Jan 11 2012
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Pogo’s – Lake Balboa’s Best Dive Bar?

The Place:  Pogo’s, 17314 Saticoy Ave., Lake Balboa, CA 91406.
The Date:  Tuesday, November 15th
The Time: 8:00-11:00 pm
The Attendees:  Andy, Jen, Brian, Bill

Yep, another old write-up!  I’m slowly getting caught up on these.  Brian (sigh) never delivered, so it is falling on me once more to recount the wonders of the fantastic dive bar that is Pogo’s.  Prior to starting this blog, I’d never even heard of Pogo’s…despite the fact that I’ve lived within a mile or two of it for years.  That’s how little attention I’d paid to this little place.  Sitting right on Saticoy next door to a tattoo parlor, it blends in to the local scenery, especially since they don’t seem to keep the sign lighted at a particularly regular frequency.  But that’s the great thing about undiscovered dive bars: if I don’t know they’re there, surely others won’t have discovered it either.

Well, after visiting the Springbok Bar & Grill earlier in the evening, Brian and his father wanted to head over here so that they could end their drinking night within walking distance of home (a smart idea for them; I’ve seen how much they can consume!).

When I say that Pogo’s is a “little place,” it is.  You enter through the outside door, then pass through a set of padded red saloon doors, and you’re already amongst the clientele.  The place is just big enough for a couple pool tables, a decent-sized bar, and a few bar tables.  It’s cozy, but seems never to be too packed with people–at least on weekdays–to be uncomfortable.  Clientele are pretty low key; it’s definitely a mellow neighborhood bar, and many of the patrons seem to know each other very well.  I got the impression that if anyone tried to start trouble with anyone else, the other customers would put an end to it very quickly.

Our bartender for the night was Chrissy, a very entertaining person and an excellent mixologist.  We learned later in the evening that she had also worked at Nectar and the Witches’ Brew, our two first Bar Blog outings.  After having a few beers, most of us moved on to other drinks. (I seem to recall Jen stuck to beer for most of the night.)

Drinks are very reasonably priced, but they are CASH ONLY, so come prepared.  With that said, on to the drink reviews:

Beer selections are reasonable; I think a pitcher of hefeweizen ran about $9.00, or maybe $2.50-3.00 a glass.  Not too bad.  Bloody Marys are made from scratch, and have a nice zing to them.  Chrissy was actually concerned that we liked our beverages–she was even worried she had made my Bloody Mary too strong (HA!).  I then asked Chrissy to surprise me with something; she made me a highball version of a Washington Apple, which is normally served as a shot.  Served as a full drink, it packed quite a punch!  We then sampled a few other shots, including something green and tasty called the Scooby Snack, and later a Chocolate Cake.  I don’t remember the latter, but the Scooby Snacks were tasty enough that I insisted on sipping and savoring mine.

Considering the cost and the location, I promised myself I would return.  Brian’s parents, incidentally, came back so many times that the bartender even comped my drink the next time I visited!

I returned with my friend Karen (also Brian’s lovely wife) at a later date, and her review follows below.

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Karen’s review of our return trip:

So, the esteemed owner of this fine blog reminded me that I’m not actually writing a review for the official “VBB” outing. However, as a new mom, I think that any outing that gives me an opportunity to engage in adult conversation, have an actual alcoholic beverage, and not talk about the frequency at which one poops is an official outing–so here goes:

You know you have a good friend when someone who despises children will still come visit you–running the risk of being asked if they want to hold said child. That friend is an even better friend when they roll up to your house and get you out of there, even if it means drinking in the afternoon at a local dive. After leaving my spawn with my in-laws (who were silently judging me, I’m certain), Andy and I rolled up to Pogo’s at about 4 in the afternoon on a Wednesday.

I’ve driven by Pogo’s a bajillion times and never once thought, “ooh, that’s a place I’d like to try!” It’s next to a dingy looking mini mall and looks like a place where you go to drink at 6am. The paint and signage is a bit older and it’s not in the greatest neighborhood.

When we entered the darkly lit bar, the first thing I noticed was that Andy and I were the youngest ones in there by about 20 years; but, nobody was falling off their stools or yelling about the “good old days.” So far, so good.

My husband (the “Brian” mentioned below. I totally reminded him to write his review, BTW. Slackass) said that the first thing that he noticed was how clean the place was. Specifically, no dust on the bottles or foreign sticky substances on the bar top. These are things I tend to take for granted, but everyone has their standards (although, let’s be honest, even if there was dust on the bottles or gross crawly things on the counter, would that stop an Irishman from drinking? I think not). He is right, though. When you get past the exterior, and the mangy “leatherette” red doors, he was right – the place was really clean. The glasses were clear and free of lipstick, the bottles on display were clean and new looking, the stools were in good shape, and the pool tables looked well-maintained. This germphobe would actually consume food here. (Side note: when I went to look up alternative words for mangy, “scabby” was one of the choices. While not an accurate description for this place, this might work for other valley bars.)

The second thing that I noticed was that the bartender (the thin, Scottish redheaded one) seemed to know EVERYONE. Really, everyone. She was super sweet to us, and really attentive to people I can only assume were regulars. Upside: yea if you’re a regular. Downside: Not so great if you’re new there and would like a refill. We tried a number of times to get her attention to order more drinks a few times (kind of like how embarrassed I am to ask the waiter for more bread at the Olive Garden, but salivating for another 600 calorie breadstick).  Not necessarily a bad thing at this point; it just gave us more time for our usual banter, peppered with phrases such as, “wait, does Brian know that about you?” and, “OK, Karen, don’t tell anyone, but…” and, “No, no, that’s not illegal in this state” and “Seriously, you may never feel the same way about me again if I tell you…” This, however, would be slightly annoying if I really wanted another drink and didn’t have company.

The drinks themselves were good and strong. I had the drink of college-aged, striped shirt wearing d-bags everywhere: a red bull and Vodka. (I *think* it was Monster or Rockstar or something not Red Bull-whatever. It was mostly Vodka anyway.) Andy had something that screamed how comfortable he was with his masculinity (I don’t remember, exactly. But I do remember that it had a cherry in it.) He seemed to like it, but I’ll let him interject his thoughts on his drink.

When it came time for the bill (cash only, BTW. And the closest ATM is the Chase across the street in the Ralph’s shopping center), it completely made up for the wait. Drinks were super inexpensive (I could’ve been drinking Popov or Brita Filtered Thunderbird for all I know-but they tasted fine) and stronger on the second round than the first.

Ultimately, I would come here again, but maybe on a weekend or evening jaunt to check out a different crowd.

Jan 11 2012
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A Cosmic Shout-Out to the Little A’Le’Inn – Rachel, Nevada

If you ever find yourself lost out in the Nevada desert a hundred or so miles north of Las Vegas, don’t despair.  A little oasis awaits you in the tiny town of Rachel, Nevada.

Rachel’s main claim to fame, of course, is that it’s located along Nevada Hwy. 375–also known as the Extraterrestrial Highway, so named because it runs right by Area 51.  It is secondarily famous as the former site of an enormous Colonel Sanders head visible from space. (Alas, the logo has since disappeared from the landscape.) Located midway between Las Vegas and Tonopah, the town of Rachel is a good 100 miles from any substantial town (and, I once discovered, approximately a 3-hour wait from the nearest tow truck when you place a midnight phone call to AAA).

Set amidst the desolation is Rachel’s main business hub: the Little A’Le’Inn.  That appears to be the sole business in town, part motel, part diner, part souvenir shop, and–of course–part bar.

By more urban standards, the Little A’Le’Inn is not much to look at.  In Rachel, however, this place is an oasis–and a convenient place to stop in for a quick beer or a couple shots when you need a break from the long and lonely drive.  I’ve stopped in a couple times over the past couple years, and it’s always a nice break.  The decor is, as the name suggests, alien-themed.  What do you expect?  It’s the Extraterrestrial Highway, for crying out loud.

And, I should mention, the management and staff are a hoot.  Go in and have a chat with them.

So here’s my shout out to the good folks of Rachel and the A’Le’Inn.  You can bet I’ll stop by again on my next trip through Rachel!

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Dec 29 2011
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Cocktail Concoctions: The Gimlet

Got a hankering for something strong, sweet, and tart at the same time?  The gimlet is a refreshing and incredibly easy-to-prepare drink.

Older references to the gimlet refer to it as “gin, a spot of lime, and soda” (D. B. Wesson, I’ll Never be Cured III, 1928).  However, in its true current form, a gimlet is a cocktail made of gin and lime juice.  As with many gin-based cocktails, you can substitute vodka.  I prefer the gin version, which gives the drink a little more depth; Jen prefers the vodka version, which tastes a bit sweeter.  If you’re ordering at a bar, I suggest specifying your alcohol preference; many bartenders will answer requests for a gimlet by using vodka, but you never know.

However, don’t just use any lime juice: you must–MUST!–use Rose’s lime juice.  Trust me on this.  Jen was served one in a fancy Manhattan bar (where you’d think they would know better) that was vodka and fresh-squeezed lime juice.  As much a fan as I am of fresh juices in cocktails, this gimlet was sour to the point of being virtually undrinkable.

The term “gimlet” as a lime-based cocktail dates back to at least the above 1928 quote, though I can’t find any specific older references.  A gimlet is also a type of tool used for drilling small holes, and whose name is also used to describe something as sharp or piercing.  It’s possible that the cocktail was named for its “penetrating” effects on the drinker.  An alternative theory is that it was named after British Royal Navy Surgeon General Sir Thomas D. Gimlette, who purportedly introduced this drink as a means of inducing his messmates to take lime juice as an anti-scurvy medication.

Random fact: The gimlet was director Edward D. Wood, Jr.’s favorite cocktail, and he often used the pseudonyms “Telmig Akdov” or “Akdov Telmig” for his adult novels.

Cheers!

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Dec 29 2011
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A Much-Belated Post – The Springbok

The Place:  Springbok Bar & Grill, 16153 Victory Blvd., Van Nuys, CA 91406.
The Date:  Tuesday, November 15th
The Time: 6:00-7:30 pm
The Attendees:  Andy, Jen, Brian, Bill

OK, I’ve fallen WAY behind on updating this blog.  Actually, it’s Brian’s fault.  You see, he promised that he would write up this two-fer blog excursion (we headed to another venue after staying here for awhile), and, well, that never happened.   All my other intended posts got back up behind this one, resulting in complete blog inertia.  Lesson learned: Never trust an Irishman!

So, anyway, here we are, a month and a half later, and I’m finally writing this.  OK, I’d been eying the Springbok for quite some time.  It’s located on an odd little corner along Victory Blvd. that I actually never drive by.  However, it is along one of my primary running routes, so when I’m hoofing it down the road in the mornings–thirsty, hungry, and eager for a chance to sit down–the Bok invariably calls out to me, its siren song beckoning me to abandon my exercise and enjoy a cold one.  Thankfully (0r, perhaps, regrettably), I don’t carry money or bank cards when I go running, so it’s always had to wait for a better time.

Jen and I actually tried to go the Springbok for dinner once before.  It turned out to be the night of a big televised fight, and the place was packed, so we had to skip that one.  This trip was much quieter.

So, a bit about Springbok: It’s a true bar and grill, and they’re known for their food.  They bill themselves as a South African establishment, with the menu reflecting the same.  They’re also big on sports, with more TV screens than one can count mounted everywhere.  Since it bears a decidedly non-American theme, you’ll likely encounter rugby or football (i.e., soccer) matches on the screens, though when we were there it seemed to be NCAA basketball night.

You enter through the bar, which seems a bit darker and more cramped than one might expect from the outside.  I always try to sit at the bar if possible, so that we can chat with the bartenders and watch them in action, but we came hungry and intending to have dinner, so we headed to the dining room, which is thankfully lighter and roomier than the bar.

I always try to read up on any establishment I visit ahead of time.  Yelp’s reviews were quite a mixed bag.  Some said the drinks were awesome; some said they sucked.  Some said the food was amazing; some said the food was awful.  Some said the service was great; some thought the waitresses were the rudest people on earth.  This isn’t a foodie blog, I’m not a food reviewer, and I’m certainly not familiar enough with South African food to offer an opinion as to whether it’s as good as it should be.  I will mention that I had the chicken peri peri, which was flavorful (though quite spicy), and Jen had a sausage the size of my forearm.  I don’t remember what Bill had (sorry, Bill).  It has been awhile, so I don’t remember everything in detail, but I will say that I left with the opinion that I’d happily return for their food again.  Brian arrived later with his father, so they didn’t eat, but they did join us for some beers.

Now, on to the drinks.  They do have a full bar and seem equipped to make pretty much anything you can think of.  Their beer varieties seem to be of the more standard fare; most of the names on their taps are familiar, and I don’t recall there being many names on their beer list that I didn’t recognize.  Their signature beer is an ale of some sort (again, I’m fuzzy on the details) that bears the Springbok name.  It was a smooth and easily drinkable variety.  I went for my usual Bloody Mary, which arrived sans garnish (not particularly important to me, but I always do enjoy when the bartender goes for a creative presentation) but was good and hot.  My impression was that it came from a mix, but they at least added a few things to jazz it up.

The service, I do have to say, was not among the best.  As I noted earlier, some reviewers complained about the rude service.  I certainly didn’t experience that, but then again, I’m not a drunk and rowdy sports fan.  The service was a little less attentive than I liked, but it seemed to be a slow evening and I think they only had one server tending the entire dining room.

I also have to give a shout out to Springbok’s Tuesday Trivia Night, which starts at 9:00.  We didn’t stay for the event, but I do happen to know the host…so stop in and have some fun if you can.

Brian and his father had their hearts set on doing the bulk of their drinking at Pogo’s, which is walking distance from his Brian’s house, so we paid our tab and left after finishing off our dinners and a couple drinks.

Anyway, if South African-themed food interest you, the Springbok is a good choice, and you certainly won’t find too many places like it in the Valley.  Just be sure to avoid this place if there happens to be a championship match on the schedule.

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Oct 19 2011
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Cheerio! A Trip to Pickwick’s

The Place:  Pickwick’s Pub, 21010 Ventura Blvd., Woodland Hills, CA 91364.
The Date:  Tuesday, October 11th
The Time: 7:00-9:30 pm
The Attendees:  Andy, Christine

If you are a fan of British pubs, you are probably aware the Valley isn’t particularly replete with them.  My friend Christine suggested we hit Pickwick’s and, since I can never say “no” to a pretty face, of course I agreed.  The first bar I ever took her to was an absolute dive–both terrifying and hilarious all at once–so I feared this might be a strange form of retribution.  Much to my surprise (and to her credit), Pickwick’s was a good time.  Not truly authentic…but still a good time.

To give you a brief bit of history, Pickwick’s Pub used to be an old-school, sticky, grungy, dark place.  I never got to experience it myself personally, but that’s always what I picture when I think of a British pub.  This one is newer and more brightly lit, and has a little more generic (though British-inspired) interior.  That’s not by choice; Pickwick’s burned to the ground in 2005 (courtesy of a patron who, drunk and irate after being tossed out, decided to throw a Molotov cocktail through the window after the place had closed for the night).  After a year of rebuilding, what you see is a halfway-inspired interpretation of a pub.  More like the interior of a Denny’s with some Tudor touches.  But that’s fine.

Most of the reviews online have been pretty positive.  Those who especially like Pickwick’s enjoyed that it’s not full of thugs, poseurs, douchebags, or other general scum.  Showing up at 7 pm, of course, the place wasn’t especially full of anyone.  Those who were there did seem to be the usual show-up-after-work-for-a-couple-drinks variety.  We sat at the bar, where most of the people were upon our arrival.  We arrived just at the tail end of happy hour (which runs from 5-7 pm), so the place thinned out a little more after our arrival, but had picked up again by the time we left.  The clientele seemed to be largely middle-aged folks; they weren’t unfriendly by any means, but seemed to mostly keep to themselves and didn’t pay us newcomers much attention.  Or perhaps it’s just that Christine and I were too engrossed in our own conversations.  Regardless, it was pretty calm.

I never got the bartender’s name; he was a younger gentleman–polite and attentive.  I was thrilled to see that they had Blackthorn Cider on tap, so I eagerly slurped down several of those. (I’m not a major cider buff, but I do always enjoy Blackthorn, even if it isn’t “true” cider in the sense of its preparation; I won’t bore you with those details.) Christine had herself a couple Stellas and then ordered us a couple Toasted Almonds (a blend of milk, Kahlua, and amaretto); the latter was a bit sweeter than I would normally prefer myself but it went down easily.  Overall, their selection of tap beers was pretty good–their selection ranges from Shock Top to Sam Adams to Miller Lite to Boddington’s to Guinness to Pabst Blue Ribbon.  They have more beers in bottled form as well.  Christine reports that she has had quite a few different mixed drinks here, so their bartending staff–though this being a pub and more beer-oriented–do know how to create cocktails.  I will note that according to the bartender, their Blood Marys are made with the mix, so I didn’t try that.

One other realm where Pickwick’s scores points: they serve food.  The menu is an interesting amalgam of British meals (bangers & mash, etc.), Indian curries, and the odd Mexican dish.  I got a platter of the fish & chips; it ran me somewhere in the $12-14 range, but the fries were among the best I’ve had at a bar, and the serving of fish was enormous.  Rather than serving me individually breaded and fried sticks of fish, I swear they threw an entire side of cod into the deep fryer.  And of course, to make sure the dish had some redeeming value to it, the food also came with a side of boiled peas (think abo0ut it: when was the last time a restaurant served you a bowl of peas?), which were nothing to rave about.

As far as entertainment goes, Pickwick’s does normally have bands scheduled throughout the week.  The reggae band scheduled for the night of our visit had cancelled, so we had to talk to each other instead.  Oh well.  Wednesdays are trivia nights.  And there are darts as well, if that’s your liking.

So, all in all, Pickwick’s seems a nice, mellow place to toss back a few pints.  I’d certainly be willing to return!

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Oct 11 2011
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Cocktail Concoctions: The Pisco Sour

Looking for an unusual, refreshing, and strong drink?  The Pisco Sour might be right up your alley.

(Disclaimer: this drink involves raw eggs, so if that’s not to your liking, I suggest you move on.)

A brief bit of history.  Pisco is a grape brandy (typically 60-100 proof) produced in Peru and Chile developed by Spanish settlers in South America as an alternative to orujo, a variety of Spanish brandy that the settlers had been importing.  Both Peru and Chile claim to be the rightful originators of pisco, though there seems to be little evidence to support either country’s claim.  In my opinion, pisco on its own doesn’t have an especially appealing flavor; if you’ve ever had kirschwasser, I’d liken it to that.

However, the Pisco Sour is a most excellent concoction.  Again, both Peru and Chile lay claim to being the country where the drink was invented.  My first experience with a Pisco Sour was in Cuzco–so Peru can at least lay claim to being where I discovered the drink.  The drink itself goes back nearly 100 years, and instantly became popular throughout South America west of the Andes.

The drink itself is pretty simple to make.  You just need pisco (which can be found in the brandy section of BevMo!, Total Wine, or similar stores), egg whites, lime juice (you can also use lemon juice), simple syrup or superfine/caster sugar, and Angostura bitters.  Here’s how you do it:

Pour 2 oz. pisco, 1 oz. lime juice, 1/4 oz. superfine sugar or simple syrup, and 1/2 egg white into an ice-filled shaker.  Shake like crazy to mix in the egg whites.  Strain into a glass (various recipes say to pour into a champagne flute, old-fashioned glass, or a cocktail glass; the reality is it doesn’t matter) without ice.  If you’ve done your job correctly, the egg white will give you a nice layer of foam on top of the drink.  If you want an even foamier drink, use an entire egg white.  Add a dash of the Angostura bitters on top of the foam.  And you’re done!

I’m not sure this is something you would be easily able to order at your neighborhood bar, given that pisco is a relatively obscure alcohol here in the States, and also given that most bars probably don’t keep fresh eggs in stock.  However, if you find yourself at a Peruvian or Chilean restaurant, it’s a pretty sure bet they will have this drink on the menu.  Give it a try.  See what you think.

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Oct 11 2011
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Hollywood Nights: Yamashiro, Bar Marmont, & the $70 Round of Drinks

The Place:  Yamashiro, 1999 N. Sycamore Ave., L.A. 90068; Bar Marmont, 8171 Sunset Blvd., L.A. 90049
The Date: Frjiday, October 7th
The Time: 9:00-11:00pm
The Attendees:  Dave, Erin, Jen, Andy

Erin recently had a birthday.   I suppose I’m not at liberty to say which birthday it was, but it ended with a zero and so was one of monumental importance. (In Erin’s opinion, that is; I, personally, have never seen much point in celebrating birthdays.  But I digress.) So she and Dave decided it would be fun to head down to Hollywood and do some bar-hopping, starting at Yamashiro, where they had dinner reservations.

Jen and I drove down, through nasty Hollywood Bowl traffic, with the intent of hanging out for a bit at Yamashiro, then perhaps going to one other bar or just heading back to the Valley from there.

Now, Yamashiro isn’t a bar.  Their claim to fame is, of course, their pricy “Asian inspired” food.  I’ve never actually eaten there, so I’m in no position to comment on the food; however, one cannot deny that Yamashiro has among the best views of any restaurant in L.A.  Oh…and of course, they do have a bar.  Well, they call it a “lounge,” which is probably more appropriate.  You can bypass the reservations, walk in, order some drinks, and then hang out at any number of tables overlooking the city.

Being 9:00 on a Friday night, we were expecting the lounge to be busier than it was.  People were streaming in and out of the restaurant, so clearly they were doing brisk business, but Yamashiro is evidently not a hot-spot for hanging out and having drinks.  I’m not complaining.

Erin was stoked because Yamashiro stocks Sapporo Light, which is both (a) her favorite beer and (b) virtually impossible to find.  They had a couple different types of sangria:  a traditional red wine sangria ($8), and a sake sangria ($10).  Jen had the red wine version, which wasn’t bad but which wasn’t much different from most sangrias I’ve had.  Curious, I tried the sake version–which, I have to say, was outright amazing.  So if you wind up at Yamashiro and you’re thirsty…Get the sake sangria!

After spending some time enjoying our drinks and the views, Dave and Erin decided they wanted to go to Bar Marmont, which is part of the Chateau Marmont hotel, though in a physically separate building.  Dating back to the 1920s, the Chateau Marmont has quite a storied history among the Hollywood elite.  I won’t detail any of that here, since it’s easily found online.  Erin really, really wanted to go to the Marmont on account of some specific person, event, or other reason that completely escapes me at the moment.

So, the Bar Marmont is where we wound up having a $70 round of drinks.  OK, in all fairness, the drinks themselves only totaled $50 (Bacardi & Coke: $10, Sidecar: $14, White Russian: $14, Salty Dog: $12) but we also had to pay $20 to park.  Unexpected?  Of course not; it’s a Friday night on the Sunset Strip, and I’d probably have paid the same at any other trendy “see and be seen” bar.  Worth it?  Not to me, but I can understand why people enjoy going here.  Dave, perhaps because he’d already had a few drinks, was quite offended at the bar tab, and kept insisting I get a picture of the receipt with my phone.

For one, the place itself has a nice, historic vibe to it.  For another, the bartending staff makes excellent Sidecars.  They had a DJ set up, and her selection of music was pretty good–and loud, but not overpoweringly loud.  The place was fairly crowded, but not packed–so while we weren’t able to sit anywhere, we weren’t crammed in like sardines.  The crowd seemed to be the hip, smartly dressed, young-and-attractive set.  I can only wonder how many people come to these places because they want to feel like they can afford $15 drinks, vs. those who actually can afford $15 drinks.  My main complaint is that the servers were rather aloof, and flagging down someone for our drink order wasn’t easy.

Conclusion?  Bar Marmont was fun, but given the choice, I’d rather have stayed at Yamashiro and slurped down a few more sake sangrias while watching the Hollywood skyline.

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Oct 07 2011
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Cocktail Concoctions: The Ernest Hemingway Special

Greetings once again.  It’s time for another tasty cocktail recipe.  Pretty simple to make.  This one is known as the Ernest Hemingway Special.  It got its name by being Ernest Hemingway’s favorite alcoholic drink when Ernest spent time in Cuba.  The drink originated in Havana’s trendy La Floridita Restaurante (which is still operating and does quite a bustling tourist business).  Incidentally, La Floridita claims to be the home of the daiquiri–and one can probably think of the Ernest Hemingway Special as being a modified daiquiri.

In Cuba, the drink is known as the Papa Dobles.  According to writer Patrick Lynch, “Supposedly Papa [Ernest's Cuban nickname] could put away a dozen of these double-sized frozen daiquiris in an evening, and then bring ‘one for the road’ back home with him.”  Hemingway was almost as famous for his alcoholism as for his writing, so this anecdote does not surprise me.

OK, enough history.  You’re thirsty.  To make this drink you will need:

1 3/4 oz white rum
2/3 oz fresh grapefruit juice
1/3 oz maraschino liqueur
2/3 oz fresh lime juice

Simply pour all of the above into an ice-filled shaker, shake, and strain into an ice-filled old-fashioned glass.  Stick a wedge of lime on the edge of the glass, toss in a straw, and voila!

On account of the maraschino liqueur, I’m not sure how readily one could order this at a less “sophisticated” bar. (Certainly I know Nectar wouldn’t have it!) If you’ve never had maraschino liqueur, no, it doesn’t taste like the red syrup that you find in a bottle of maraschino cherries.  Maraschino liqueur is indeed made from cherries (a particular variety known as Marasca cherries, which are only grown in parts of Croatia and northern Italy; these are also the kind of cherries you find in that red syrup-filled bottle in the grocery store) and does taste vaguely like those same cherries.  However, the flavor tends to have almond-like undertones due to the use of crushed cherry pits during the distillation, and a hint of honey as well (since that is also used in the preparation).  You will want to be careful not to use too much maraschino, as I’ve found its flavor can be a bit overpowering if used excessively.

Some bar manuals vary the amount of rum (the La Floridita recipe book itself calls for 2 oz rum, the juice of 1/2 lime, and 1 tsp each of grapefruit juice and maraschino).  Some also recommend crushed ice instead; it can also be served blended, as with a daiquiri or margarita.

In any case, the finished drink is one that is tart, crisp, and refreshing.  Definitely the sort of thing one could imagine sipping while reclining on a beach along the Florida Keys.

Oct 04 2011
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Nectar: A Hairy Man in a Sundress?

The Place:  Nectar, 8626 Balboa Blvd., Northridge, CA 91325.
The Date: Monday, October 3rd
The Time: 6:30-8:30 pm
The Attendees:  Dave, Erin, Jen, Andy

In her one-out-of-five-stars review, one Yelp reviewer said, “This place is like trying to watch an obese hairy man put on pretty sundress. Just a hot mess.”

With such an intriguing review like that, I couldn’t not head to Nectar to see what this place was about.  So, Dave, Erin, Jen, and I scheduled a visit to check the place out.

Basically, Nectar is located in a little tiny strip mall that’s located right next to a larger strip mall at the intersection of Balboa Blvd. and Parthenia St.  The larger strip mall is nothing to rave about; however, the little tiny strip mall has an oddly sketchy feel to it—not so much due to strange people hanging around but more due to the fact that it seemed oddly deserted.  Nectar and the pizza shop (Bad Boys Pizza) next door seem to be the only places open after normal business hours.  Also, be forewarned: the little tiny strip mall has its own parking lot that is connected only to Balboa, so you can’t actually get into the parking lot if you are coming from Parthenia.  Importantly:  do NOT park in the parking space marked as Anissa’s space.  Seriously.  That space belongs to Anissa (the manager and co-owner).

Nectar itself is your standard, unassuming-from-outside strip mall bar.  No windows.  Solid door.  Plenty of signs and banners announcing games, happy hours, and such.  It looks just like a typical dive bar.

Coincidentally, Nectar looks just like a typical dive bar inside as well.  It’s a cozy (read: small) place primarily consisting of the bar, a couple pool tables, a non-operable pinball machine, a few televisions, and—strangely—a large chess board.

There’s very little remarkable about the interior decor; it looks like the sort of place that’s been here for decades. (I’m told it has: back in the day, Nectar used to be known as the Golden Apple, or some name similar enough that it morphed into that name in my mind.  I can’t corroborate that story since, despite having driven by this tiny little strip mall for years, I actually never paid any attention to the businesses located here.)

One nice touch is that the owner installed hooks under the bar for the ladies to hang their purses.  That’s the only truly positive thing I can say.  The rest of the bar is nothing to rave about.  The bar stools are a strange mishmash of old relics, some of which are split in the seats, with stuffing coming out.  My own seat was incredibly wobbly and felt like it was about to collapse (thankfully, it didn’t).

The Monday night clientele was pretty low-key and, actually, a bit sparse.  When we showed up, there were maybe eight other customers.  A few people came and went over the next couple hours (including one woman who came in, pounded a Jager and Red Bull, and immediately left).  By the time the four of us left, there were probably only four or five other folks inside.  Of course, Monday is probably one of the slowest nights of the week; Friday night karaoke undoubtedly brings in a far heavier crowd.  The other patrons seemed to be almost entirely comprised of long-time regulars, and were generally quite subdued.

The staff were an interesting bunch.  Some bars—especially of the tiny dive bar variety that cater primarily to its regulars—are good at making newcomers feel uneasy.  Not so much here; Jim, the owner, seemed utterly excited to have new customers walk through the door.  He didn’t quite dote on us, but did come back several times to chat and make sure everything was OK.  I do have to respect that.  Jim tells me he has owned Nectar for the past seven years.

Our first interaction, however, was with Myrna, a very nice young lady who was minding the bar when we arrived.  We were prepared to order mixed drinks, but Myrna informed us that she could only serve us beer as she didn’t know how to mix.

Odd.  Very odd.

I was ready to slam Myrna in this blog for not knowing how to mix drinks, but we later learned that last night was her first day on the job; Myrna had had no prior bartending experience and could only serve us beers (or shots).  That made a little more sense, and since she was very personable I’m absolutely willing to give her a pass for now.  However, I’m curious why the owner would hire someone to tend bar who didn’t know how to mix drinks.  I suppose I should take that as a reflection of the happy hour clientele; I dare say that most of the customers did seem to be the “gimme a Bud” variety.  Jen and Dave settled for various Budweiser drinks themselves, while I ordered a Blue Moon…which Myrna served sans orange slice (oh no!), but hopefully she’ll learn.

Fortunately for us, reinforcements arrived at around 7:00 pm., in the form of Sam and Anissa.

Sam is an adorable lady: polite, bright, easy on the eyes, and definitely young (still a student at CSUN, we learned), though I do think her capacities had been a bit dulled from a just-before-work happy hour elsewhere.  Sam has been at Nectar since May of this year; given her evident age, I doubt she had been bartending elsewhere beforehand, so the fact that she was training Myrna was a bit strange to me.

Anissa…well, apparently the regulars and other staff appreciate and respect her.  She largely ignored our quartet, so I can’t speak for her personality directly.  Jen reports that she felt snubbed.  I just think she had better things to do than tend to the newbies.  However, I do have to admit that I didn’t get a great feeling of friendliness from her.

So, with Sam at the bar, it was time to order some mixed beverages.  For comparison purposes, the four of us decided we would have one drink we would routinely try at each bar.  Dave would order a classic Margarita, Erin would go for a White Russian (her favorite drink in the world), Jen would try for a Sloe Gin Fizz, and I’d go for the good old Bloody Mary.

How can I explain Sam’s mixing technique?  Amateurish.  That’s more a knock on her evident lack of training and experience than on Sam herself.  The drinks reminded me of what I made for my friends when I was in my early 20s—too ignorant to know that I needed precise ingredients to make awesome drinks, and perhaps too broke to afford the good stuff anyhow.  Plastic-bottle vodka (the blame would lie squarely on the owner for that)…margarita mix in lieu of sour mix…lack of garnish…that sort of thing.  Thankfully the drinks weren’t served in Solo-brand red plastic cups, at least!

So, the rundown:

Erin’s White Russian was mixed proportionally well, though I’d have gone a bit heavier on the Kahlua myself.  My main complaint was that, instead of heavy cream, it had 2% milk.  Now, Jen has always preferred her White Russians that way (actually, she prefers hers with skim milk, using the “fewer calories” defense), but I am of the opinion that the drink really loses its punch if it doesn’t have that nice, thick, creamy flavor to it.  My opinion:  Meh.

On to Dave’s drink.  His margarita had Cuervo Gold in it, and that comes in a glass bottle…so they got one thing right.  Sam mixed the tequila with Triple Sec and bottled margarita mix…and thus was served the margarita.  Now, a good margarita will never involve pre-mixed stuff, and preferably Cointreau in lieu of Triple Sec.  In fact, the best margaritas (in my mind) include only three ingredients:  tequila, Cointreau, and freshly squeezed lime juice.  That’s it!  You can add other stuff (say, cranberry juice) to augment your beverage, but one should never need to resort to margarita mix.  Anyway, it tasted to me like bottled margarita.  Just a bit too sweet, and definitely nothing I’d ask for.

So Jen ordered her Sloe Gin Fizz.  Sam’s matter-of-fact response, “We don’t have sloe gin; we really are a dive bar.”  Well, that didn’t surprise me.  So, after pondering for a moment, Jen settled for a Midori Sour.  Which was prepared with Midori (duh) and margarita mix.

Wait…what?  Having seen this, Jen asked Sam if she had used sour mix.  Sam answered in the affirmative.  OK, so the bartender doesn’t know the difference between sour mix and margarita mix.  Whoa boy.  Anyway, it was sweet.  Jen said it was like drinking Kool-Aid.  I disagree; I mean, I actually like Kool-Aid, whereas the Midori Sour was so sweet it almost made me gag.

Now, on to the Bloody Mary.  I picked this drink because pretty much any bartender in the world can make one, and also because there’s no “standard” recipe and each bartender makes theirs a little bit differently.  While a White Russian or a margarita will generally taste the same wherever you go, in my mind, a Bloody Mary should be a unique experience.

Well, as I should have expected, the Bloody Marys here are made with mix, which they were out of.  Sam kindly suggested she could make it with Clamato instead.

Now, a word about Clamato.  Who in their right mind thought that combining tomato juice with mollusk juice was a good idea?  It smells like puke, and tastes about as well.  And to think that some people like to mix that stuff with alcohol.  Nasty.

Also, for the record, if you buy that Budweiser/Clamato “Chelada” stuff, and then accidentally spill it on motel sheets, it (a) looks like someone had sex while on their period, and (b) smells like someone had sex while on their period.  I discovered that the hard way.

OK, back to Nectar.  Since there was no way humanly possible to get a decent-tasting Bloody Mary, I asked for a Salty Dog.  Remember how, in my last post, I mentioned that the Salty Dog is a good standby since it is “incredibly easy to make in the event you get an inept bartender who doesn’t know how to make your own favorite libation?”  Well, that assumes you are at a bar that actually stocks grapefruit juice.  Which, surprise surprise, Nectar doesn’t.

Not knowing what I could get that I’d like, I asked Sam to just surprise me with something.  Taking my liking for Salty Dogs as a cue, she proceeded to mix me some combination of vodka, orange juice, and cranberry juice, since orange juice and cranberry juice have a vague resemblance to grapefruit juice when mixed together.  I’m not sure I agree, but I do have to give Sam props for trying to cater to my own tastes.  All in all, it was OK.  Nothing too exciting.

Our first round of mixed drinks out of the way, I asked Sam what she would typically make herself.  Her favorite drink turned out to be a shot, which shouldn’t surprise me (remember, she’s still in college!) but which tends not to be so good for our own thirtysomething (and, in some cases, older) constitutions.  Unfortunately, the bar had just run out of margarita mix (!!!), so Sam could not make us her favorite non-shooter drink, which apparently is a “pretty fucking cool” margarita.  From what I could glean, it was more or less a standard margarita except that she made it with vodka and tequila.  After some further negotiation, we all settled on a drink that didn’t appear to have a name but that did appear to be made with vodka, tequila, Triple Sec, orange juice, and lime juice.  It did have a nice tart flavor to it, and was my favorite drink of the night, but I was really hoping for something a little more groundbreaking.  Oh well.

After that round was finished, we decided it was time to leave since Dave had just ordered a pizza from next door and since Jen for some reason prefers to get up for work at 4:30 am or some other ungodly hour.

So…Is Nectar truly a fat hairy guy in a sundress?  I am not sure I’d go that far.

Actually, this place really embraces and owns its status as a dive bar.  You want knowledgeable bartenders who can make a wide assortment of drinks?  Go to the Norwood or Carlito’s Way or the Witches Brew.  You want high-end mixed drinks made with obscure liqueurs?  Go to Ventura Blvd. or–God forbid–Hollywood.  You want great beers?  Go to a brew pub.  However, if you want a low-key place to grab a few beers, play some pool, or watch a game, you could find worse places to go than Nectar.  Unfortunately, I can’t say I had such a great time that I am personally itching to return.

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Oct 03 2011
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Cocktail Concoctions: The Salty Dog

Greetings, avid followers! (Both of you.)

Those who have been my Facebook friends will undoubtedly know that I’ve been posting various cocktail recipes–including old standbys, long-forgotten drinks, and a few of my own creations–for the past couple of years.  It seemed appropriate to transition this over to the blog format, where I’ll be able to provide more detailed information on various drinks.  Hopefully this will get a few of you out of your own comfort zones and motivate you to try a few new creations.

So, I’m going to start off the inaugural post of this feature with one of my old standby drinks: the Salty Dog.  Always guaranteed to be tart and refreshing, this drink is also incredibly easy to make in the event you get an inept bartender who doesn’t know how to make your own favorite libation. (I’m reminded of a story where Jen & I were at Casey’s Tavern in Canoga Park many moons ago; after she ordered a sloe gin fizz, the bartender simply said, “Honey, I don’t know how to make that,” and walked off.)

This one is simple: mix vodka and grapefruit juice.  If your bartender can’t figure that out, get the hell out of that bar and find somewhere that doesn’t completely suck.  The International Bartenders Association specifies the recipe as 40% alcohol and 60% grapefruit juice.  I usually pour mine at about a 50-50 ratio; you can probably expect some variability, since any halfway decent bartender is not going to measure.

The Salty Dog is normally served in a glass (usually either a Collins glass or a highball) on ice, but it can also be shaken with ice and poured into a cocktail glass, as shown in the photo.  Either way, it should be served with a salted rim (hence the name).  You can also use gin fairly interchangeably (as with a martini, a gimlet, or any other number of recipes); however, since vodka is the default, be sure to specify gin if you prefer that instead.

If the salt isn’t to your liking, ask for a Greyhound instead.  It’s identical to the Salty Dog, except without the salt.

Credit for inventing this drink is attributed to actor George Jessel, who I am told also invented the Bloody Mary.  However, I’m not aware of any definitive proof of this, and I’m quite certain other people discovered this delectable combination as well.

In any case, enjoy…and there shall be more to come.  Cheers!

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