most of my friends are dudes, so you can imagine my hesitation when i got an email titled “HEY LADIES”, detailing a girl’s night out with all-but-one complete strangers.  the location intrigued me though, so i picked up my southern confederate and headed down to gainesbourg in the greenwood/phinney precinct.  just off 99, this little french oasis is nestled in a string of taverns and karaoke bars (we’ll get to that later), in a locale that has a reputation for numerous arson cases in the last two decades.  the menu featured typical franco-fare such as croques, steak frites, and the requisite cheese plate, but what wowed me was their extensive collection of apertifs.  fernet, lillet, st. germain, aperol, campari…they had it all (as did we).  and if that wasn’t enough cause for excitement, the hallway leading to the restroom presented a path of erotic paintings, each featuring a different sexual position.  as the night rolled on, less than sensible decisions were made, the culmination being a rally to the karaoke bar a few storefronts down.  there, the french 75s were born, and just a few of the many memorable moments that night included bribing the dj with panties and bracelets, two immaculate conceptions, and fans swooning as a frat boy leaped off the speaker wailing bohemian rhapsody. despite the obscure reference, ray parker jr. was onto something when he rode the coattails of his famed ghostbusters anthem and released “girls are more fun“.

lillet vs fernet: the greater of two evils

8/5/09

Menu:

Raw Dolmas

Grilled bread with Roasted Eggplant and Pepper

Baba Ganoush

Sage Rice stuffed Eggplant

Watermelon balls with Mint

Peach, Strawberry Clafouti

Biscotti

Tonic:
Mint Juleps
Fernet with Ginger brew

to continue my bridesmaid weekend in the oc, i was delighted to receive an invite to my euro friend’s house for a designer shrimp party down in huntington beach.  “designer shrimp” you ask?  i first heard of these little buggers about five years ago, when my then manager was telling me about how he missed the shrimp he grew up eating in brussels and had finally found a distributor that could ship these north sea shrimp all the way from amsterdam to cali.  when i get to his house with bottles of fernet and coke in hand, not only do i fall in love again with the ligne roset togo set, i also get scoffed at for bringing american coke (faux pas, for there is euro coke in the fridge).  and the best part?  he’s already got fernet stocked at the bar, though it’s a different brand than the branca im used to.  luxardo is best known for their maraschino liqueur (distilled from the marasca, a sour cherry variety exclusively cultivated for luxardo), but evidently, they’ve also managed to dabble in the fernet market.  i have to admit that knowing i was drinking something un-branca felt wrong, but in a pinch, it’ll do (with tomates crevettes, of course).

one happy euro family

as mentioned in a previous post, an affinity to wedding-related rituals is not a genetic disposition with which i was born.  you can imagine the day of reckoning back in september when i got the call informing me that i was going to be a bridesmaid.  when november rolled around, i dusted off my big girl pants, tossed them in my suitcase and boarded the plane to the oc to fulfill my first official bridesmaid duty: dress shopping.  luckily, marathon shopping is a skill that i have honed over the years, and the experience was more enjoyable than expected.  after a productive day and a belly full of shabu-shabu, it was time for a well-deserved drink(s), so we headed down to mtv mecca, laguna beach.  i was 0-1 when we stopped into a belgian bar that had no fernet (for shame, the euros should know better!), and was directed down the block.  now, laguna has a reputation of surfers, tourists, and entitled trust fund babies, so imagine my surprise when i walked into this oak-y, dive bar-esque joint with nautical decor.  however, a warm welcoming feeling came over me as i settled in for my first fernet; many hours, country songs, canadians, mullets, dances, and drinks later, i was ready to call the marine room my new home away from home.  and to my sweet bartender atticus, owner of the best name ever, im especially looking forward to an early christmas this year.

atticus, subtracticus, dividicus, amen.

part of remediating any unfaithful relationship is to come clean. a couple of weeks earlier, i returned to pearl to meet up with a couple of friends. while there, we came up with the bright idea of trying every apertif on the top shelf.  enter lillet blanc, a sultry blend of white wine and citrus liqueurs.  formulated by a monk, but brought to life by james bond in casino royale as a vesper, this drink almost made me forget about fernet.  simply served over ice with a slice of orange, this drink was so easy, so smooth, so accessible–the opposite of everything i loved about fernet.  i was hooked and started only ordering lillet when i went out…it appeared that the fernet era had to come to an end.  the pivotal moment finally arrived a few days before union, at a fundraiser gala.  due to a strange course of events, the bartender started serving me lillet in a children’s sippy cup.  four or so sippies later, i had a killer excederin-esque headache and realized the error of my ways; this glorious affair had come to an end.  fast forward to a birthday dinner at union, yet another ethan stowell establishment.   our party decided to grab a pre-dinner drink and i was faced with a choice at the bar: lillet or fernet?  out of habit, i ordered lillet, and the icy sweetness quickly reminded me of the never-ending brainsore i had endured the weekend before.  they say there’s no pleasure without pain, and i quickly switched back over to my tried and true during the meal.  i ended up learning a valuable lesson that night at union: while there is still a place in my drink repertoire for lillet, i’ve got the #1 spot reserved for fernet, which is a little rough around the edges, but will never hurt me.

a toast to #1

Biercommercials zijn meestal supermacho. Deze spot, gemaakt voor de Argentijnse brouwer ‘Fernet Cinzano’, zet ons eerst op het verkeerde been. Tijdens het ‘gayzellig’ mannenonderonsje verbergt iedere gast zijn nichterig trekje. In het macho Zuid-Amerika is het vooralsnog not done al te opzichtig uit de kast te komen. (jt)

everyone needs a vacay, so i decided to pack up the fernet wagon and take this show on the road. seattle is but a drop in the apertif ocean, so i headed down to the american capitol of fernet: san francisco.  some say that fernet’s american resurrection started back in 2005 with the sf weekly article, “the myth of fernet“, or you can date as far back as bill cosby’s 1973 fat albert recollection of how fernet saved him from a certain sparrow.  either way, there’s truth in numbers at r bar in san francisco’s nob hill precinct.  despite grossing the highest fernet sales in the country, i was surprised by its demure exterior.  when i saw the eagle bar mats and a ledge of fernet bottles spanning the storefront, i knew i was home.  the night only got better from there: 12 drinks later, i asked the friendly (and not to mention easy on the eyes) bartender for our bill.  he looked at me, furrowed his brow, and then pointed at me as he said, “$30″.  now, im not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but my conscience was screaming when i replied, “no, for all of us”.  he remained steadfast in his original quote, and to this day, im not sure if he honestly managed to overlook the slew of drinks he served us, but i have a feeling that r bar would be out of business by now if that was the case.  i guess there is truth in numbers, no matter how far off they are.

service with a smile

so i’ve often wondered, like other guilty pleasures, is fernet only good in the dark?  few drinks transcend the am/pm barrier…you’ve got your morning mimosas, brunchtime bloody marys,  and a lively mix of evening libations.   could fernet live up to the challenge of round-the-clock grandeur?  enter linda’s tavern in capitol hill.  situated along the drunken stumble up the pike/pine corridor, linda’s is best known as a nighttime cave dwelling for hipsters clad in horn-rimmed glasses and tightass emo jeans.  however, i was pleasantly surprised to find out that they also have quite a reputation for weekend brunch.  as we’ve learned in previous posts, where there are hipsters, fernet is usually not far behind, so when the waiter took my order of breakfast sliders, oj, and fernet & coke, i knew that some god had been listening to my prayers.  i have to admit that the service was slow as mud, but hey, some things are worth the wait–and yes, fernet is just as awesome in the am.

a big fuck you to my coronary system

there’s some strange allure about a double feature…whether it’s the prospect of losing one’s self in back-to-back gratification or the satisfaction of the 2-for-1 deal.  the same can be said of two sittings of fernet in one night.  shortly after bidding farewell to my southern comrade at red door, i met up with friends for dinner and a movie on the eastside.  post-cinema, we worked like stealth ninjas in an outward circle from the theatre and encountered three epic fails before finally striking treasure at pearl. nestled in the underbelly of lincoln square, this establishment replaced the old trader vic’s (and good riddance to that bastardization of asian fusion).  i inquired about why there weren’t more bars that serve my drink and was informed by the wine sommelier that fernet is mostly stocked in high-end steakhouses and wine bars (he failed to include hipster saunas in the list).  to make a long story short, the fernet fountain had runneth dry by the end of the night and i was invited back thursday for their next aperitif delivery.

hellooooo bartender...

when my friend from atlanta suggested i meet up with his southern-transplanted friend in seattle, i have to admit i was wary, to say the least.  meeting someone new without a mutual introduction conjures images of bad blind dates and stilted conversations.  regardless, i put my big girl pants on and made plans to meet up for drinks at the red door in fremont.  now, this venue boasts a few taboos for me: friday night fratboy epidemics, oblivious blondes obliging afore mentioned fratboys on the outdoor patio, as well as the first location i ever tasted fernet (and hence, memories of lost love). however, what better way to erase old memories than by making some new ones.  the evening turned out to be a huge success, for my new friend is fabulous, and i can prove it — what other girl would be getting over bronchitis, love the same music i do, also collect mini-fake food, AND be willing to give fernet a second chance.  yes indeed, boys and girls, think twice next time you want to turn down that blind date (friend or otherwise)….you might just find a winner.

red door at dusk

El Fernet es una bebida alcohólica amarga elaborada a partir de hierbas, que son maceradas en alcohol de uva, filtradas y añejadas en barricas de roble por un período que puede ser de 6 a 12 meses. Su graduación alcohólica es del 45%, tiene un color oscuro y un olor intenso.

Su origen se remonta a mediados del siglo XIX, y hay varias versiones sobre su verdadero origen pero la mayoría nos lleva a Italia, más precisamente en la región de Lombardía.

Esta bebida es muy popular en Argentina y se dice ahi por los inmigrantes italianos, que la bebían tanto con fin medicinal como digestivo. El fernet puede ser servido como un aperitivo, como digestivo después de las comidas, en el café, con soda, agua mineral o cualquier bebida gasificada. También se pueden hacer cócteles con fernet, el mas popular es el que suege de mezclar fernet con refresco sabor cola, popularizado a fines de los años 1980.

Fernet Branca – es una de las marcas mas populares

Bebidas preparadas con Fernet

Fernet Puro

• En una copa de licor poner
• 1 parte de fernet

Fernet con Coca

• En un vaso high ball con hielo poner
• 1 parte de Fernet
• 2 partes de Coca-cola y revolver

Fernet en las Rocas

• En un vaso high ball con hielo poner
• 2 partes de fernet
• y por ultimo 1/4 de limón

En la pagina de Branca Único podran encontrar mas preparaciones con fernet, asi como en el Blog Loungerati, espero que disfruten de su Fernet…Salud cheers

Beautiful.

That’s all I can really say here, just a beautiful show. Lots to cover in this episode. It might’ve been the first departure from the “traditional” or established Sopranos episode structure, but it was very self-contained and played out a lot of interesting parallels.

First and foremost…The first college Tony and Meadow see on their little roadtrip is Bates, which could refer to Bates College in Lewiston, Maine. (At first I assumed they were visiting fictitious New Jersey college, but it appears as if these were real places.) So anyway after they leave Bates on the way to Colby (assumedly Colby College in Waterville, ME) they stop at a little, rundown motel. BATES…MOTEL… Come on, please, I am totally on about this Hitchcock thing. Hopefully I can keep it running.

Now let me say at this juncture: I am not literary expert. Far from it, in fact. And I’m sure I’d be able to make even more insightful posts if I knew much of anything about Shakespeare, the Bible, etc. etc. But I did take a film class covering the “mis-en-scene” of the cinema of Orson Welles, Alfred Hitchcok, and Martin Scorcese my freshman year at UVa. So the pool of knowledge from which I draw my observations is somewhat limited, but there’s almost too much to cover as it is. I guess this warrants a tip of my hat to David Chase.

———

Let’s just take a pause right here to take a look at what was going on in the world at the time this episode first aired, February 7, 1999:

Feb 2 1999: Monica Lewinsky gives a closed door deposition in Bill Clinton’s Senate impeachment trial

Feb 3 1999: Boris Yeltsin, the reforming President of the Russian Federation, fires half his staff during a year full of his own impeachment attempts, leading to his resignation on the last day of the year

Feb 4: Yemen halts the issuing of entry visas to the British, citing fears of terrorism

Feb 6: The dying King Hussein of Jordan is declared unfit to rule by royal doctors, and Crown Prince Abdullah is formally made regent

Feb 7: King Hussein dies

———

The episode begins with a fade-in from blackness, while tolling bells are the only thing we can hear. This plays well off of the funeral for Uncle Jackie at the end of the last episode, but we find they are school bells. Tony and Meadow are visiting several New England colleges, and their trip provides the major backbone for this episode’s plotline.

Meadow begins spouting off a bunch of useless facts about the college they are at (Bates.) “48-52 male to female ratio, which is great, strong liberal arts program, study abroad programs in China and India…” Let me begin by reiterating that this is all bullshit. Not only can you find “good male to female ration, strong liberal arts, and study abroad to China and India” at nearly every liberal arts college in New England, if not in America, but these are all factors which really in no way affect one’s college experience. I remember visiting schools myself during my senior year of high school, taking similar road (and rail) trips with my father, staying at hotels and enduring long car rides with nothing on the radio and digesting glossy viewbooks from schools I found out about through the Princeton Review’s ‘Counselor-O-Matic” tool. (I swear that the only reason I recall coming up with the idea to apply to UVa was because it popped up in my Counselor-O-Matic results.) Later on Meadow meets some hot Colby College students and gets drunk off tequila shooters with them at some restaurant. So we’ll have to see what kind of character Meadow has later on: will she attend the prestigious Bowdoin College, alma mater of famed American literary giant Nathaniel Hawthorne, or Colby College, where you can get liquored up in public even if you’re underage with no ID. We’ll see Meadow…

Tony himself did a semester and a half at Seton Hall (go Pirates!) thank you very much. He only seemed to be interested in History, though. Napoleon and the Roman Empire and stuff (read: POWER) and the Potsdam Conference (Potsdam if I remember what that is!) Unfortunately, he got into a little bit of trouble when he was a kid…and he doesn’t want the same to happen to Meadow. He admits (to confirm her 90% suspicion) that he gets some of his income from “illegal activities,” but not before trying the tried-and-true parental tactic of outright protective denial (read: LYING) “The Mafia doesn’t exist!” (Now go back to bed, sweetie.) Tony realizes that Meadow is rapidly becoming a young woman, not his little girl anymore (She’s right out of Italian Vogue! This is almost taken as an affront to Meadow, who you can tell is a bit sensitive, as most teenage girls are, about their appearance. She wishes Tony would’ve just said she looks like a Vogue model, not having to qualify it with ‘Italian.’ She wants to fit the standard mold of American glamor and beauty, and not use her Italian heritage as a point of weakness or cultural impurity. . . . remember at one point Italians were part of that ‘dirty immigrant class’ just like the Jews, Irish, Germans, etc. etc. etc. who came over around the turn of the century. And though it’s not as big of a deal anymore in popular consciousness (was it in 1999? I can’t remember…) but at the least at some point in the 20th century there existed a chasm between the concept of blonde-haired-blue-eyed-Marilyn-Monroe-apple-pie American beauty and more ethnic variations. This played out of course more dramatically with African-Americans, but yes, of course, Italian-Americans once faced persecution as well.)

OK? OK.

Also Meadow admits that she took speed, but claims she’s done with it. “Right under my nose…” Tony shakes his head.

Some interesting bits:

• Chris still trying his best to be Tony’s soldier, doing anything he wants for him. He’s itching for the order to whack Fabian Petrulio/Fred Peters (the Rat played by Tony Ray Rossi,) which would put him “a cu** hair a way from being made.” Eloquent, Chris. But you gotta respect the kid’s grit, standing out in the pouring rain for Tony. When he complains, Tony reminds him, “You chose this life. If you don’t wanna work in the rain, go try out for the fucking Yankees!”
• Father Phil, Father Phil, Father Phil. (Paul Schulze.) I was cringing at several occasions this episode, praying (no pun intended) that he was not going to make a move on Carmela. The scene where he was giving her the communion was all-too dripping with sexual tension, but thank God (no pun intended) that the alcohol finally hits him and he runs to the bathroom to puke when he’s about to kiss Carmela. She had just gotten the call from AJ that he’d be sleeping over his friends house, leaving the two of them all alone… But yeah, watching the two of them getting closer and closer and drunker and drunker throughout the night (episode,) I just kept thinking…this priest is either a very holy man or a goddamn (no profanity intended) freeloading usurper. And he does eat all Tony’s pasta and drink all the Chianti and chill on his couch stroking his wife’s back and sense of religious compulsion all night … but either God or the wine stops him from doing anything too imposing…(blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-….) As Saint Clint Eastwood tells us in Gran Torino, priests are just overgrown virgins who like to hold old ladies’ hands and look them in the eyes while they promise them eternity (or something to that effect.)

Just wanted to put his face on here.

• Two corollaries to that last point:

Tony telling Meadow he’d be back in an hour and a half when he leaves her at the restaurant with the two Colby girls, then going off to do some surveillance on Peters, and AJ telling his mom he’ll be back from playing Nintendo at his friends’ house in an hour then ending up never coming back and sleeping over (again, Tony and AJ are so similar…) Also interesting there is seeing AJ serving his sick mother breakfast in bed while Meadow is doing speed and learning (a little bit) about the inside secrets of their family. Obviously Meadow is the older child, and is going off to school so she deserves a little bit to know the truth. AJ is still young! (He’s 13) and though he might’ve found out about his dad’s real work in the last episode, he’s still young and impressionable enough to be serving his sick mother breakfast in bed (aww…)

Also I just liked the parallel of Meadow and the priest getting drunk…she learns a lesson about drinking too much (Tony to her in the morning: You wanna stop for a beer? And she groans…this reminds me of that Cosby episode where Vanessa gets drunk at a party with her friends and Cliff, Clair, and Rudy taunt her with taking shots to make her never wanna drink again.) Meanwhile ‘Monsignor Jughead’ swills Chianti and communion wine all night and then voms before he can score with Mrs. Soprano.

• What else….we get a Casablance reference (of all the gin joints in all the world, why’d I have to get the straight priest?)
• Carmela is steamed that Dr. Melfi is a woman (she can’t take down Jennifer’s number because she lost her pencil up Tony’s ass, apparently.) Yet here she is with Father Phil gettin’ warm and mushy the whole episode. But they do nothing wrong, which is true enough. When she hugs the good Father after he gives her confession and communion, I jotted down…OK, they have a real spiritual love (friendship..?) It’s not necessarily sexual, although the “desires” are obviously there, as the Father tells us himself. He is a smooth operator though, comparing the beauty of Emma Thompson to that of a sunset or a douglas fir (that bastard…)
• At 27:52 into the episode I wrote: “This guy’s gonna get whacked by the end of the episode,” referring to our man Fred Peters. Tony looks up Peter’s Travel Agency in the phonebook when he’s trying to determine if this guy is really the stool pigeon he left off 12 years ago (later the big-lipped bust of ol’ Ronnie Reagan gives him away for sure.) But the add in the phonebook says “Just ask for Fred!” The next scene we see Freddy walking into a restaurant (the same one where Tony was and Meadow still is …getting wasted) to ask the bartender if anyone’s on his trail, and the bartender says, of course, “No one’s asking for you.” The immediate juxtaposition of these two lines “Just ask for Fred!/No one’s asking for you” were a give away to me that he was going to die… “No one’s asking for you” seemed to be an ominous harbinger that Fred was a dead man walking, with no friends left to turn to. (If there’d been an old drinking buddy at that bar who was inadvertently asking for him, he could’ve sat there and drank the night away in the safety of public cover and hope Tony leaves town before he can get his hands on him. But being in public never stopped Tony before [him and Chris beating up homeboy with the Lexus in Episode 1,] and Tony was coming back to this restaurant anyway, and was hot on his trail all night, even watching Fred and his naked wife fool around in their hottub and putting their kid back to bed…SCARY STUFF FRED!) So you knew before long that this dude was done. He couldn’t even pull the trigger on Tony when he was standing in the motel parking lot with the drunken Meadow. If you know someone’s gonna kill you and you let them live with their head in your gunsight, the game is over for you my friend, even if he had his daughter with him. The whole rest of the episode this dude is terrified, and you know that even if Tony doesn’t get him he’s gonna be living in fear for the rest of his life. When he’s sitting in his Ranger Rick office trying to convince these two smack dealers/apparent former volunteer firefighters to take Tony out with a twelve-gauge, Fred’s jumping at the crack of every twig outside his window. He goes outside to inspect, only to find a cute little deer chewing on some leaves in the bushes…and Tony Soprano with an audio cable ready to asphyxiate him, which he does, with no mercy and no witnesses….no witnesses except for THE DUCKS!! who come flying majestically in a V formation which would make Emilio Estevez proud.
• And just one last note: One good thing about this show being in 1999: there’s no cell phones. I can’t remember how popular they were back then, or if they much existed outside of Zack Morris ear-bricks (I’m sure I could easily research this…but die another day…) This means that the characters are all communicating by landline and payphone, (no instantaneous Blackberries or iChats) which really only adds to the suspense of the show, especially when someone’s about to get whacked (read: FABIAN PETRULIO. I have come to avenge my father! ok bad reference, and not even really a reference. good name though.) But yeah, this fact of no cell phones I think is a plus, although I’ll admit I liked The Departed as much if not more than Goodfellas. It all depends how you use the technology, I guess, as a cinematic device. I’m sure I could write more on this if I really wanted, but I’m up to 2238 on the wordcount.

My Rating:

I hope I don’t regret this, but this was a really entertaining, really well-connected and revealing episode, and strayed away from the traditional convention of using the therapy sessions as the glue for the plot. Plus that driving rain and lightning throughout the night…again; Beautiful.

A años luz de los tragos más sofisticados que podés encontrar en el Danzón o en cualquier bar de Palermo Hollywood, el conurbano también cuenta con su oferta exclusiva de bebidas alcohólicas, más allá de la cerveza y el vino en cajita.

Este es el ranking RTD (ready to drink) del conurbano profundo.

Fernandito VII

Empresa: Refres Now/Manaos (Virrey del Pino)

El nombre es sencillamente genial y deja en claro que detrás del productos se encuentra la mano de Manaos (posiblemente los mejores bautizadores de todo el conurbano, como lo demuestra el caso de Bichy Ahora). Su principal rival no es Branca ni Fernet Cinzano, sino Chabona, otro clásico cruzando la General Paz.

Vin-Up

Empresa: Productora Alimentaria/Naranpol

Se presenta en cajita como los vinos de mesa, pero bien visible en el envase los fabricantes aclaran que se trata de “una bebida alcohólica a base de vino y extractos vegetales” (sic). Igual, el Vin-Up nos cae muy simpático, tanto como el grupo homónimo de zona sur. (135% punk rock de chicas).

Americano Marolio

Empresa: Maxiconsumo/Marolio

Igualito al Gancia o al Cinzano, pero más barato. Al menos eso es lo que prometen en Marolio, la empresa que se cansó de romper con todas las reglas del marketing, incursionando en terrenos en teoría prohibidos para una marca de aceite.

Fresas Real

Empresa: SLV (Pilar)

Después del boom del fresita (champagne saborizado), llegó la respuesta de la industria sidrera. En la góndola, cualquiera se lo puede confundir con la versión rosa del Pronto Shake.

La Jarra Loca

Empresa: elaboración artesanal

Cuando uno era chico la mejor opción para emborracharse era el Séptimo Regimiento, que en su origen pudo haber tenido algo parecido a una fórmula que combinaba siete bebidas diferentes, pero que en los hechos terminaba siendo un cóctel de las cosas líquidas más extrañas que se podían conseguir en una barra. Así de impreciso, pero mucho más hardcore es la Jarra Loca, el trago más popular de cualquier bailanta que se elabora en base a los restos de bebidas que se consumen durante la noche.

no weekend of mine is complete without venturing out to a new eatery.  case in point: anchovies & olives on the hill.  located in the madison corridor, this new ethan stowell establishment boasts simple seafood dishes with farm-to-table accoutrements in a tapas-style presentation. i’ve been hearing about this joint for weeks, so my friend and i decided to stop in for a pre-theatre bite.  theres a small bar in the restaurant, and i thought to press my luck and ask if they served fernet.  thank god that foodies know what to stock in their liquid library, for the response was positive.  all in all, the meal was pretty decent, but a word to the wise–stick with an assortment of starters; the entrees were like an ugly stepchild.  i could see myself giving this place a second chance….ok, and the cute spanish bartender didnt hurt either.

anchovies, olives, and fernet: a culinary trifecta

weddings aren’t my forte, and bachelorette parties aren’t far behind.  however, when the call of duty arrives, one obliges with trashy lingerie in hand and a hankering to get smashed.  lucky for me, the party was only a short stumble away from barca on capital hill.  located on the same strip as purr, grey,  and the value village, this venue features scant team barca decor, a vodka bar upstairs, and a severe lack of ventilation.  but who cares about staying breezy as long as theres a bottle of fernet behind the bar.  at the end of the night, i was surprised to find that my three fernet & cokes only set me back $15…i’ll sweat it out in this hipster sauna for a deal like that.

*heart* marks the spot

a friend of mine suggested we do a mixer of some sort to cross-pollinate our friends.  a few logistical emails later, we arrive at john howie steak in bellevue.  located in the new bravern building, this restaurant has a swanky bar with an illuminated marble counter, live piano, and the most extensive drink list ive seen to date in seattle.  and hallelujah, they have fernet.  but wait, it gets better….they also have MEXICAN COKE!  nothing, and i mean NOTHING, beats fernet and pure cane sugar (corn syrup is so 1999).  of course, due to the high rent location, my drink ends up costing ~$15, but hey, its all about supply and demand when it comes to the bougie eastside.

star-crossed lovers: fernet and mexican coke

welcome to something very dear to my heart: fernet in seattle.  as with many things in life, fernet fell out of a broken heart and i’ve been hooked ever since.  being that seattle isn’t the most mixology-advanced locale, it’s been somewhat of a struggle to find bars that serve this tasty treat.  lucky for you, i’m here to do the legwork and pave that branca-bricked road…

Agora para descontrair um pouco, aqui vai o anuncio que a maneira de comunicar envolve a comedia. Tomara que gostem.

I know that I don’t update this blog enough and that it probably makes some of you antsy, but I’m going to attempt to make up for that by making awesome posts when I do get around to it.  I admit that part of it is laziness, and part of it is a resistance to the process of pulling myself out of the experience — even for the hour or so it takes to write a decent blog post — to share it with other people.  I love doing it, that’s why I’m studying journalism, but sometimes you want to bask in the glow a little bit before passing it on.

A quick note to explain the title of this post: I admittedly spend a lot of time with program students because I haven’t made many mendocino friends yet.  One of my favorite things to do when in a group of more than three people is shout “GRINGO PARADE!!” whenever we’re crossing the street.  It’s just fun.

I lied the other day when I said I would take my camera to Por Acá.  I’m still really hesitant to take anything I don’t need (anything other than a little money, id, phone, keys) when I go out, mostly because I don’t trust myself. Anyway, I showed up at PA about 11:00 and it was already packed with all kinds of people from all over the world.  Lucky for us, with Amigos del Mundo, we got a free round of drinks. That and the fernet and coke I had afterwards loosened me up to start dancing when they cranked the music up and turned the party lights on. I’m ashamed to say that I still haven’t been to a Boliche, but I’ll have plenty of opportunity to do that this weekend.

Fernet branca and coke -- everywhere, and very disgusting. (Picture by Laurel)

Dancing in the bar was fun, though, and from what I’ve heard, a little less sketchy. Plus, I got to meet people from all over the world, including a kid from Perú who danced all up on me. But it was one of those occasions where you can’t really get out of it because there are too many people. I also met Nacho and Hulu, two mendocinos, who were both incredible — Nacho is known by everyone now. His only english is related to gangs and telling you how crazy you are. Which is okay, because we need to practice castellano anyway — but he didn’t want to get that. I also met a bunch of folks from Brazil, Mexico, Germany (Hendrick! Who I saw a day or two later on Las Heras) and France. I danced with one of the french guys for a long time but I’m a horrible person and can’t remember his name.

I’m proud of myself for being able to lose some of my insecurities and dance and meet and talk to and with people. Now I just have to work on getting phone numbers so I can make friends that last beyond one bar night.

So I don’t have any pictures of that night, but there are a few from later, around 4 am, when Eric showed up in Por Acá and I decided to leave because it was way way way way too crowded. We went back to the Moon Bar, where a bunch of kids from the program were, and hung out for a few minutes.

Around 4 am, I didn't want to waste the Fernet on the table, and we both approve.

It's my picture, you can't steal my thunder!

While the night was similar to the other late night out I had (the same places, etc.), I still had an incredible amount of fun.  It’s okay for me to take it slow here, step by step — because the more time I give myself, the more completely and thoroughly in love I am with my surroundings, rather than panicked by the sudden change.  I’ve noticed that with my spanish, too.  When I’m in social situations where I have a specific goal – getting a copy of the key made, for example – I panic when something doesn’t go according to plan, and all of a sudden I have no idea what anybody is saying. I’m working on this.

Friday night, I got the chance to go out with Soledad and Laurel again, and Soledad’s friend Paula.  I went with them to the park a week or two ago where I took those pictures of the mountains.  This time, Sole’s boyfriend was having a concert; he’s in a small band.  The place was tiny but full of energy and friends and family of the band members.  It was also full of Andes beer, Pepsi, and pizza.

The singer was only 18 years old and really into what she was doing. Ariel (novio de Sole) is on the right, slappin' the bass. I have no idea what their band is called.

I really enjoyed the show; it was very laid back and a nice way to diversify my weekend. (You see a trend here? I don’t have the stamina to be out until odd hours of the morning every day.) They did play ONE song that was in english, and it was Creedence Clearwater Revival,  “Have You Ever Seen The Rain?”, which I know all the words to, so I sang along with that one like a gringo.

Called it a night after the show and Ariel dropped me off at home around 1:30am.  I was getting up slightly early the next morning to participate in a program outing called “Arte, vino y tango.” Anyone who knows me knows I’m a sucker for at least two of those things and quickly learning to appreciate the third.

So the next morning I met up with the group in Plaza Independencia and we crammed into microbuses (vans, really) to go out to an art museum in the house of Fader (Fader was a governor of the Mendoza province.) I, being the tool that I am, again forgot my camera for this trip, and will be snaking photos from Facebook that other people took so that I can share the amazingness with you.  As a rule, though, I am against pictures in art museums; mostly because taking a photo of a piece of art takes something away from it, the point of it is to be seen as itself, to see every detail.  And mostly because a majority of you will probably find those incredibly boring.  (Unless your name is Lisa Pepin, and your goal in New York was to go to every art museum in human existence.)

After the museum, though, we went to Bodega Norton, or the Norton Winery (where José’s boyfriend works, FUNNY ENOUGH?) for the wine tour. This place was breathtaking.  Standing on the porch, you have this incredible vista of vineyard stretching off into the distance, with the snow-capped peaks of the Andes as a backdrop.  It was so perfect that for a split second, I suspected it was fake — like the munchkin land backdrop in the Wizard of Oz where, if you look hard enough, you can tell it’s just a wall in a studio and not candy-colored hills stretching off for miles and miles.

I wasn't even lying. Look at those mountains!

We split into two groups for the tour, which included tasting every step of the process.  Mendoza is most famous for its Malbec, a red wine that is very rich but bitter — not usually in my taste, because I prefer the sweeter white wines. I’m developing a taste for it, though, like I’m developing a taste for café con leche and maté — things my blood will run full of come December.  Our guide was very funny and nice and showed us through every part of the place — the tanks where the “wine” sits, the underground storage, the different ways they make different kinds of wine. At one point, Deven was smelling the second bit we got to taste and made a really funny face that made the guide burst out laughing.  I wonder how often they get people like us tromping through their Bodega. (I would guess pretty often.)

After the tour concluded and we were all feeling a little warm (and some more than others because there were people who didn’t really want to drink the wine who handed their glasses off to people who did) we had lunch in the main room where a man was playing an electric violin with a looper or boomerang effect or both.  Nice music, nice wine, empanadas and ham and cheese and bread, and that incredible view of the mountains — I swear in that moment my life did not feel real.

Afterwards we had a quick tango lesson with one of the profesores from Congreso.  The number of girls in our program is way higher than the number of guys, though, so I ended up dancing with Genevieve and trading roles and actually sitting out part of the lesson. I may end up taking the class at Congreso, though. Just for fun. (It’s not like I’m getting major credit for anything here, anyway, so why not have fun?)

When you give a toast here, you say "Salud! (Health!)" or "Ching ching!", which is really just imitating the sound of the glasses clinking.

Somewhere along the way in Bodega Norton or at the museum, my keys fell out of my bag.  Anybody who knows me knows that I have a propensity for losing things, but I’ve been doing pretty well on this trip until now — and of course, it was something as important as keys. I was really upset about it for a while but talked to my host parents about it and have been trying to get copies made of their keys.  Karina said I may have to pay for the lock change, which I offered to anyway, but Vete wasn’t concerned because they weren’t lost on public transit or anywhere very dangerous. And I also don’t think they have any indication of address on them. It was a mistake.  Worse things could happen.  Like mortal injury.

That said, I didn’t go out Saturday night (I was thinking of going to a Boliche with Laurel) because I didn’t have keys, I was tired, I was frustrated and PMSy, and I wanted to sleep forever.

Sunday, though, was another asado — and my first “real” asado.  It was the Día del Niño (children’s day), so the fam and I went to Karina’s sister’s house in Guaymallen for asado cooked outside.  Karina has three sobrinos (nieces/nephews), aged 14, 12, and 2.  I also got to meet her sister and brother-in-law, and her brother-in-law’s brother, and the grandparents.  Most of you haven’t gotten a chance to see the family I’m staying with, and — now you have. They are incredible and I love them a lot for opening their home to me while I’m going through this chaos.  And especially the extended family, I’m glad I got to meet them and hope I get to see them many more times so that I can be less shy about talking to them. (I was waiting for them to start talking to me like I was warned people do, but they didn’t really aside from pleasantries and “where are you from?”s.  I should be less shy.)

mi familia! karina y vete!

The food was incredible, which is to be expected.  I never thought that I would eat a big pile of meat, but it’s surprising how easily you adapt when said pile of meat is plopped down in front of you still steaming from the grill. You feel guilty not tearing into it like a hungry lion on the serengeti.

It was a very relaxing day, anyway, that I got to spend with a very fun family and an adorable little girl named Josefina. We ended up with a DVD of 70s disco music playing in the background.  The 12-year-old asked me if that’s the music I listened to in the states, and all I could say was well, that’s pretty old music, and I’m not quite THAT old.  But the conversation didn’t really progress beyond that.

Fresh from the grill. Huge pile of meat.

And I’m finally to this week. What with the losing of my keys and the start of classes, it has been kind of stressful… particularly monday.  The University system here is so fundamentally different from home: horarios (schedules) aren’t released until the last second.  And for foreign students it’s even more difficult, because we don’t have the comfort of a carrera (major), which are organized so you take certain classes certain semesters without the flexibility of the U.S. system.  For example, I have requirements to fill — but I can choose to fill these however and whenever I like, so long as they’re done. Here, you take these classes this semester and that’s it.  But for us it’s difficult because we get to choose. So I’m shuffling around classes trying to pick some that should give me credit for my hispanic studies minor, and I think what I’m looking at is a fairly light class load that will give me more of an opportunity to appreciate this experience as a traveling and every-day learning experience rather than class, class, class, all the time.
(Right now I’m looking at the group castellano class, regional development, social history of argentina I, a literature class, and maybe tango.)

This upcoming weekend is  long, we don’t have classes on monday,  so I bought bus tickets to Córdoba with a few other students.  I’m leaving friday evening, traveling overnight, and staying there until monday evening. Córdoba is a province and city that is slightly northwest of Mendoza.  The city itself is known for it’s student scene and arts and crafts fairs, among other things — I’m going with my Lonely Planet in hand the expectation that I probably won’t sleep much.  It WILL be my first experience in a hostel.  And all said, the entire weekend will cost about $100. I’m trying to be stingy with my money until financial aid arrives next week or so, but I can’t pass this weekend up because everyone will be travelling and if I don’t, I will be sitting here all weekend in front of my computer.  Bad! Bad!

Anyway, every moment here is a learning experience, every new thing is surprising and delightful and scary and I can hardly imagine what going home will be like right now, much less in four months. My mission now is to work with more determination on my spanish.  (I’ve seen other people describing the drinking-language phenomenon in their blogs, and it’s true: when you drink, your spanish magically improves, which is why I have no problem in the bars.  I just have to carry this confidence with me to every day situations.)

Hoping all is going well,

Whitney

Terceira bebida mais consumida na Argentina, atrás apenas do vinho e da cerveja, o Fernet é motivo de uma guerra publicitária. Alguns comerciais abaixo.

A coluna de hoje no blog do Noblat é sobre o Fernet, uma bebida que é paixão dos argentinos e chega a um consumo de 13 milhões de litros por ano. É uma mescla de 40 ervas e tem um gosto terrível…mas que eu adoro. Masoquismo?

Incrivelmente, a palavra Fernet não consta de nenhum dicionário de língua espanhola. Deveria estar entre “fernandino” e “ferocidad”. Mas não está. Numa bela sacada de marketing, a empresa Fernet 1882, produtora da bebida na Argentina, iniciou um movimento para incluir a palavra no Dicionário da Real Academia Espanhola. ¿Por qué “güisqui” y “coñac” sí, y fernet no?

Leia a coluna na íntegra AQUI.