Go East, young Mayorga...

I conspired to meet the missus at Mayorga Lounge after work today, to celebrate.

Hell, who needs a reason? Uh... to celebrate the longer-lasting sunlight... celebrate her last and final visit to the bone-doc, following a long ordeal of healing a busted knee... (no? it wasn't the last visit? There's another appointment? Jeezus, these doctor creatures are vampires!)

As it turns out, tonight was the first night of a new menu at Mayorga.

Gone was the predictable cafe grub, which was always decent but mediocre. Now, I'm never one to complain unless it's really dreadful: Others were much more critical of the food there, whereas I still remember when the building was a dead shell of a place. Thus, I'm just grateful SOMETHING nice is in there, something clean and groovy and free of rats and crumbling plaster and racks of exposed rebar, looking like the ribs of a deceased antelope herd, rotting in the urban sun of northwest DC...

What? Anyway...

So today was the unveiling of the new menu: all Japanese and Korean stuff. The ownership and management is the same as it was before, but the kitchen crew is all new blood: The little Korean lady behind the swinging kitchen doors doesn't speak a word of English and bless her, the food was marvelous.


I'm no expert on the cuisine, but the modeum twigim appetizer (veg tempura with sides of kimchi, shredded radish, watercress, and some fish thing) was almost a meal in itself, and fresh enough to render the dipping sauce almost unnecessary.

We shared a bowl of the chop chae donburi (rice & wheat noodles with veg), which also came in a generous portion ("donburi" being the oversized rice-bowl: thank god for wikipedia): it was just enough to feed two moderately hungry adults. The noodles were done to perfection and the proportions balanced just right with the rice, vegetables, dressing, etc.

Having a Delaware beer with such a meal probably shatters the cultural vibe, but what the hell. It was a summer-ish day (mid-80s and a bit humid) so it all went down fine with a pint of Dogfish IPA.

Then, to completely destroy the Asian-cuisine vibe, I noticed the fresh bottle of 15-year Balvenie behind the bar. And, uh, well... call it "research" for our trip to the UK in a couple of months. Sure, we'll spend most of our time in London but I want to at least dip a toe into Scotland, and uh... "Research," as I said. Homework.


And the Balvenie 15 was the perfect cap on a cultural mishmash of food and booze at Mayorga. Any day that ends with a good single malt is a fine day indeed.

Anyway: for the locals here in Columbia Heights DC, I just wanted to spread the word on Mayorga's new menu. Get over there. It's a nice departure from the expected bar fare, and it appears to be authentic and quite well done.

The (Swiss) Green Fairy Has Arrived

Modern Liquors is a gem of a shop, resting comfortably on the corner of 9th and M Streets NW. Jeff Harrison (at right) runs the show, and he's always been genuinely interested and helpful (a mutual respect for Icelandic vodka Reyka was established right away). As DC Liquor stores go, it's one of the greats: not large, but the stock is excellent.

Jeff hosted an absinthe tasting this afternoon, together with a representative of Kübler's American distributor. Not your typical tasting!

I had been fascinated by the mystery of absinthe for years, and finally got my first taste in February of 2007: A rather costly internet order had yielded the most complex and delicious thing I'd ever tasted (apart from my first prawn vindaloo, but that's another story). It was the Duplais Verte distilled in Switzerland, with the David Tibet-designed label. And GOD, it was marvelous.

So I've become a cheerleader for the stuff ever since. Most obsessive people become evangelists for their drug(s) of choice, don't they?

Since the ban on the domestic sale of absinthe was lifted last year, two manufacturers have surfaced. The first was Lucid, with its spooky ad campaigns playing on the allure of the drink. Initial reviews were mixed. I read somewhere that Lucid's herbal recipe had been heavily tweaked from historical absinthes "with the American palate in mind" -- this of course, did not bode well. Based on the popularity of Miller Lite and reality television, I have precious little faith in the the "American palate."

To be fair, I haven't tried Lucid yet. But honestly, when your first taste is the Gold Medal winner of the 2006 International Wine & Spirits Competition (the first Absinthe to ever win such a thing), you tend to be a bit arrogant when some punk American thing called "Lucid" appears.


The second variety manufactured in the States is Kübler, which is a descendant of the classic Swiss Kübler family Absinthe. The name has definite history. Instant credentials. And Kübler comes to DC today, as part of its American distribution strategy which began last May.

In Harrison's store today, samples were distributed in the traditional manner, with ice-water dripped from a handy Kübler-branded fountain onto sugarcubes through slotted spoons, into small plastic cups. The histories of absinthe and Kübler were discussed, questions answered, etc.

And the verdict on the Kübler?

I haven't had a blanche absinthe before, so the lack of green color was a little strange at first. The louche (clouding when water is added) seemed too fast. The flavor was much more anise-dominated than the other varieties I've had: It's not nearly as complex as the Duplais Verte or Balance, where you get the anise hit at first, but other flavors surface and you get a more blended finish. Kübler was a bit more one-dimensional than all that, but it was extremely pleasant and of course, it's great to have such a thing available locally now.

And at $55.00 per bottle, it's much cheaper than ordering online with the exchange-difference from Euros, plus the shipping. I've seen it mentioned online as being sold at Costco on the west coast for about $45, so these are strange days indeed.

So call this a thumbs-up for Kübler as a good introductory absinthe for the curious, and a double thumbs-up for Modern Liquor, for having such an event today.

The Green Fairy strives for Balance...

Mrs. Intangible dared to ask me what I wanted for a Winter Solstice gift.

Egad, I said, I dunno..... uh, how about a bottle of that Duplais absinthe... the "Balance" stuff? I've already got the Duplais verte with the David Tibet label, but what the hell? I joked, I could do a blind taste-test and blog about it.

And bloody hell, iff'n she didn't make the score.

Absinthe Duplais and Duplais Balance are two of a three-part series manufactured by Markus Lion's German distillery, with label art by devious experimental-music superstars (David Tibet, Sleazy Christopherson, Steve Stapleton).

Like many americans, I'd been curious about absinthe for a long time. And earlier this year, I was able to acquire a bottle of Markus' flagship Duplais. After doing my typically obsessive amount of research on the history and preparation of the drink, I was doubly obsessed. See my badly over-written blog post here.

As it turned out, it's not just a fascinating historical beverage, it was delicious! Absolutely worthy of legend.


So now we've got the Duplais and the Duplais Balance to contend with.

Both were prepared at a 1:4 ratio with ice water, dripped through the typical slotted spoons with sugar-cubes. As I understand it, both of these absinthes are slightly modified versions of the same basic recipe, so I was expecting differences almost too subtle to detect.....

But no! Upon opening the bottle, the Balance had a spicy TANG in its scent. Duplais was more mellow; a soothing cloud of incense-like anise and fennel. Right away, there was a different vibe between the two.


As the water began to drip, the Balance began the louching process well ahead of the Duplais. Too soon, it seemed. Water was dripping at the same rate for both, but Balance had quickly developed into a milky, opalescent green. Duplais was still in its clear-jade phase at this point.

Then the room exploded with the perfume of the stuff. Gomez (the dog) generally goes INSANE right about now. Walking tense, curious circles around the table with nose in the air, whining... DAD, WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON UP THERE?!?!

Now, honestly, I don't consider myself an expert absinthe connoisseur; I'm certain my palette isn't refined enough to get the subtleties. Absinthe reviews can be as lofty and exclusive-sounding as those written by wine snobs. I confess to being a beginner. But there WAS a difference between the two.

Balance continued to be the more unruly punk of the two: still very pleasant, but with a darker spirit; the flavor and scent retained that spicy zest; there was something else going on in there, that wasn't present in the Duplais.

In both cases, you get the initial blast of anise on the tongue, like a bullet. Very precise. Then, the herbal mix opens up like a blossom and while the tongue is still tingling from the first shock, you get at least three different evolutions of flavor. It really is quite remarkable.

But I must say, there was no clear "winner" -- but it wasn't a total draw, either. The flagship Duplais would be my favorite for a casual sip, but I can see pulling out the Balance when there's seriously strange artistic work to be done. Such as when the basement studio is finally done, and the muse starts tickling the chakras, begging to be free...

A nice pair...

As is human nature, we pause at times to reflect on how the Big Gig is going so far. The round numbers work best for this: ten years, twenty-five years, etc. They're only numbers, but they offer a good excuse to kick back and contemplate just what the heck we've achieved in all that time.

If my life was a book, it would be all internal dialogue and incessant navel-gazing, a life trapped inside the skull like a beehive of dementia. "The Story" would make Naked Lunch or Finnegan's Wake seem like the straightest narratives ever written, since Dick and Jane got that goddamned dog...

Run, Spot. Run.

But once in a while, life develops irresistable events and forces the contemplative mind to peek outside...and marvel at beautiful things. And that is what we celebrate here. It was ten years ago: A nice, round number.

September 2, 1997 was the day I began a new job as a designer at a publishing house in Tucson. It was about 10am when my tour of the office led me to the desk of a charming Editor who commanded my full attention from the first handshake.

The attraction was violent and crazy and obsessive, and intellectual as well. That first handshake wrapped a harness of sinew around my ribcage and sealed my fate: I would commence puppy-doggin' after this chick until she either fell for me or filed a restraining order with the Pima County Sheriff's Department.

Luckily, no such order was filed, despite my clearly tentative grasp on reality.

In those first weeks, I babbled at her endlessly about my obsessions, including a scheme to develop a new form of religion: a quantum cult called the AOTA (All Of The Above), where all gods, goddesses, archangels, demons, and nature spirits would be accepted as equals, under the basic understanding that EVERYBODY IS RIGHT. Thus, people would stop arguing over matters of pretentious, theological bullshit and just be civilized humans. Or at least shut the hell up. No pun intended.

She listened to all this muttering, and didn't run away to fetch the can of Mace she should have stashed in her desk. Somehow everything worked out.

Now it's a full decade, to the day, later. We've put down some pretty deliberate roots in DC (a homecoming for me, a new trip for her), and in that time, we've accumulated more stories than can be written or remembered.

To mark the occasion, a mexican restaurant. Of course.

And of course, you can't get decent Mexican out here, after spending nearly a decade in Southern Arizona. Still, Rosa Mexicano on F Street was a fine enough substitute. The margaritas were strong, the guacamole fresh, and the occasion was perfect.

Ten years seems like a long time, and it seems like the briefest moment... I can't decide.

Absinthe uncorked, clowns lobotomized by fire

The Absinthe in question comes from Switzerland and bears the label design of Current 93's David Tibet. Absinthe Duplais was a Gold Medal winner at the 2006 International Wine and Spirit Competition, the only absinthe to be honored thusly... It's also the first verte absinthe to be manufactured in Switzerland since the European ban was lifted in 2005.

The occasion? Simply put, my (music) studio is finally unpacked. There's been a nasty creative block happening since 2000, and I haven't recorded a minute of material since then. Or was it some distraction? Career took over, a series of unemployment episodes, stress, grownup freakouts, etc... There has always been an excuse to keep the muse in a cage.

But now it's time to blow the locks off the cage doors and give that "muse" thing a blast of vitamin-packed attention. It seemed worthy of a ritual, to mark the occasion. So a bottle of Absinthe Duplais was secured, with a set of proper absinthe reservoir glasses, and a slotted spoon. The preparation of absinthe is certainly a ritual; there's no rushing it.

Adding to the exotic nature of absinthe is the drink's nebulous legal status in the United States. It is legal to possess here but not to sell it, due to the FDA's ruling on the thujon-laden wormwood ingredient which allegedly gives the drink a slightly psychedelic edge.

The "holy trinity" of anise, fennel, and wormwood give the liquid its signature aroma, flavor, and unique form of intoxication. Absinthe has a fascinating history, and much of its popular use in victorian times seems to be tied to the arts, particularly poets and painters. It was said to awaken the creative areas of the brain... or at least, it broke down the inhibition of ideas and helped to liberate the muse, in whatever form she took. So let's get down to it, toast the new studio and potentially make a little noise, finally.



Ingredients: Absinthe Duplais, sugarcube, reservoir glass, slotted spoon, and a bit of subdued light from three tiny clown-shaped candles. What the hell.

Once the absinthe was uncorked, the table was wrapped in a subtle aroma, pregnant with expectation: a dark, musky leather of herbs, but subdued. There's power in there, alright.



The louche effect: Once ice-water is dripped on the sugarcube, taking dissolved bits through the spoon and into the absinthe, the anise breaks down and a beautiful reaction takes place. The crystalline woody-emerald color becomes an opalescent cataract green.



This dance of particles in the glass is the payoff for the time spent...this is a slow process and must be done with patience. A fragile inscense of anise and fennel rises from the glass. Something is alive in there, I swear it.



The clowns continue to burn while the absinthe louches its milky pleasures in the dark. They look like terrified Christmas carolers at the doorstep of a pagan temple...



And this was their condition by the time the absinthe was ready to drink. They continued to look cheerful despite their magnificent head trauma. The absinthe itself was an intricate critter: the anise was prominent but there was a balanced herbal universe in there as well...a pleasant numbing of the lips and tongue, and the choir of flavors became more complex as the glass was slowly emptied.

By now, the action had shifted to the studio and a bit of sonic noodling took place. Who knows if anything will come of it, but the idea is to do the thing. The ice is broken now, the muse is free to wander and plant her seed where it might bloom the weirdest.

DisneyWeird 4: Alcohol and Fast Cars

It took him at least four Rum & Cokes to get through dinner with the kids.

They sat across from us at the Coral Reef in EPCOT, and to be fair, his kids were more sedate than many we'd seen.

The Coral Reef was comparatively tranquil, with its floor-to-ceiling fishtank view and contemporary blue decor. Stingrays, sharks, and god knows what-all drifted by, pretending not to notice our plates of Blackened Salmon and Broiled Lobster Tail... After a day of punishing ourselves in the Orlando sun, it seemed the place to be. Plus, they offered a decent 22-ounce glass of their own house ale, which was surprisingly good. Or was it the heatstroke?

Several years ago, when traveling with a very different crowd in Puerto Penasco, Mexico, I learned that sunstroke can make crap beer seem like God's own nectar. Tecate in the states never has the magical, life-giving quality that it did after ten hours of boiling radiation on the sun-blasted, bone-white coast of Mexico. We built an enormous, elephant-sized bonfire on the beach and watched the moon rise through a velvety gauze of cheap Tecate... it was one of those Lovely Scenes in Life that are impossible to repeat. And with good reason.

But I digress...again.

Of all our Disney dining experiences, the Coral Reef was the best. But when our anonymous Dad slumped away, leaving his rum-stained glass and credit receipt, it seemed clear that Disney must test the very limits of a parent's stamina. There was a stink of defeat about his table, and it reminded us that our weekend was almost over.

We left the restaurant with bellies full of seafood and beer, and went directly to the GM TEST TRACK ride.

The gimmick here was to simulate the stress-tests auto makers inflict upon new cars: Shock tests on bumpy hills, sudden stops, temperature shifts, etc. The ride takes you through all these stages, and it's fun without being too fun.

After this, you're thrust out on a track where you accelerate quickly in the open air. That was MUCH better, particularly with all the beer in our guts for ballast during the 65mph banked turns. It was nearly closing time, and there were no lines. NOBODY was waiting when our ride was over, and so, with some mildly desperate pleading, we were permitted to ride again.

Just please unhook and re-hook your seatbelt, and have fun!

When that ride concluded, our pleading was more desperate. We had lost all dignity. One more time? Who could say no to such an innocent group as we?

When THAT ride was complete, we were down to our last 7 minutes before the park was due to close, and we deployed the Secret Weapon: the silent, pleading eyes of inbred cocker spaniels. Around we rode again, but it was to be our last time.

The night was drawing to a close, and there was barely enough time to race back to the Magic Kingdom for their ceremonial fireworks. From there it was a mad sprint to Space Mountain, and from there, sadly, to reality.

The morbidly curious can view the full set of photos here.

Now is the winter of our discotheque...

Two green apple martinis, as ordered by two redheads (methinks they doth thinketh aliketh), with ice and without. I observed this from the relative safety of a draft Newcastle and pondered the synchronicity.

We discussed the recent past, lingered briefly on the present, and delved into the future. Such is the effect of the cause. The mighty and the meek of Washington DC bustled about us, commuting between bar and bathroom, while the punishing beat of disco throbbed from overhead speakers.

I'm not sure if we made good progress in drawing out future plans that night, but I WAS brandishing a DVD copy of Roman Polanski's Fearless Vampire Killers when I got home. That must count for something.

Shot, glasses.

Can beauty be found in the golden velvet hues of Agave Poison? That most psychotropic of alcohols (but for absinthe, perhaps) seems to promise much by its color alone: what lurks inside that brine of madness?

The rabbit-hole goes deep, and all rabbits are insane when they return to the surface. Perhaps they were humans once, sitting in a Maryland restaurant, studying the secrets lost in that golden chemical maze...