got up and rained dollars on the performer’s head at one point.  He was hocking his CD on top of the piano… it was just… surreal.

Of course, that didn’t stop us from joining in on the rousing chorus of “Sweet Caroline”.  We’re no fools.

A woman on the prowl sauntered up to our table at one point and asked, “Do you smoke?”  We all responded that no, we don’t.  She looked incredulous, “NONE of you smoke?”  When we shook our heads, she said, “Well, that’s uh… very good.” and walked away. She trolled every table, it seemed like. Then later, another older cougar-y type in a big fur coat stopped by our table to tell us to “have fun, kids”.   I’m telling you, the people-watching was ripe last night.

When we ordered our drinks, our server — a very perky, perky, perky woman I’ll call “Sunny” — informed us she was not only out of Grey Goose, but Kettle One, too.  Very strange, considering the lounge is known for it’s martinis. But whatever, we got Belvedere and moved on with our lives.  Then they ran out of blue cheese olives.  Now, I realize this may be one of the most pretentious statement on earth, but you can’t offer blue cheese olives and then run out. Every single time I’ve been in there, I get one drink with blue cheese olives and then they tell me they’ve run out.  You’d think if they always ran out, they’d plan accordingly.

I realize people are starving and there are holes in the ozone and gas prices are creeping up and it’s been like, a whole month since Lindsey Lohan did anything gossip-worthy, but if you’re going to offer fancy olives, don’t jerk a girl around.

I’m at karaoke with the dashing Daniel and his hot hot man, Richard. We are singing and cocktailing and having a grand ol’ time. Photos to follow!

GFI and I have tickets to see Sex and the City on Saturday morning.  It may require a Thermos full of these, courtesy of my favorite cocktail site, Cocktail Times.

Cosmic-Politan

Ingredients:

- 1 cup ice
- 1 oz vodka
- 1 oz Cointreau
- 1 tbsp grenadine
- 1 cup watermelon puree
Garnish: 1 mini skewer of a small piece of watermelon, pineapple and a small strawberry.

Mix all ingredients in a cocktail shaker with ice. Strain into a chilled martini glass and garnish with a fruit skewer.

What?  It’s fruit!

I’m in Dallas right now visiting my friend and former roommate Nikki. I’m so happy to see her!  I realized I hadn’t seen her in almost five years, so it was high time I took a visit to the land of Bless Your Heart.

So far, I’ve gone to a Cuban restaurant and had the most delicious rum punch I’ve EVER had (red wine, silver rum, spiced rum, pineapple juice, splash of pina colada mix on the rock — mmmmmm!) It was vacation in a glass.  I’ve also been to Target, watched Pride and Prejudice (GFI will be happy to hear that, you know how I feel about corsety period romances), loved on a big fat cat, and the biggest golden retriever I’ve ever seen named Freethrow.

Last night, we went to this “club” called Sting.  I couldn’t possibly express how LAME this place was.  It was one of those club complexes where they’ve got a main dance club, a billiards rooms, a lounge, a restaurant and supposedly… a karaoke bar.  That place was bizarre.  The bus girls kept trying to take our vodka-tonics and they brought us the wrong order of appetizers and never gave us silverware or napkins. And the drinks!  Judas priest!  Heika ordered a vodka-red bull and it was $9.50. NINE FIFTY.  What the hell?  Turns out the one night they didn’t have karaoke, even though it was scheduled on the calendar, was last night.  Hmph!  I didn’t want to sing for you fools anyway.

We left and this friend of Nikki’s, Monk, directed us (us being Nikki, Heika (you may remember her as Macgeezel), Nikki’s friends K. and Monk) to a dive bar in a seedy area. From the outside, we were like, “hmmmm… I don’t know about this.” but once we opened the door, I knew this was MY kind of place.  It was a dive, full of happy, smiling, karaoke-fun havin’ folks.  It was a really good time.  The book didn’t have a lot of the songs I sing, but I found some stuff. I sang… um… “Last Dance” by Donna Summer (the place went NUTS!), “Since I Fell for You” by Lenny Welch, “Someone to Watch Over Me” (which ended up sucking because it was SO high) and then the karaoke host chose a song for me. Ready?  Vanessa Carlton’s “A Thousand Miles”. I know. I was surprised, too.  It actually wasn’t bad, but during the bridge, I stepped on the mic cord and pulled it right out of the base of the mic.  Rock n’ roll, baby!  heh.

We left at last call, but Nikki convinced the karaoke guy to have me sing “Crazy” by Patsy Cline because she loves that song so much.  I don’t love singing that song, but only because at karaoke someone usually has already put it up or it’s just beaten to death.  But she really loves it and I do like the song itself, so I did.  I got off easy, actually, she wanted me to sing “The Rose”.  hehe!  (When we lived together, she’d make me sing that song to her as we went to bed when we’d come home from a night out..  She loves it!  I personally find it the most depressing song, but who am I do dampen her happiness?)

That bar was great, though. What a crowd!  Everything from khaki-wearing frat boys to overdressed chicks (that would be us) to your typical seedy-dive bar types to the dudes from Medieval Times. I’m totally serious.  The jouster guys were there… though not in full regalia. That would have been too beautiful to express.

Today, we’re enjoying some hair of the dog (or Nikki is, anyway… silly vodka!) down at JR’s in the gayborhood. It’s my favorite place in this town and I’m so excited to see my fave bartender Stephen.  It’ll be the same folks from last night and hopefully anyone else I know in Dallas who happens to read this.  (Raven, I sent you a text, did you get it?)

There will be hardly any photos from this trip because I forgot not only my laptop cord, but my phone charger AND my camera.  I am so full of awesome!

Ok, I better go get in the shower and prepare for more Texas.  Yee haw, y’all.

Last night, GFI and I dolled up and hit our favorite haunt, Anthology Supper Club.  Their house band was playing, so we wanted to catch a few sets and have some cocktails. (Herb Albert is playing there tonight — I wish I’d known!)

Every time we go to Anthology, I love it more. (You can read about the very first time we went here.) The staff is sweet, the atmosphere is relaxed, but refined, and the music… well, I love jazz.  I love love love it.  So, it may not be for everyone, but we like it.  Their food is absolutely incredible, albeit wee.  This time we had a duet of Maytag blue cheese souffles with fresh arugula (rocket for my English friends *wink*), a couple spiced candied walnuts, port poached pears in a port reduction and a bit of Stilton.  It sounds like a lot, but it was about 6 bites or so.   We also ordered Frite Misto which was a lovely combo of lightly battered bits of fish (we noted salmon and some kind of whitefish), prawns and lobster with a caper remoulade.  We had a hard time deciphering the lobster and suspect that it missed our batch, but it was still delicious.

Now, the important stuff – the cocktails.  I recognized last night, once and for all, that I’m just not much of a fruity drink person. If it’s a margarita or a sangria… well, those are in their own league. Umbrella drinks aside, I am not really one to order apple-tinis or even Cosmos.  It’s vodka martinis, slightly dirty, 3 olives, straight up.  The sugar in those other drinks just doesn’t jive with me, especially when I’m eating.  I like sampling them and creating them, but for pure cocktail enjoyment, I’m old school.  Yet, being the adventurous chick I am, I ordered a Blood Orange Drop, which was blood orange vodka, fresh blood orange, a squeeze each of lime and lemon and a dash of simple syrup.  The flavor was delicious, but it just wasn’t a “sipping” drink for me. It was too sweet, especially with the rim of sugar.  But it was pretty!  Personally, I’d serve it on the rocks in a collins glass, skip the sugar rim and hit with a splash of soda.  Now that sounds drinkable…

GFI ordered a Ginger Peachtini which was Peach Vodka, ginger simple syrup and… something else. I can’t remember. It was good, though! I liked it better than my Blood Orange thing.  Next up we enjoyed some of the best Grey Goose dirty martinis I’ve ever had.  Seriously. After our experience at Starlite with the sea monkeytinis, this was like drinking the nectar of the gods.  When Kathy visits, I’m totally taking her there… I dare say it was perfect, but I think it requires further testing.  Yeah. 

After listening to a few sets and chatting with the singer and trumpet player for a bit (the latter’s Kind of Blue was swoonable), we wrapped up the evening with a drink no longer on their menu: the After the Show.  We’d had it there before and were surprised to see it off the menu, but they were happy to make us a couple.  It’s Stoli Vanil vodka, Kahlua French Vanilla, Bailey’s, espresso and a drizzle of chocolate in the glass.  *faint* So good… so so so good.  Again, like fruity drinks, I’m not much of a “dessert cocktail”-type, but I do make a few exceptions. When they’re not overly frou-frou, too creamy or too sweet, it’s fine. There’s a subtlety to it and most bartenders have a heavy hand.  I think this one is a keeper… I just need to get them to give me the measurements. 

It was yet another fabulous night at Anthology.  Whenever I go, I’m overcome with “Why am I not singing more? Why am I not up there doing that?” It always lights a bit of a fire under me… we all need that sometimes.  GFI and I agreed that we don’t mind indulging our budgets once in a while because the quality of the evening is so much richer.  I guess that’s part of getting older… it’s more about the experience and the company and no longer about what the well drink specials are and “gosh, do I have enough change under my couch cushions to buy shots tonight?”

After our last cocktail, we hailed a cab and rode the mile and a half back to our place and were in bed by 10:30pm.  *sigh* God, I love being a grown-up.  It’s more expensive, but I get way more sleep…

Last night, GFI, Modigli and I went for drinks our fave neighborhood cocktail bar — I won’t name it lest some employee does a Google search and I end up with spit in my martini.

To say I love this place is putting it mildly. It’s just my speed… inside it’s very “70’s cocktail bar meets modern lounge” complete with natural and wood wall coverings, amber glass here and there and some really cool giant 70’s-looking light fixtures.  Their food is delicious. I’d only ever tried their garlic aoli pomme frites (fancy name for French fries), but last night we had the cheese platter with Stillson, brie, fresh honeycomb and some funky little raisins. Good stuff.

Anyway, the bartender has this pair of pants that he wears every time we go.  I can’t tell if it’s a uniform, if it’s just coincidence or if he really, really loves those pants.  No one else seems to be wearing a uniform, other than maybe the hostess, who is usually in all black.  He’s got a hipster thing going for him…he’s got a definite style. And while I’m not really all that partial to men in skinny pants, these are pretty cool pants.  Black and white hounds tooth, I think?  Or perhaps they were just checked — the print was small and it was dim lighting.  I just find it funny that he’s sporting them every time we go in there and if it were a uniform, wouldn’t someone else have the same pants on?  I have another hipster-y friend who also wears a specific pair of pants very frequently.  I’m beginning to think hipsters only have one pair of pants.

But, Repeat Pants or not, I like our bartender. He is sometimes a bit slow and GFI isn’t wild about his martinis, but I have faith!  Out of the roughly 8 martinis I’ve had from him since we’ve been going there, about five have been alright, two have been awesome and one was like drinking Sea Monkeys.  He got a little crazy with the “dirty” part of a dirty martini.

I think GFI is throwing in the towel and switching to Cosmos, but like I said, I have faith.  He seems like a nice guy and he’s starting to remember us, so someday, I fully anticipate he’ll know exactly what and how I’ll order when I come in the door.  It would also be nice to be greeted with “NORM!” but I won’t push it.

Moral of the story: Make friends with your bartender. Even if he’s only got one pair of pants.