It may be that the Brits come to mind first when you think of Gin (the birth of the Gin & Tonic is deeply nestled in the history of the British Empire's use of tonic as an anti-malarial, after all, but that's another story). But as with most things, Scotland has a way of taking a good thing and making it...well, better.
A quick preface: we're not ones to shy away from a little hard work. When it's time to entertain, hors d'oeuvres are served; playlists are made; cocktails get mixed. It's not that we're opposed to standing at the bar cart juicing, shaking and stirring until everybody's satisfied. But. Summertime unlocks in us a sort of relaxed approach to entertaining.
When it comes to brown liquors, it’s easy to feel like you’ve seen everything there is to see (and, frankly, a few things you never wanted to see—we’re looking at you, Fireball). One can become resigned. Depressed. In short, jaded.
A little while ago, while enjoying a weekend in Baltimore, we wrote up a guide to one of our favorite cities for Cool Hunting. Among the featured locales was Dylan’s Oyster Cellar– in the spirit of Summer Fridays, we encourage you to check out this pop-up before they pop-down in August.
Last week, we got on the road (literally, and for a long damn time) to take a look around Music City. We stopped by several of the must-sees and still made time to dig around and find a few favorite spots of our own. Here’s our quick-and-dirty snapshot of a hell of a town.
A new year: whether rolling over into 2014 causes feelings of hope, uncertainty, trepidation, or even some amalgam of the three, chances are that New Years is a holiday that holds some weight with you. In honor of all the resolutions we’ve been hearing floating around, we’re doing something a little different today.
Like most folks with a predilection toward the exquisitely handmade, we tend to lament (loudly, after a few drinks) the general lack of DIY know-how these days. Lucky for us, the folks at MAKE TRIBE are on a mission that just might shut us up (quite a feat).
Folks, we’ve got a confession to make: we thought we loved rye. We’d tried just about every one we could get our hands on and enjoyed it all, and so we said without hesitation “we love rye”. But recently, something happened.
Not to brag, but when it comes to the hard stuff, you know what you’re talking about. You know your whiskey from your whisky, your scotch from your “notch”. You’re comfortable tossing around terms like “sour mash” and “peaty”.
For whatever reason, January is traditionally the time of year when we re-ignite our burning love for the Bloody Mary. Maybe it’s something about the end of all those holidays that leads to us requiring the hair of the dog a bit more often, or maybe we’re just internalizing “The Winter of Mixed Drinks” by Frightened Rabbit more deeply than usual due to the weather…who knows.
With any luck, since it’s the 4th of July and all, you’re already a few drinks into celebrating. However, if some unfortunate thing has been keeping you from your patriotic duty thus far, allow us to make a suggestion in the form of the following recipe.
At first glance, you may be wondering why you’re looking at this. It doesn’t appear to be either liquor or menswear. It doesn’t appear to have a selvage line or chain stitching. It doesn’t even appear to be alcoholi– wait.
There are few things more uniquely American than rye whiskey (we should know). But sometimes certain traditions get lost in the shuffle of history– ask even a big-city bartender what ryes they stock, and you may well receive a blank stare in response.
We once met some German guys (no, this isn’t the beginning of a limerick) who insisted that the only respectable way to open a bottle of beer was by slamming the neck of it down on a countertop or table, catching the lip of the cap on the edge in the process and thereby jimmying it free.
We’ll be the first to admit it– as tasty as a nice glass of your preferred vice-on-the-rocks may be, liquor doesn’t, y'know, solve problems. But that doesn’t mean that there aren’t some situations in life when a nip of something could be welcome, or even advisable.
The first time you had a gin and tonic–it was right after you finished your first year of college, and your dad mixed you one the minute you got in the door, as if this had been a long-decided upon reward for finishing out the year–you believed that all G&Ts were created equal.
As much as you enjoyed the holidays as a kid–-snowball fights, present overload, hot cocoa–-, even then you knew that there was something special in it for the adults as well. On Christmas Eve, after you kids had been herded upstairs and tucked in tight, something distinctly festive went on.