Here's To You Force

Today was the last day of school for a lot of the kids in our class. Most of them rushing off to work, packing for externships, or just leaving to celebrate that unless they want to, they don't have to come back here again.  Most all of them being culinary management degree students, they have spent the last 14+ months dedicating their time to the kitchen, recipe cards, and work books.

I leave this today as the last post of this project to say Congratulations to my esteemed cohort, Mr. Dustin Force. You made it, be proud of it, and even though you get to spend the rest of today working like a dog, I'd like the chance to buy you a shot and a pitcher. Couldn't have asked for a better partner in crime or a better ear to rant to. Here's to you friend....

The Man, The Myth, The Legend

"I can't help myself. I'm for anything that gets you through the night, be it prayer, tranquilizers, or a bottle of Jack Daniel's." -Frank Sinatra

Seven facts about No. 7 and the nine year old that made whiskey:

1)      Jack Daniels' signature whiskey is the Old No. 7 brand. There were not 6 previous incarnations, and the secret of the 7's real meaning died with the original Mr. Jack Daniels.

2)Jack was one of the few distilleries to survive prohibition.

3)Moore County, Tennessee, where Jack is distilled, is still a dry county. However, the distillery is exempt from the law and sells Gentlemen Jack in its gift shop.

4) Jack Daniels distillery was founded in 1866, The first batches were sold in large, ceramic jugs with big 'X's printed on the side.

5)If anyone has ever told you that you smell like Jack Daniels, it's time to seriously reevaluate your life.

6)Jack's iconic square bottle never originally held mayonnaise.

7)Jack will only render you blind if you break the bottle and jab it into your face.

Who's The Biggest Slut?

Having my two best girls in town usually means a lot of pervertedness and inappropriate conversation. What night wouldn't be complete without the blessed drinking game "Who's The Biggest Slut?" With seven people crammed into my tiny apartment we devoured bad beer and vodka with mountain dew, a drink to soon become named pond scum. (don't judge me, it's what we had) to play this wonderful game discovered by my friend Megan. The game consists of dice and 2 books. You roll the dice and the number determines which question out of the book you have to answer. The questions are about what you've done sexually and depending on how dirty the question is you drink one to three drinks. Everyone answers the question and if you have, you drink and get a point. I don't know what was more awkward or comical; the fact that My friend and I figured we would be the winners and then having my boyfriend win or playing it with his ex-girlfriend as well. Either way it was hilarious and a good time though I don't recommend it if you're shy or around a group of people that you don't want to know or have them know you pretty well. Happy drinking ya'll.

The Ode To The Tootsie Roll

This is a story I feel needs to be shared. After many drinks, bars, I ended up with a living room of full of friends and ridiculous statements. My dear friend who had just finished hitting on someone to find out they were not the sex he thought they were, he poured his woes from his beer and down his throat while slowly passing out in my rocking chair much smaller then himself. When he leaned over in his sleep and spit on my floor, I decided it was time to wake him up. Sitting on my bed in my studio apartment, my boyfriend behind me, he plops down next to me and starts trying to grab my ass. I'm sure you can imagine the joy this brought to my boyfriend. So after being kicked off the bed, and with no room on the couch, he settled on the floor to tell us a story about how he is uncomfortable. He stands up and gets in to a battle of logic with myself and after going in circles for about half an hour, looks at my two best girlfriends, who he had been trying to score with all night, and very proudly and matter of factly declared "I have a tiny ass dick". I have seen a lot of men do a lot of things when drunk and heard a lot of "truths" come out after a few drinks but this, this was a first. not only was this sentence repeated, it was finished with "You know like a tootsie roll? Its like that, but better..."

Either way you look at it, whether he meant the short and fat ones or the long and skinny ones, its just not a good thing to compare your dick too. Oh and he's white....

The Matador

Well, there's only so much this author can say about about the Matador...at least in a positive light. With The Bitter End no longer in business, trying to find a bar close by that has cheap drinks, pool tables, and at least decent service has become almost more trouble than it's worth, almost.

The bar staff are all mostly decent people, serving up stiff drinks to the wide variety of patrons. Unfortunately there are a lot of Portland "Hipsters" that frequent this dive bar. The worst kind of hipsters too. The in-your-face, quaffed-hair, tight, girl-jeans-wearing, pool-table-stealing mother fucker type of hipsters that don't really know anything about anything, who feign intelligence, and take any opportunity to let a stranger know how miserable their lives are.

Aside from the dick-shitting, asshole customers that hang out in this bar, there are a few actually cool regulars that make this spot not quite so dreadful. The pool tables are decent, with free pool on Sundays (Sunday is definitely the best night to hit up the Matador, as most of the aforementioned hipsters are sleeping off their xanex hangovers). There's a back room with an odd assortment of games including a basketball hoop shooting game, some sort of sensor-based boxing game (or maybe it's a dancing game? it's hard to tell when the people playing it are sort of doing both...), and a few others. There's a cigarette machine that costs way too much money. Basically the only real reason to ever go to this place is because it's right down the street from my work, the bartenders are starting to recognize me and pour larger and increasingly cheaper drinks, and seem to push service to me higher up on the queue. If none of those things apply to you, don't bother even setting foot in The Matador, there are plenty of other places to spend your money in Portland.

My Father's Place

After another visit to B-side on Friday, my companions, esteemed cohort, and I decided to forsake the clubs and loud bars and went to My Father's Place in search of greasy food, cheap beer, and pool. Most importantly, no cover charge. The food is greasy and yes, I found a hair in it, but that chicken fried steak and eggs at 1:30 in the morning has a special place in my heart. Nothing completes a meal like a Jagerbomb and PBR. I love My Father's Place because you can get cheap diner food til all hours of the morning, the crowd is usually industry and chill people and the drinks are nice and stiff. With old leather booths and carpet from when Christ was a baby, it's place that won't do you wrong.

Pabst Blue Ribbon

Portland, Oregon orders, sells, and consumes more Pabst Blue Ribbon than any other city in the world. Which is strange as Portland also has more craft breweries per capita than any other city in the world. With so many craft brews and local beers circulating in this city, how did PBR become one of the most popular beers (according to some recent studies, PBR is ranked #5 in Portland)? Why so many people enjoy the cool, crisp American lager may never be fully answerable, but the history of the company has had a long and interesting history since its inception.

Jacob Best began the original company in 1844 in Milwaukee, Wisconsin calling it The Empire Brewery. He ran the company with his sons Phillip, Charles, Jacob, Jr. and Lorenz until Phillip took control of the company in 1860. Phillip Best's son in law, a ship captain named Frederick Pabst bought a share in the Phillip Best Brewing Company. By 1875 the company had begun bottling their signature lager which they called Best Select. At that point Phillip Best Brewing Company was the largest Brewery in the nation.

Jacob Best, Sr. 

In 1985, then finally named Pabst Brewing Company, was purchased in a hostile takeover for $63 million. On May 26, 2010 current owner C. Dean Metropoulos purchased the company for nearly $250 million.
Pabst Brewing company also made a number of moves all across the country. Starting in Milwaukee, eventually moving to San Antonio, TX, then to Woodridge, IL, and finally to Los Angeles, CA where its headquarters now resides. The Company started with a paltry 18 barrels a year and at its peak hit almost 16 million barrels per year.

Pabst Brewing Company won "Large Brewing Company of the Year" at the Great American Beer Festival in 2011 and 2012.

PBR now has a licensing agreement and joint venture in China, which recently released a new beer called Pabst Blue Ribbon 1844 for consumption in the domestic market; it sells for $44 U.S. dollars a bottle.

The Old Gold

At only a year and a couple months old, Old Gold is perhaps one of the finer dive bars in Portland. Why, you ask? WHISKEY!! Located at the corner of N Detroit and Killlingsworth, The Old Gold has more varieties of whiskey than almost any other bar in this fair city. And not ridiculously priced either.



















With a chalkboard spirits menu, they are able to constantly update their vast assortment of bourbons, sour mashes, ryes, scotches and other whiskey variations.







With an elegant bar, spacious floor-plan and well-stocked whiskey shelves, The Old Gold offers a comfortable environment that has attained more of a "neighborhood bar" feel rather than a "dive bar" feel.

A large, outdoor patio contains a few tables for smoking and non-smoking patrons to enjoy, obviously better during the summer months, as most of it is uncovered.

The only real complaints I would have with this place are that the bar itself doesn't really have much to do in terms of pool, darts, etc. and the scotch selection leaves something to be desired. But the ever-flowing bourbon tends to draw in my type of people and I have had many a conversation with a random stranger that inevitably ends with buying each other rounds of whiskey. 

My Sweet Charlie Boy

This is not a post about a bar or drinking (though I did annihilate a bottle of R&R to squash my sorrow)
but a tribute to my sweet dear kitty who had to be put to sleep last night. I won't go in to the exact gruesome details of what happened but at he had a blockage in his urinary tract that had caused other organs to start to fail and shut down. He was hypothermic and the doctors didn't believe he would make it through the night. It was well before his time and barely nine years old. My best friend Marco had taken my Charlie in before I moved down to school and had been living with him and my other best friend Katie for some time now. I'm so glad that he was with them during his last moments and I know that this is a loss to their family as well.

Charlie had a rough go of it his first few years, pretty similar to myself actually. He was my grandmother's cat  but would come and stay at my parents house when she was in the hospital or with her brother in Nebraska. This happened more often then not and it was hard on Charlie to keep going back and forth. It would always take him a day or two to readjust and he got more and more skittish every time. We finally took him in permanently and Charlie was home. When he was a kitten his little heart shaped nose and bright green eyes took up his whole face, his ears were the biggest thing on his body, and his paws gave us a very good idea of exactly how large he would become. With a gentle soul and the sweetest heart he became a gentle giant. He lacked in grace and typical feline abilities, he always landed his jumps a little splayed, but he loved his people and was always down for a good cuddle. Unaware of his size and stature, he was scared of his own shadow and had to be left to grow comfortable on his own time. (It took him 6 months to get used to Marco and Katie's and stop hiding in the basement of their house.) He was one of the most adorable and lovable cats I've ever had and known and he will always have his own place in the middle of my heart.

The Alleyway

The Alleyway Cafe and Bar, located on NE 25th and Alberta, is a local dive spot featuring laid back yet friendly staff, competitive food and drink prices, and food that's actually pretty decent compared to a vast majority of dive bars in Portland. Their drink selection ranges from your average wells and macro-brews straight up to top shelf scotch and local micro-brews such as Ninkasi and an Irish Red Ale, the name of which I can't pronounce. Amenities include a single pool table, a few pinball tables, for some reason a photo booth, not a tremendous amount of seating indoors, but the covered outdoor patio has several more picnic-style tables, room to roam, and a Foosball table set on uneven gravel to give it a little extra thrill. While especially pleasant during the warmer summer months, they do have heating units built into the outdoor patio to help take off the chill during the wet, cold, rest of the year.

The Alleyway has made a few different transitions in management, each one changing the feng shui slightly. The ambiance, the music, sometimes the layout of the bar itself. Most recently the music selection has been more Metal-themed, with live bands that occasionally play on a tiny stage. The background music is usually Metal-themed as well, though the bar does have a weekly Karaoke night which of course is customer's choice.  Being located right in the heart of the constantly-evolving Alberta District, it stands up to the myriad of neighboring bars and restaurants.

The Alleyway is a great spot to bring a few friends, host a birthday celebration, drop in to grab a beer and a bite to eat, or add to a list of stops on an Alberta Street bar-hopping escapade. If you ever find yourself in this area of Portland, make sure to at least check out this dive bar gem.

If It Ain't The Truth, It's Still Funny...

As adults we still need keepers and if this doesn't explain why many of us, including myself, should never be left alone to our own accord, then I don't know what will. In this skit, Cosby goes off about the different types of drunks that make up the wonderful world of bar flies and explains how we as functioning adults torture ourselves, because after a hard week of work, "We deserve to go out". Right now I have a week off from work and as a starving student, should never have this much time on my hands that can be spent piddling away my minuscule coffers. With cheap beer and cheap whiskey, I plan to spend my "vacation" on much deserved going out and probably even more time sleeping it off...

So which on are you?

Ladies and Gentlemen, The Triple Nickel

Working on one's day off is truly one of the best ways to justify an excursion to a local Portland dive bar. My esteemed cohort decided that she wanted to get her ass destroyed in pool, so we headed for the Triple Nickel, complete with darts, pool tables, the occasional karaoke night and more hipsters than you can shake a messenger bag at.

Though a rousing game of pocket billiards was the plan, no bar night starts out without shots of shit well-whiskey and pitchers of beer. Once some of our mutual rage had been doused, it was off to find a vacant pool table, preferably in the furthest, darkest, most uninhabited reaches of the establishment. During several games of eight ball, and a few games of nine ball (one of which I actually lost...) the commiserating began...or rather continued.... More work-related bitching, new opportunities, old memories, and currently occurring miseries, interrupted only by more shots and pitchers and the inevitable smoke breaks. Eventually we were approached by a young woman by the name of Jamie who was looking for a team to square off against with her brother and self in a game of Giant Jenga.

Giant Jenga for those of you who are unaware. Oh, and a Jamie.

We humbly obliged, collected our belongings and reluctantly sauntered off to join the rest of the social world.
All in all, another successful night boozing and bullshitting.

My Headache Reminds Me Of Giant Jenga

                                    

Monday night struck again and Dustin and I decided we needed to do homework, aka come up with more content for our booze-soaked blog. With a mission of whiskey and pool we stumbled to the Triple Nickel on 36th and Se Belmont. Walking in to hardwood floors, a wooden bar, and wood pillars, you're confronted with slopping floors and darkened walls covered with smoking and booze related memorabilia. The bartender was friendly and with a bemused smile poured our stiff shots of liquid therapy. The well of choice was Broker's Whiskey and for $2.50 its vanilla backlash did us just fine.

Strapped with a $10 pitcher of PBR, we sauntered off to a pool table in the corner fit for our commiserating needs. The bar itself has four pool tables and also four dart boards set on a level below the tables. After several games of pool, one of which I actually won, and a few pitchers later, I was off in search of the little girls room. Walking down a ramp to find the door which states, "Girl's Rule" and has an image of a girl next to a guy with his head falling off, I stumbled in. Now I would like to point out that the stumbling was not so much due to my inebriation but more to do with the sloped hallway you have to walk down to actually enter the bathroom. Having absolutely no warning that this was ahead of me left me slightly alarmed and I can see this posing an issue for several other drunken females.

After going through this traumatic experience, we figured we needed some fresh air to go with our nicotine so we stepped outside to the tables and benches the line the front of the bar. The front boasts about 5-6 picnic style tables, mostly undercover from the treacherous northwestern mood swings. Once my cohort and I had sufficiently chain-smoked our ideal amount we downed another shot and re-upped on beer. Shortly after another game, we were approached by a little lady in search of another team for the bar's Giant Jenga. The set is made out of pieces of 2x4 and have been lovingly adorned by the bars inhabitants. Involved in conversation with our counterparts, Nurse Jamie and Silent Brother, we successfully managed to play the game for about 30 minutes before I tumbled our leaning tower of wood. Nurse Jamie spied two of the bar's jello shots left behind on a random table and decided that they were up for grabs. In attempts to stop her from swallowing what we were sure to be roofied leftovers, Force and I bought a round of celebratory Jenga jello shots. The dollar shots come with choices; tequila or vodka. My hatred of all things vodka led me to a tequila lime shot which even after a night of pouring whiskey down my gullet left me a little pucker-faced. After one more bad decision jello shot, we decided to call it a night, leaving Nurse Jamie and Silent Brother to torment the ears of the other bar flies left over from the night.
All in all, a very successful night and a place to revisit.

Lather, Rinse, Repeat...

There is something inherently futile and yet strangely satisfying about the daily grind. Reliable sleep schedule, generally speaking you know which people you're going to see, or not see, consistent meal times, hell -  consistent meals. But at the same time, you know exactly who you're going to see, what you're going to do, there is very little intrigue, no adventure.(Obviously every day is a little bit different no matter what you do, I'm not talking about little details, just the basic in's and out's of the average day.)

Not to say that I necessarily agree that monotony will kill you, but variety is the spice of life, as they say. That is one of the nice things about being employed in a culinary field. Sure there are things that you do every day: the inevitable caesar salad or salmon dish, but the customer base changes daily, the people you work with tend to change relatively frequently (mostly due to the high employee turn around that occurs in a high-stress environment, especially in a city so devoted to food and alcohol like Portland, OR), even some of the food specials change on a daily basis allowing for new and exciting prep projects to be undertaken. Things change. Almost too rapidly at times. While having a set schedule in such a field is nice, it can change at any moment depending on the whims of the customers, and/or fellow employees. A several-thousand dollar catering order, "surprise" reservations, coworker illnesses, and no-call-no-shows can spell out an exciting and ever-fluctuating schedule. You take what you can get. Whether you're there because you love it, because it's what you know best, or simply to get that paycheck (the last of these categories always baffled me, there are plenty of less labor-intensive ways to earn a barely-above-minimum-wage paycheck than doing the ol' turn and burn in a hot and sweaty kitchen), flexibility is a must.

A Recipe For Disaster

5 parts Pineapple Juice,

1 part Malibu Coconut Rum

1.5 parts Bacardi 151 Rum

Let me just say something about Caribou Lou's:

Any drink that completely masks the tepid flavor and flammability that burns like the fire from a thousand suns that is Bacardi 151 is clearly made for one sole purpose: to cause as many blackouts and incidents of alcohol poising as possible. One simple and tasty drink holds the power to transform a night of fun and friendly libations into a torrent of angry, incoherent mumbling, falling down, tackling random strangers, and other zombie-like behavior.

Bacardi 151 should never be consumed by anyone, ever. Why this drink was even invented completely defies all reason and necessity. With all the other alcoholic options out there, who says to themselves, "yeah, jet fuel, that's what I should be drinking..." Although, bringing it along on a camping trip will almost guarantee a nearly uncontrollable campfire, which can be fun, in and of itself.

The moral of this post: Bacardi 151 is more useful for setting shit on fire, or stripping the paint off the walls  than it ever will be as a beverage. Do yourself a favor and keep as far away from this vile substance as you possibly can.

Don't Forget to Drink

When looking for a bourbon that is not only smooth and tasty but nice on your pocket, I recommend one of the finest $15.00 bottles I've ever had. Rebel Yell. I prefer it neat and I must warn, it goes down easy. It has been described as "chuggable" and will most likely get you into a good amount of trouble, as any good bourbon should. I know it's always done me just fine.

The first bottle was produced in 1849 by the W.L. Weller family, the first distillers to produce Kentucky Straight bourbon whiskey using wheat instead of rye in the mash bill. The "Rebel Yell" is one of the most endearing legends in our country's history. It is a war cry used by Confederate soldiers to instill fear while engaged in battle. Also used as a chant of victory or a moral booster, General "Stonewall" Jackson was once quoted as saying "that's the most beautiful sound in the world."  

Rebel Yell, "Gather your nerve. Throw out your fear.", is a straight Kentucky bourbon. One of the few wheated bourbons on the market, it has a nose of honey, butter, and raisins. The big, round body tastes of honey, butter and just a hint of dark fruit on the palette. The finish is long, warm, and has a touch of spiciness.

More About Scotch

Lowland whiskies are generally regarded as the most light bodied of the Single Malts. Auchentoshan and Glenkinchie are two examples.

Islay whiskies are generally described heavily peated, oily and even iodine-like and medicinal. Islay is an island off the coast of Scotland proper, and a number of marine characteristics can carry into the whiskies produced here. Ardbeg, Laphroaig and Lagavullin are all Islay whiskies.

Highland whiskies include Oban, Glenmorangie and the Dalmore. Not as light as Lowland whiskies but lighter and more elegant than the bullies from Islay.

The Islands comprise all of the whiskey producing islands in Scotland minus Islay, and are generally considered part of the Highland district. However, with unique offerings from Talisker, Jura and Arran, some argue that it deserves consideration as its own region.

Speyside offers up the most distilleries of any region in Scotland. Considered the most elegant whiskies in Scotland, Speyside is home to the Macallan, Glenlivet, and Glenfiddich.

*info taken from http://cocktails.about.com/od/spirits/a/scotch_regions.htm

Delicate: The whiskies at this end of the axis normally use no peat in the malting process. While movement up the axis sees an increase in complexity, this is without any discernible level of smokiness derived by peat. Towards the light end there is a floral, grassy freshness. Moving towards the richer side of the map, subtler nutty, barley and biscuity flavors start to come through.

Smokey: Single malts found in the two smoky quadrants all contain discernible levels of peat, which is burned in the malting process. Ranging from scented smoke and bonfires, to kippers and lapsang souchong, they're epitomized by Islay malts such as Lagavulin and Caol Ila.

Light: This end of the vertical axis houses whiskies whose characteristics exhibit fresh flavors  green grass, soft fruits, cereal. Such flavors tend to reflect the processes followed by a distillery, such as fermentation or size and shape of the stills.

Rich: Whiskies at the rich end of the axis contain characteristics often derived from the nature of the wood used during maturation. Typical flavors range from vanilla (given by American oak casks) to nuttiness to cigar box, chocolate and dried fruit (from European oak casks). Whether a cask is first fill or refill will make a difference to flavor.

*info taken from http://www.malts.com/index.php/en_us/Choosing-Whisky/A-World-of-Flavour/The-Single-Malt-Whisky-Flavour-Map

The Small World of Whiskey

There's nothing like walking into a bar to meet a friend and thinking the man beside them looks oddly familiar, only to realize that it's a guy you blew off at a bar one night and have tried to avoid ever since. First response, order a shot. Second, pretend like you didn't act like an ass and laugh it off. (The second part of this plan would had probably worked better if after a long night of bar hopping an random rooftop shotguns, I didn't act like an ass again...)

Starting at the beloved Loft with beers and shots, we decided to hit the late happy hour at the OP or The Old Peculiar for all you unknowing kids. Seeing as the OP was where I originally met this guy, lets call him James, we figured it would be a funny full circle. James used to bartend there which is how we met and one night I decided to let him take me to a show. The details to the end of that night are unnecessary but lets just say, it ended with me making a fool of myself. Drinking merrily and swapping random horror stores of this industry we met up with some others and headed to a friends house to take part in the soon to be legal perks of being a Washingtonian.

So far so good. Shotgunning beers and poppin bottles on the rooftop of the building we were at we decided there was too much energy left in our systems so back to the OP it was. Once again, so far so good on the whole proving I really can hold my booze. After shutting down the bar and cajoling with the bartender who was only slightly bitter closing on Christmas (oh did I mention this was Christmas?) we ended up on the street to have our finals cigarettes before heading our seperate ways. My friend who I was with had reached the point of drunkness where one wrong word can trigger a fight and thats exactly what happened. Poor James got to spend his second time drinking with me throwing water on a cat fight in the middle of the street. Needless to say, I don't think my redemption round ended well. Happy Holidays.