Pour sugar into pot.
Add water.
Turn heat on low.
Stir.
Think to myself, “I don’t need to set a timer. This will be done before I can get distracted.”
Walk away.
…
Smell something burning.
Sprint to kitchen.
Turn off heat.
Dump cold water into pot.
…
Throw burnt pot into trash.
…
Every.
Time.
California has wine. New Orleans has bourbon. The South has the mint julep. New York—New York, I submit, has a problem.
Its problem sauntered into a trendy downtown bar in highlighted curls and lowlighted roots and an inexplicable pink tutu in 1998 and didn’t leave until 2004 and spent all six goddamn years ordering cosmopolitans.
Because before Sex and the City made it humiliating beyond the pale to be a New Yorker who likes men and order a cosmo—Sex and the City very nearly made it humiliating to be a New Yorker who likes men period—the drink enjoyed enough popularity to stick to the city like it’d been spilled there. Carrie Bradshaw and the cosmopolitan will always be a part of New York.
Then again, so will the hot garbage smell.
Last Call for Lynchburg (Pop. 361)
But for the population of Lynchburg, what’s off the label is a real eye-opener—starting with the population. “Pop. 361” is gone.
Hollie Embling moved here 30 years ago, married a Jack Daniel barrel roller and had four kids. “That made it 366,” she joshed one day. Jack Daniel’s label stuck to 361, regardless.
Jack Daniel’s Distillery is making a few changes to their iconic label. Gone will be the population inaccuracy (actual 6,362) and Lem Motlow’s name. So Barry Newman at the Wall Street Journal decided to fact-check the whole thing.
1866? Americas oldest registered distillery? Who’s Lem Motlow?
Through prohibition, Lem Motlow kept Jack’s whiskey alive, if not flowing—even after he shot a man on a train while drunk in 1924. (He was tried for murder and acquitted.) Lem died in 1947, and his four sons took over the management.
Guests say goodbye as the Sahara goes dark
We are live from the Sahara casino floor, which is to close forever at 10 a.m. Moments ago, a man asked no one in particular, “Is Jerry Lewis going to be here? He should be the last one out the door.”
The above photo, taken this past weekend, by Leila Navidi.
That large photo of Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis is in the photo archive, here.
(via Daring Fireball)
Sure, your local bartender may excel at generous pours and witty banter, but can he work around the clock, remember every cocktail he’s ever made, and store your favorite tunes in a microchip implanted in his brain?
At the pariSoma Innovation Loft in San Francisco this weekend, robotic bartenders will do the mixing. Some may even chat you up.
These electronic drink slingers are the creations of human tinkerers who have applied their science to the art of cocktails for the fourth annual BarBot event, April 1 and 2. It’s a warmup for an international robotics competition in San Mateo in mid-April.
Tickets are $10 in advance, $15 at the door. No tipping required; just watch where you spill your drink.
The Bygone Bureau | The Best New Blogs of 2010
“I get flustered at bars that don’t serve beer because I never know what to order. Each cocktail has its own reputation and history. They’re mythical creatures, like centaurs, only I probably know more about centaurs than I do about Mint Juleps.
Which is why I’m thankful for American Drink […]”
— Kevin Nguyen
We’re a little late on this, partially because we’ve been on a two week celebratory bender and mostly because we don’t know how to deal with nice things being said about us. So thanks to The Bygone Bureau for including American Drink with the likes of Josh Allen’s (@fireland) Chokeville, Mike Lacher’s Wonder-Tonic and Fuckyeahmenswear to name a few.
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