Happy New Year

Piper Heidsieck Extra Dry Champage

Toby Cecchini wrote an interesting piece for the NY Times Style section last week on sabering a bottle of champagne with an eight inch kitchen knife. I'm not sure how that got through legal but I can just imagine the hipster element tonight...What a wonderful short film it would make. Keep in mind, if you lose your thumb it's very hard to open doors.

My drill would surely be considered boring but the 850 sq feet of my apartment pretty much demand it. I like Piper Heidsieck Extra Dry and have for almost 20 years. The champer's expert will tell you that Brut is the way to go with Extra Dry being too sweet -- Maybe.

But the PH Brut is too severe for me. Like one of those rail thin women lunching at Swifty's whose eyebrows are attached to the ceiling. Meanwhile the Extra Dry reminds me of Doris Day in 1975 telling Merv Griffin how much she likes sex. I'm not suggesting my deviant fantasy is any way to select champagne but it beats losing your thumb.

I chill it in a bucket with 70% ice and 30% water. If you're in a hurry, throw some salt on the ice. It's faster than a freezer and a lot less dangerous if you're forgetful. Which I am. I'm not sure why but I always think of Tony Curtis when I open champagne. The foil and cage are fairly straightforward but trivia buffs will be impressed when you tell them it always takes seven turns of the neck wire to free the cage. Always.

Now this important. Grab the cork with one hand and the bottom of the bottle with the other. Turn the bottom of the bottle but not the cork. While turning the bottom think of Doris Day in naughty underwear. Keep a firm grip on the cork pushing against the pressure. You don't want an explosion but rather something like a nun farting in a front pew. A short 'pffst' is just about perfect.

Pour into glasses...slowly. Replace bottle in bucket. Put on Que Sera, Sera and join in me a toast...

Hot, hot, hot, hot... Chocolate

In a city where a Remy Side Car goes for $23 in the King Cole Bar, an $8 cup of hot chocolate isn't that crazy. Not for what it is: thick goopy elegance that coats your mouth in a smooth layer of cocoa-sin. It's really something of a bargain for anyone used to living in NYC. Or, maybe I've been here too long.

Maison Du Chocolate is in the T.A.O. (Tourist Area of Operations). 30 Rockefeller Center (at 49th) and most folk, fresh from shaking signs at the Today Show, are scared off by the prices. For me, it's a convenient location on a cold and rainy afternoon. The kind of afternoon made for a Nooner at the Algonquin. But if you can't do that -- drinking hot chocolate at Maison Du Chocolate is the next best thing. Maybe it's the fourth best thing. Certainly it's in the top ten.

A Gift for Oyster Guy

Island Creek Oysters, Duxbury, MA

Thanks to Oyster Guy for a great year of comments. I have no idea who you are or where you're from but -- if you are who you say you are -- this is a no brainer. Wellfleet oysters can still be ordered in time (this is the last day) for Christmas. Throw them in the fridge under a wet towel and they'll keep for a week. Just imagine going to the fridge for a LaBatt Blue and an oyster. Life doesn't get any better. Unless you're Canadian. $150 for 100. Order from Gilt here.

The Hangover Cure

M Magazine 12/1987

Trust me on this one -- Forget everything else. Goes well with grilled lamb and a Cote du Rhone. Key: Emmentaler Swiss. Tom Cat bread. The Del Fuegos, 'I Still Want You.' Destroy a gas station, 'It's a Mad, Mad Mad, Mad World.'

How Not to Drink too Much at a Party

"The way I figure it, the law of averages is on our side..."
Playboy, 1965

Sometime between 8PM and that point when you hear a voice in your head tell you it's time to go... there is everything else. It can be a sober, hail fellow well met, gallant exit with thanks directed to the right people. Or, a slightly buzzed exit with gratitude displayed to the hosts and a little too much hand shaking and kissing on the way out. Not that that's a bad thing...

New Years eve night (1986) and I was on a California king size bed - in Atlantic City Long Branch - with three sorority sisters - watching TV. We were all leaning up against a massive butt ugly headboard when a sorority sister suggested we all have sex.

The night started with beers at the Stoned Stone Pony. Somewhere along the way it turned to gin martinis. Beaver Brown (WS: I don't think that was a Beaver Brown night though, you're conflating that with New Year's 1983) sang about bourbon and a retro order for Whiskey Sours was made (WS: The other option that night was to see Buddy Guy and Junior Wells at the Deckhouse in Asbury Park, which in retrospect we should have done instead). Wally mentioned his girlfriend was having a party for her sorority sisters at her parent's Atlantic City Long Branch condo.

We arrived at the girlfriend's-parent's-condo filled with sorority sisters. I had been ignoring the "GO HOME " voice in my head for at least an hour but this opportunity was too much to pass up. A thick scent of cigarette smoke and hairspray filled a room covered in white shag and pale blue everything else -- a perfect frame for 20 drunk sorority sisters.

Champagne was poured and I made my way to the sliding glass doors of a balcony overlooking the black ocean. I slid the door open and drank cold air like water. My nose hairs froze and sweat quickly iced. Revived, I walked back in and found the parent's bedroom. The TV was on and I sat at the foot of the bed.

Rule 1) Avoid mixing drinks you say? Wrong. Avoid moving around? Good for you. When you get to the party find a place to sit down and stay there. Don't go anywhere unless you need to refill or defill. Moving around, dancing, push up contests...these all get the alcohol soaring through the bloodstream. The less movement the better.

Rule 2) Avoid drinking anything fast. Beer. Soda and anything. Tonic and anything. Champagne. Wine. All bad. Drink hard liquor straight. Cognac, Single Malt Scotch, Bourbon... No ice. Trust me, it'll slow you down and all the wrong sort of women will be impressed.

Rule 3) Arrive late and leave early. This was Trad Dad's advice to me many years ago. Not that I ever took it, and I doubt you'll take mine, but there it is. The strategy is everyone will remember the party didn't get going until you arrived and it went to shit about the time you left.

Rule 4) Do not lie down. Not until you're ready to stay there.

Rule 5) Eat. A lot. Greasy food works well. Popcorn does not. Keep it dense. Beef, chicken wings, fried anything...Eat as much as you can. Someone passes a tray of food around...eat it.

The bed comforter was soft and a shade between Tiffany and Infantry blue. It was marshmallow-ey and calming. I leaned back and laughed at the TV. A girl joined me. Then another and another. A cute brunette with nice hands asked the question and I answered by throwing up on the Tiffany-Infantry marshmallows.

Looking back, I remember seeing them out of the corner of my eye scramble off the bed in film-like slow motion. I could see fear on their faces. I don't remember screaming but Wally told me there was a lot of it. We left quickly. No erudite goodbyes. No hail fellow well met. No exchanging of phone numbers. No that it mattered, but we did obey Rule 3. I never did like that rule.

Update: Corrections and comments noted in RED from Wallace Stroby.

Tomorrow: The Hangover & What Not To Do

Holiday Hooch: The Redline

One quart of strawberries...



Roasted on smoking hot cast iron.



Remember to turn off the fire alarm.



Puree in blender



Slowly pour over - I'm not a dollop kinda guy.



Lack of agave syrup & substitution of Prosecco - Not a good idea.


Works wonders with beer



Clean and crisp for the



-- perfect nightcap.

"Innovation that happens from the bottom up tends to be chaotic
but smart. Innovation that happens from the top down
tends to be orderly but dumb."
Curtis Carlson, CEO SRI International

The Redline cocktail was swiped from the Williams-Sonoma blog. Corporate to be sure, the blog features professional and amateur writers contributing useful content that's far from self serving and "free shipping."

The Redline itself seemed a good idea and I gave it a shot Thanksgiving night. A roasted strawberry puree added to a Spanish Cava with a suggestion of agave syrup. I didn't have any agave syrup. Instead, I substituted Prosecco thinking an Italian sparkler would make up for the sweetness I was losing from the missing agave.

Not so much. A tad bitter and boring. What the roasted puree did work well with was beer. Use something simple and clean like Budweiser or Becks. I poured the beer slowly over three fingers of puree in a pilsner glass. It works. A perfect end to Thanksgiving -- Especially since it was 60 degrees outside.

Tab Hunter

Not this Tab.


Is this Tab getting harder to find?

"God Tells Me What To Do But The Devil's My Secretary"

Subway Inn 143 E. 60th St at Lexington Avenue

The first of a series celebrating NYC dive bars. And while the honesty can be too much -- a good dive bar is a refreshing contrast to the vacuous sports bar where Bud Lite consumption is subsidized by insurance company expense accounts belonging to pasty white men in golf shirts, Dockers and Cole Haan Kilties.

The Subway Inn's neon is like a roaring Christmas Eve fire to the eyes of the afflicted. Tourists hurry their children by and must wonder how something so low brow can be so close to Bloomingdales and the Container Store. It's almost impossible to see into the bar through the window but once inside any sense of real danger is left to unknowing imaginations.

I was weaned as a 19 year old on the strip bars along Hay Street in Fayetteville, NC so my bench marking may be out of whack. The inside is not dangerous at all. In fact, the place could use a rougher crowd. Certainly a poorer one. Shots are $5 and bottled beer is less. Hipsters take over on weekends and regulars have it on week nights but to see the hard core pop in around noon. A beer at lunch ain't gonna kill you, but the guy at the end of the bar might.

Rating: The Classic 8/10

My Bloody Valentine

My Bloody Valentine Cocktail

In the late '80s,  I worked as an outside insurance adjuster in the DC/ Northern Virginia/ Maryland land of congestion.  Traffic was criminal and I spent 10 hour days in a butt ugly light blue Nissan Sentra --  Not exactly what I had in mind when the boss promised a 'company car.'  With only an AM/FM radio, music choices were mostly country, Christian or Barry White.  I finally found an alternative station out of Annapolis that could just make it to Manassas before it was rolled over by, 'Three Rusty Nails.'

I was a sponge soaking up new sounds and bands out of Annapolis.  The Feelies did a cover of Patti Smith's, 'Dancing Barefoot' that this one dj played over and over but never identified.  I finally recorded it on my company, 'Olympus micro cassette' and played it for a kid at an alternative music store in Alexandria.

My Bloody Valentine, a band MIA in most everyone's vocabulary in Northern Virginia,  had huge play on the Annapolis station.  Again, like the Feelies, they were a unique sound, but they were a tad more more popular and every once in a while I'd hear them while eating crab at the Quarter Deck in Arlington or throwing back beers at the Tune In on the Hill.

I wanted to do a cocktail for Valentine's Day and I really liked the Negroni that uses Prosecco instead of gin.  Along the same lines, I replaced the Prosecco with Blood Orange soda and while it's not a requirement,  a couple shakes of Regan's Orange bitters really rounds this cocktail out.  It's more  refreshing than boozy.  Bitter, but quaffable.  I first used a martini glass but the Golf Foxtrot inherited a dozen or so coupes from her grandmother and while I'm not a big "colored glass" guy, they do pair well with the bloody red.  

2 oz Aperol or Campari
3/4 oz Sweet Vermouth
4 oz Blood Orange Soda
2 shakes Regan Orange Bitters

Add ice and stir until very cold.  Strain into a coupe.  Maybe throw in a Whitman's Sampler for her.  I gave one to a stripper on Valentine's Day in 1977.  I was driving a '68 Dodge Charger and pulled into the parking lot behind behind the Suzy Wong Club when a cop...

A Light Breakfast...

at the Jockey Club, NYC - M Magazine - 12 /1985