My Aching Head

After spending a few minutes on Tuesday at the Mixoloseum’s rum chat and hearing Rum Dude’s talk on sipping rums, I’ve decided to take it upon myself to try and drink some more rum (and other spirits) straight, rather than with mixers. I spent a bit of time this summer working my way through the range of rum’s at the bar I worked at. This in itself was a big step for me, coming from Queensland I had  the preconception that the only rum was Bundaberg, and Bundaberg was aweful. Mount Gay opened my eyes to just how nice rum  could be. Anyway, I had previously had the Anejo Reserva with a splash of Coke and really enjoyed it, in fact it is probably a dead heat with Mount Gay as my favourite.

Drinking it on the rocks was definitely a new experience for me, having previously only drunk whiskey straight, rum certainly is a different experience. It doesn’t have the complex and lasting after-taste that whisky brings, but more of a direct taste of vanilla. This coupled with a slight hint of coffee makes it a very interesting spirit, unlike darker rums there are no rich flavours, yet the vanilla is very intense. All in all it was a very enjoyable drink.

When you mix this rum with coke (not too much) it takes a completely different face altogether, the spices become very prevalent, in fact it almost give the coke a hint of cinnamon. Take note though, it is easy to drown out the taste with coke so going easy on the mixer is key. I would be hesitant to mix too much else with this rum and there is definitely no need to add lime, it is complex enough.

As with most any drink or food recipe, it’s easy to jump on the net and lookup the recipe for pretty much any drink on the net, usually Wikipedia has a pretty good answer (as it does with most things.) But what happens to me, is I do that, lookup the recipe and then when I go to put the concoction together I’ve forgotten what was in it so I make something with the general gist of it. This recipe for the age old Whisky sours is exactly one of these. Now before I go on, I’m calling it a Whisky sours because I prefer Canadian and Scotch rather than American or Irish (with an e.)

Anyway, here’s the recipe:

1. Muddle a heap of lemon and lime (3/4 of a lemon and half a lime, the more lemon is important)
2. Add a splash of sugar syrup
3. Add 60 ml of your favourite whisky (I prefer Canadian Club, but Johnnie Black goes a treat)
4. Shake over ice
5. Strain into a fresh short glass full of ice
6. Top up with a little bit of soda water
7. Garnish with a cherry and possibly a wedge of lime

I’ve eaten a lot of bacon in my time, and IHEARTBACON is the first website I visit every morning (that might actually be a lie), regardless, I couldn’t think of anything better at 2pm in the morning (hangover or not) than bacon and eggs and maybe a little bit of toast. This could actually have been the breakfast and that Moses cooked before he led his people from Egypt, well he would have apart from the fact that Judaism prevents the touching of the flesh of pigs. Maybe I should steer clear of religion.

Don’t get me wrong, bacon isn’t just for breakfast, the BLT is a great meal, especially at lunch and the fat and flavour of bacon is extremely complimentary to a number of other meats, chicken the most notable.

Having sampled quite a bit of bacon in my time, I was very disappointed when I first not only purchased but prepared some here in Queenstown. First let me say that I’m not sure if this is endemic across the nation, but the situation here in Central Otago is dire. There is a few problems with it, first of all bacon here is ridiculously expensive (I wonder how it weighs in on the Bacon and Eggs Index). The cheapest (and worst quality) comes in at about $10 a kg, that is for some dodgy extra fatty, extra salty shoulder bacon, as you improve the “quality” the price increases to around $20 a kg. This is usually American streaky bacon - I don’t really know what that is supposed to mean, but it certainly doesn’t mean meaty. They are long rashers, with not a great deal of anything on them, what sets them apart is the saltiness and this meat does at least taste good, but it doesn’t go very far for a hungry man.

Compare these prices and quality to the 9.99kg Woolworths bacon in Australia and it makes this bacon lover want to cry.

This is going to come across badly to the purists, but a Martini isn’t a particularly “nice” drink, gin, vodka and especially vermouth are all, straight, generally offensive to the palate. In my time working behind a bar I’ve discovered that the drinkers of Martini’s are a not dissimilar to the drinkers of Champagne. While the drinkers may like the taste, and can definitely distinguish between the quality of the drinks, most of the drinking is about making a statement about who they are. Now, as a barman you can’t let that bother you, and one thing is for certain regarding the Martini, people that drink them love them and those same people tip well.

Tipping here in Australia and New Zealand is not an organised affair as it is in other locales, people are not required to tip and generally don’t unless there is a good reason to. This means that if someone orders a Martini your best smile, wit and banter should be on show, so as to convert this chance into some cold hard cash. If you are still with me, the purpose of this post is not to describe a recipe and process for making a Martini, that is for another time and another post. The purpose is to provide some tips for conversation with your potential tipper. Some of these are unsubstantiated, others may be wives-tales and others may be completely made up by me right here, nonetheless they should work for some good conversation.

• Martin’s aren’t supposed to be shaken, they should be stirred. This is because shaking them bruises the gin working with that, you could shake a vodka martini because you can’t bruise vodka.
• Further to the previous comment, I think it’s probably bullshit - that is the whole bruising of gin.
• There is a study that suggests shaking gin activates more antioxidants in it, and this might be a reason why James Bond is so healthy. (from Wikipedia)
• It’s unlucky to have an even number of olives in a Martini, so you should have 1 or 3. Never 2.
• James Bond likes his martinis dry, very dry, shaken not stirred.
• Hawkeye from MASH liked his martini’s about as dry, stating that the perfect recipe was to pour a glass of cold gin while looking at a picture of the inventor of vermouth. To translate, that’s a cold glass of gin with an olive or 3
• A martini with a cocktail onion is called a Gibson
• Methyphobia is the fear of alcohol

Motogrill is one of those places where the first time you walk in there, you don’t actually feel like you belong. The staff probably won’t look up from the newspaper they are reading, or break from the conversation they are having with the 3 guys leaning on the counter. Don’t get me wrong, they aren’t being unfriendly or rude, work may not actually be why they are there. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, I’d be the same if I were them. There isn’t a problem with getting a coffee though, you will get it and it will be good. It just won’t be the all smiles and how can I help that you will get at Starbucks, and don’t get me started on Starbucks.

Which leads me to the next point, the food. The Motogrill steak sandwich may be one of the best lunches in Queenstown, it is definitely not overdone. Served on toasted bread, seasoned with parsley (It might not actually be parsley) and complete with partly melted cheese,tomato and lettuce it is everything you could hope for in a sneak sandwich, and let me tell you, I’ve hoped for a lot of things in a steak sandwich. The pasta salad is another favourite of mine - beans, spiral pasta, chicken, tomatoey sauce and some shaved parmesan. One of the things about everything at Motogrill is the size. They definitely aren’t skimping on the portions, which on a hangover is exactly what you want.

All of this is great, but there is one glaring problem for Motogrill to be the ultimate cafe for a hangover cure, this is of course the fact that Motogrill is closed on Sundays. Now I know that the staff are snowboarding on Sunday’s or recovering from their hangover and who am I to blame them? But seriously guys, you get us addicted with your awesome steak sandwiches and then refuse to open and serve us scrambled eggs and cappuccinos for breakfast on a Sunday.

This post was written by Bruce Thurlow, normally he writes about the Black Keys or about nothing in particular over at Mr Dingleberry.

For some people a basic act of survival is having a cup of coffee each morning. Especially after a big night out. And it becomes more of an act of survival when that coffee does not meet expectations. Being in a rush at home and swallowing a couple of tar-like gulps of instant coffee with not so hot water ain’t fun. Just like coffee, bad tea comes in many shapes and sizes. More so when you’re paying for it. Or for that matter when you are offered a cuppa from a work colleague or house mate and there’s nowhere to hide and refuse.

When I once lived in a share house and was interviewing prospective house mates, I didn’t bother with the basic “Are you employed?” questions. I went straight to, “How do you make a cup of tea?”.  Having someone demonstrate making a too-milky cuppa with the tea bag still immersed with the string dangling limp over the rim of the cup is as unsatisfying as any experience I know. And I’ve had a few.

Recently I’ve been drinking a lot of tea, mainly in cafes between job interviews. Where once I could put up with with a tea bag of English Breakfast in a pot, now days I’m an unrepentant Chai drinker. More of a Chai snob actually. Chai, of course, roughly translates as ‘tea’ in Iran, India and Turkey and surrounding countries, invariably the spiced or masala milk tea style. This is my weakness - that sweet/spiced aromatic lure of some place Other than where you are now that invades your consciousness. I traveled India some years ago and the hollah of tea for sale from the Chai Wallah (seller) at train stations was a sweet greeting for the ears. The Wallah would tilt the large urn of spiced masala tea strapped on his back and pour the tea into a small clay cup which you would throw away after drinking from it. I never had a bad cup.

Some years later, the Chai craze hit the Western world and it became a plague on otherwise respectable cafes driven by a consumer who thought they tasted something “new” and “original”. Something instant coffee drinkers also said about “granulated coffee” many moons ago. Chai for profit-taking cafes can simply mean a rough jumble of tea, sugar and a smattering of “flavours” in a powdered form.  It’s the stuff you drink at Starbucks (or once did before they defaulted on any consumer credibility they once held). You know when you drink it; “powdered” tea will never be the real deal.

Yesterday, however, I saw how it could and should be done. I had a Chai at the cafe Journal and upon a functional serving plate came: a pot of hot milk and divine leaf Chai (not too spicy, not too sweet), a spare pot of hot milk to refill the tea pot, a small amount of honey on the side, a tall glass with long spoon, and a leaf strainer with drip tray. I got three and a half full cups of Chai for $4.00.  The previous day I paid $6.00 for one glass at Soul Mama that was more hot milk with honey than any semblance of spiced tea. No refills. Lest we forget.

So, next time you consider a coffee for your morning fix, rejoice in a Chai for that sorry head of yours.

Further to the Drink Planner’s post on the drinkiest shows on television, I’ve got a few observations on Deadwood. I have only recently started watching it (pretty much all the way through.) Al Swearengen is the character throughout that you don’t know if you are supposed to like him or hate him but one thing is for certain he has got the right idea about a few things. You will only ever see him drinking 2 things, coffee and whiskey, coffee in the morning and whiskey pretty much whenever else. I’d say he wakes up with a fair hangover (though he doesn’t often show it) and a couple of times he has been seen eating or ordering bacon and eggs, clearly a man that knows how to handle a hangover.