Instead of giving each other gifts for Valentine's this year, Otis and I decided to go out for a fancy dinner together, and when we received the flyer advertising a Shelton Brothers Beer Dinner at Hugo's, it was obvious we should sign up.

March 11 was an unseasonably warm day, especially coming on the heels of a wicked cold snap that was making me wicked cranky. And, since we anticipated drinking a fair amount of beer, and are responsible citizens who don't drink and drive, we walked from the West End to Hugo's, spending the twenty minutes or so anticipating our dinner, and pondering whether it would be a really reasonable way to spend 200+ dollars.

It turns out, it is possible to experience a meal as simultaneously incredibly expensive, and yet a good deal. This meal was advertised as a six-courser, with paired beers that would compliment the food. We ended up with nine courses, including intermezzos, and nine beers. Even better, one of the Shelton brothers, Will, was present to narrate and embellish on each of the incredible beers, most of which were so outside the mundane norm that I'm not really sure if I even have the vocabulary to describe them.

Luckily, Will had the vocab, plus a droll delivery that complemented his eccentric bald head and geekish obsession with the minutia of each beer's provenance and specifications. He was a charming guy with an obvious love for his work, and a great sense of humor. Interestingly, he is a vegan who couldn't eat any of the normal courses presented. Of course the Hugo's folks created special dishes for him, which he said were delicious. I do find it hard to believe they were as tasty as what we had, though. Since I'm being fairly long-winded I'm going to use the extended entry field, so click the link below to hear about the details of the meal.

On Friday I went out for drinks after work with a couple of work friends to Local 188 on Congress Street. We had a grand time, sitting at the bar and chatting about life. I was drinking a lovely red wine, Perquita I think that's how you spell it), and we had a few tapas as well.

A note about Local. Prior to their move to their new location this summer, we went there very frequently, often for brunch on the weekends. Then, during their closure over the summer, we got out of the habit. And after the reopening, a few friends of ours had horrible experiences-- mostly in the service arena. I always loved the waitstaff at the old location. They were sometimes sort of out of it, but always really sweet and thoughtful. Unfortunately, our reporters (who shall remain anonymous for their own protection) told us that their experiences involved extreme bitchiness, long waits, and, on one occasion, complete lack of food. (Evidently the waitress never put in the order.) As a result of these stories, we've been a bit reluctant to dine at the new location. Then, we tried to go for dinner a couple of weeks ago, and it was closed for a private party.

I have been to the bar on a few occasions, through. It's a gorgeous space, and really lovely to sit in.

Anyway, the original plan for Friday was for me to have a few drinks with my friends, and then pick up some thai food on my way home for Otis. However, the Dreaded Lazy Wine Drunk&trade: struck and I found myself still at Local with Monique, still sitting at the bar, and still chatting. So instead of trying to get my shit together, I just called Otis and had him meet us at the restaurant.

I should interject here that our bartenders were absolutely lovely. The first one, a woman who looked awfully familiar (maybe she also/used to work at the White Heart?) was very attentive, and thoughtful-- when Monique said she was very hungry, even though the kitchen wasn't open yet, she scrounged up a dollop of olive tapenade and some bread. Later, our second bartender, a man with very impressive mustaches (think Daniel Day-Lewis in Gangs of New York), was also great.

Before Otis arrived we had some tapas. Did I mention that already? If this post seems disjointed, it's because the three glasses of wine I had really went to my head, so my memories of the evening are somewhat disjointed as well. The combination of the wine and not enough food turned out really badly for me.

So. Tapas. Shrimp in garlic, and chourico. Both dishes were delicious, although I would like to complain that the shrimp, instead of the lovely little sweet Maine shrimp we used to get at the old Local, were big 'ol prawns. Still delicious, but I think the little ones are superior for soaking up the buttery garlic sauce. The chourico was perfect. The bread and olive tapenade I mentioned earlier was tasty, although the bread was not as good as the pile of shredded bread they used to give you-- this had a much more tender crumb and less body.

Then for dinner, I made the cardinal sin of not ordering enough food. I got a spinach salad, which was delicious, with calabrese chese and nuts... but it wasn't enough to soak up the wine, and I woke up at 5 in the morning with a hideous headache.

Those who did order enough had a very tasty meal; Otis loved his penne with romesco sauce, and Monique's roast chicken with white beans looked and smelled divine. She loved it.

All in all, it was a fun evening, and I'm once again jazzed on Local. But next time: more food, l less wine.

We had a wonderful weekend last weekend, as Otis's parents Jane and Walter came up for the Maine Boatbuilders Show, some delicious eating, and lovely conversation.

Friday night we went to Local 188 for fancy old-timey cocktails, and then headed over to Caiola's for dinner; as usual everything was delish (channeling Rachael Ray, sorry), especially our deep-fried sardine appetizer.

It's always nice to have Walter and Jane here, although they do tend to bring pretty crappy weather with them-- what's up with that?

Anyway, my fingers are sore from all the typing I've been doing on the big paper I have due Tuesday, so I hope everyone will forgive me for a short-but-sweet entry. Happy Easter!

Otis and I had a fabulous and relaxing trip to Wellfleet, which of course included lots of good food and enjoyable visits with friends and family.

We drove up late Wednesday and had a terrible time with the weather-- we arrived, starving, around 9 p.m. Happily the Wicked Oyster was still serving so we popped over there for some burgers and drinks. Our burgers were perfectly cooked, and everything was lovely except the weird drink I had, which as Otis points out, was kind of predictable, given that it had vodka, coconut, and ginger.

The next day we slept super late, and then ran down to the Bookstore Restaurant for brunch. Otis is still talking about the enormous amount of lobster that he had on his Lobster Benedict, which was a reasonable $14.95 and had at least half a pound of meat, including three claws (my favorite part). My regular benedict was creamy and tasty, and the bloody mary's were truly delicious, especially accented as they were with pepperoncini. Nice touch!

After breakfast we drove down to Eastham to visit Gramma, and then came home for a rest. When it stopped raining we set out on the short walk to town, with Zeke in tow, in an effort to get some fish for dinner. As always, Hatch's fish market didn't disappoint, with some super-fresh swordfish and, of course, my favorite crab dip. That evening Otis prepared a lovely dinner and we had a nice quiet night.

Not so much Friday night-- Otis's parents came home Friday, and took us out to dinner at the new hip spot in Wellfleet, Sol. Sol is a Hawaiian-influenced restaurant which specializes in poke, a simple raw or lightly cooked fish dish. And wow, was the food at Sol delicious! We had two types of poke, both of which were incredibly fresh and perfectly seasoned. For my entree I chose fish tacos, which were simple and delicious with an avocado crema and cilantro, served with cabbage salad and white rice on the side. Also noteworthy was Walter's entree, a pulled Kahlua pork that was tender and richly flavored. Sol is BYOB, so we had a couple of bottles of wine, and Walter brought a 1/2 pint of Jack Daniels, which he enjoyed toasting to the wonderful staff. It was quite a lovely meal, with delicious food and great company. (Besides Walter and Jane, Otis's Aunt Joan and Uncle Jim came along.)

After dinner we stopped by Mac's Shack for a drink at the bar, where Otis's old friend Ethan is a bartender. Mac's has a great outdoor seating area, in addition to an expansive menu including a raw bar and sushi.

And of course no visit to Wellfleet is complete without a visit to the Bomb Shelter. Enough said there, we had a lovely evening, and I was reminded anew about how amazing the stars can be in a sky with minimal light pollution.

The next day we enjoyed more lovely walking with the doggie, and then a nice visit from the other side of Otis's family.

All in all it was a wonderful vacation, except much too short. Driving back on Sunday we both agreed that five days is simply inadequate to become fully relaxed!

by Ravinder Kingra

Friends, I've just returned from Texas and the news is not good. Fear not, the Alamo is still intact and alarmingly much smaller than I remember it being in Pee Wee's Big Adventure. And so too is the Tex-Mex machine still ably churning out chalupas, fajitas, and taquitos as the mariachis charge you $6 for some tacky song you mistakenly assumed was on the house.

No, the bad news is that it seems one must give up on finding a well shaken, and thoroughly chilled cocktail in the great state that brought us Whole Foods and the assassination of JFK.

I must confess that my sphere of experience was geographically limited to the San Antonio/Austin/Johnson City triangle. But within that small wedge of Texas my traveling companions and I sampled sidecars, old fashioneds, whisky sours, and margaritas; the overwhelming majority of which nearly compelled me to throw the offending drinks, for lack of a better word, into the faces of the barkeeps who were non compos mentis enough to offer them to me in the first place. At one establishment (a modern and stylish Tex-Mex eatery) I ordered its famous "Hand-shaken Margarita" while standing at the bar, thereby having a front row seat to the perplexing show that was to come. Had one blinked at any point during the preparation of my drink one would miss what was surely the loosest interpretation of the words shake, shaken, and while we're at it, hand and margarita. It is true that the cocktail shaker was in the gentleman's hand and it is also true that his hand (and said shaker) did move imperceptibly in the upwards direction and then downwardly the same imperceptible distance, but one wonders how on Earth that twitch could constitute shaking. Had the menu read "Hand-twitched Margarita" I would have perhaps thought nothing of this spectacle. Indeed, I would most likely have turned on my heels and left the restaurant in search of something more in keeping with my standards, however fruitless that search might (did) turn out to be.

What surprised this writer most was the prevalence of such negligent barmanship. I dined at establishments of every stock and strain--from the lowly delivery van-cum-taqueria parked by the roadside in a questionable neighborhood to the award winning palais du gastronomie stuffed to its gills with crystal goblets brimming with Château Haut-Brion, bejeweled socialites tucking into foie gras and lobster, and wheelers and dealers wheeling and dealing while a waiter flambés some sweet treat at table-side. One restaurant had no problem cooking to perfection my $40 steak, yet when it came to my sidecar, all concepts of quality and taste had presumably been dumped into the toilet; the resultant mixture then finding its way into my cocktail glass with a few chips of melting ice. At the boutique hotel where we were to lay our heads my sister and I sauntered into the hotel bar (where the see and be seen see and are seen) expecting our troubles and worries to be driven from our minds with exquisitely executed beverages. "Two whisky sours, my good man," I spoke. Hindsight being what it is, I realized upon taking the introductory sip that I should have instead made the request thusly: "Two good whisky sours, my man." I couldn't help thinking it was no wonder the Alamo fell. Had D. Crocket and Jim Bowie had nothing more to revive the spirits than these sorry bartenders mixing watered down sidecars and neglected margaritas that we had encountered, the defense of the future tourist trap must indeed have seemed an unnecessary venture.

Now, at this point one might feel that all hope is lost, for I'll admit that I've painted a rather gloomy landscape. One might ask aloud, why bother searching for a tipple lest it be a shot and a beer while in Texas? Well, let me pass along to you the final act of our story: Our second to last night in The Lone Star State found our party at a hip eatery in Austin, named Lambert's. As if the cocktail follies to which we'd been subjected had preceded us (and the management felt it their duty to right the wrongs visited upon our thirsts up to that point) we were served margaritas and Pisco sours that would have made the angels sing--or is it weep? I can never remember which is the good one. Perfectly mixed, icy cold, expertly served. At last the stars at night were big and bright, deep in the so on and so forth. So think not of the failures, the disappointments. Remember instead the glorious satisfaction of finding that holiest of grails--a well made cocktail. Remember the moments when you come upon that treasured restorative; when it all works out.

And with that, this week's prescription, The Lady Bird (named for Claudia Alta "Lady Bird" Taylor Johnson, native Texan, and First Lady of the United S. of A.)

THE LADY BIRD

4 oz bourbon
2 oz orange juice, freshly squeezed
1 oz lemon juice, freshly squeezed
2 dashes orange bitters
2 Tablespoons simple syrup
2 pieces orange zest, optional.

Add all ingredients, except zest, to a cocktail shaker. Add ice and shake for 20 seconds. Strain into chilled glasses and garnish with zest, if using.

Yields 2 cocktails

by Ravinder Kingra

Whilst preparing for a Christmas cocktail party this week, I took it upon myself to clean the bar. I had barely trotted out the cleaning tackle and set to work when I noticed that a disturbing majority of the bottles where obscured beneath a layer of dust and debris. And then out of the corner of my eye I noticed that a select and happy few of the vessels arrayed before me were as clean as whistles. The innocent parties in this dusty rebellion were the gin, the bourbon, and the triple sec.

Realizing at once that these are the most often used spirits in the bunch, it became clear that the dust was not the result of polluted living conditions. A surer sign of disuse I could not envisage. It was time to act. No, no. I didn't dust. Heavens, no. I invented a new cocktail. It was high time that I expanded the repertoire, as it were. One can think of it as an alcoholic feather duster, if one is so inclined.

THE AMBER SPYGLASS

Black pepper syrup will add a very subtle kick and some sweetness. Maraschino liqueur, a clear liqueur made from Marasca cherries, is a little tough to find. But it's worth the effort. Cherry schnapps is not a substitute; neither is maraschino cherry juice.

4 oz. gin
2 oz. freshly squeezed lemon juice
1 oz. maraschino liqueur
1 oz. sweet vermouth
1 tbsp black pepper simple syrup
2 cherries, fresh or maraschino (optional)
1 pinch of coarsely ground black pepper (optional)
1 tbsp sugar (optional)

If rimming the glasses, mix together black pepper and sugar on a plate. Rub a piece of lemon around the rim of a glass and holding the glass at a 45° angle to the plate, twist the glass around, coating the whole rim with the sugar-pepper mixture.

Pour all ingredients into cocktail shaker and fill with ice. Shake for 20 seconds.

Strain into chilled martini glasses. and garnish with cherries, if using.

yields 2 cocktails

by Ravinder Kingra

A Happy New Year to you all, dear readers. I trust that those of you so culturally, religiously, or consumeristically inclined received just what was asked for from a certain Mr. Kringle. The resolutions, too, I presume are proceeding apace.

Oh, how kind of you to ask. It was an uncharacteristically low-key Christmas for me. My mother had decided to be in charge of a majority of the cooking for the week's festivities. All I can claim credit for is manning (rather ably, if I do say so myself) the bar and also making a sublime lobster bisque for Boxing Day dinner, as well as a quiche which, if given the chance and with the necessary legal obstacles hurdled, I'd happily marry. However, I digress.

I wish to discuss with you something else entirely. The missus and I decided to host a Christmas cocktail party back in mid-December. We had decided on the hors d'oeuvres that we'd serve (home-made shrimp toasts, Indian zucchini cakes with cashew sauce, white bean and cilantro dip) and we felt that equal time and effort should go into deciding on a drink to make the visitants feel it had been worthwhile dressing in their finery and venturing out on a cold winter night.

A refreshing, elegant, not too boozy tipple was the quarry. Usually I'd serve a Manhattan or a Simpatico (see the November 13th missive below). Perhaps a whisky sour. But my better half and I were hoping for spirited conversation and fun times, not a house full of drunkards. And since our guests may have likely just finished dinner and drinks before making it to our soirée, we thought a lighter cocktail would be appropriate. And since nothing says Christmas party like punch, I had a starting point. The word "punch" comes from the Parsi word for five and traditionally contained five ingredients: a spirit, sugar, lemon juice, water, and spices, herbs, or tea. Here, I chose two spirits, lemon juice, and vermouth and black pepper simple syrup (the sugar, herbs, spices). That's the punch. Playing the role of the Judy is the seltzer.

THE PUNCH & JUDY

2 oz gin
2 oz light rum
1 oz fresh lemon juice
1 oz sweet vermouth
2 tablespoon black pepper simple syrup
Club Soda or seltzer
Ice
2 lemon wedges
2 Maraschino cherries

Combine first five ingredients in an cocktail shaker. Fill with ice and shake for 20 seconds. Strain into two ice filled Collins glasses. Top off with soda water or club soda. Garnish each with a lemon wedge and a cherry.

yields 2 drinks

NOTE: For the party I mixed up a few large bottles of the first five ingredients before hand. Then all I (or a thirsty guest) had to do was add some pre-mixed punch to the shaker, shake it, add it to an ice-filled glass and top it off with seltzer. Easy, peasey, lemon squeezy.

by Ravinder Kingra

Apologies, fellow cocktail devotees, for the lack of postings from yours truly. I trust no one's been standing empty-handed and parched-mouthed at the bar waiting for a new recipe lo these many months.

I've waited to put pen to p. until I could be certain that we wouldn't wake up to find ourselves under a blanket of late season snow. Hopefully I'm not welcoming the wrath of Mother Nature (or Gaia, if one is so inclined) by taunting her like this but I think we're safely in the throws of Spring. So, now that the Sorels and snowsuits are safely stashed in the attic one can concentrate on adding some spring to one's cocktail menu steps, as it were.

Nothing says spring like rhubarb. So that's where it all began; well, there and also with a tipple I'd had at 555 as inspiration. Infusing gin with rhubarb imparts the former with the slightly bitter, astringent, herbal and, not to put too fine a point on it, pink qualities of the latter. The red wine gastrique adds tartness and acidity that balances the sweetness of the simple syrup. The black pepper adds spice and warmth; and the walnut oil contributes a luscious mouth feel and appearance in the form of glistening droplets of oil on the surface of the drink.

I'll insert a disclaimer here for those of you eager to shake up a pitcher tout de suite. The main ingredient requires some planning, namely a one to two week steeping of gin and rhubarb. If you must, simply must have a drink right away, you can muddle a few slices of rhubarb in the shaker before adding the rest of the ingredients. You might need to increase the amount of simple syrup if you follow this route, since the bitterness will be slightly harsh (or forward, in today's wine enthusiast parlance.)

So let us celebrate the thawing of frozen soil, the budding buds on the trees, the tweet and/or twitter of song birds, and so on and so forth, with the Resurrection. Thus, it is risen.

THE RESURRECTION

4 oz. rhubarb-infused gin*
2½ oz. fresh lemon juice
1½ oz. red wine gastrique
1 oz. black pepper simple syrup (or plain simple syrup and a few grinds of pepper)
⅛ teaspoon (a dash) walnut oil
freshly ground black pepper (optional)
sugar (optional)

If using, combine sugar and black pepper in a shallow dish. Rim two martini (or other cocktaily) glasses with the mixture and set aside.

Combine remaining ingredients in a cocktail shaker. Add ice and shake for 20 seconds.

Strain into prepared glasses.

Serve.

Yields two cocktails.

* To make rhubarb-infused gin add two cleaned stalks of rhubarb, diced, to a 750mL bottle of your favorite gin. Let it sit in a cool, dark place for a week or two. Strain rhubarb out of gin and return gin to bottle. Use in your favorite gin recipes, not just in the Resurrection. Note: If you don't have rhubarb-infused gin or the time to make it, muddle three of for slices of rhubarb in the cocktail shaker before adding the rest of the ingredients. You may need to increase the amount of simple syrup by a teaspoon or two since muddling the rhubarb will bring out more bitterness.